Historias cortas de Tragic Love Mafia y novelas con Independence

My husband, Adriano Moretti, the Don of the Moretti famiglia, brings a three-year-old boy back to the estate. Adriano's mother, Vittoria Moretti, calls for a family meeting. In front of all the core members, she announces that the boy will be raised by me. She says he is the only surviving bloodline of her late eldest son, Luca Moretti. Vittoria says, "It's very chaotic out there right now. His birth mother can't protect him. Lucrezia, if you don't take him in, he won't survive the winter in Sezarro." My heart goes out to the little boy, and I take him in. In the next seven years, I personally raise Antonino into the finest child in the Moretti famiglia. I tell Adriano I want a child of our own. However, he keeps coming up with the same excuse. "Antonino is Luca's only son. I'm afraid that if we have a child, he'll feel like we don't love him anymore. We can have our own child once he's old enough to understand. There's no rush." Thinking about all the hardships Antonino has endured since childhood, I feel sorry for him too and never bring it up again. When Antonino is ten, he has a sudden asthma attack that lands him in the hospital. When I arrive outside his room at the private hospital, I hear Vittoria say, "Lucrezia doesn't have a child of her own yet. With Antonino by her side all these years, she got to experience being a mother. "But if she finds out Antonino is your biological son, will she still devote all her resources and energy to raising him?" Adriano remains silent. That night, I go to the Moretti famiglia's archives alone. After searching for a long time, I finally find Antonino's birth records that are hidden away. On his birth certificate, I see the name written under the birth father column—Adriano Moretti. It turns out that the child I've been raising for seven years as the orphaned son of Adriano's deceased brother is actually his illegitimate child all along. Seven years ago, I brought that child into the Moretti famiglia. Seven years later, I cross my own name off the family registry and walk out of the Moretti estate alone.

From the age of ten, every dollar my parents spent on me became a debt. Tuition. Clothes. Food. Even medical bills. By eighteen, I had signed one hundred and ninety-nine promissory notes. But Camilla—the daughter of the man who died protecting my parents—received everything for free. They gave her my bedroom, my inheritance bracelet, a Manhattan apartment, a Maserati, and eventually even the attention of my fiancé, Nick. My parents called it repaying her father’s sacrifice. They called my suffering “heir training.” On the eighteenth birthday Camilla and I shared, I was seriously injured in a car accident. While my family celebrated her aboard a Caribbean yacht, I begged them for three thousand dollars to pay for emergency surgery. They accused me of inventing the accident to ruin her party. Then Mom told me to sign another promissory note. That became number two hundred. I finally understood that no amount of obedience would make them choose me. So I gave myself seven days to repay every cent, surrender the DeLuca name, and end my engagement.

At the altar, right before we exchanged rings, my husband Julian stopped. "The heads of both families are here," he said. "Let's get this out in the open." A pause. "Seraphina Gallo... she's carrying my child. Three months" I stood there in my pure white, handmade gown. "What did you say?" He adjusted his cuff. So elegant. "The next heir to the Valenti family can't be a bastard." He looked at me with those blue eyes I used to drown in. "Don't worry. You'll still be my only woman. You just can't have the title of Donna. I'll sign over the Upper East Side penthouse. I'll take care of you." Take care of me? Ten years. An engagement ring. Now, a joke for the entire New York underworld. The antique Cartier cross my mother left me—our promise to each other—was still on his neck. I reached for it. He grabbed my wrist, frowning. "Alessia, don't make a scene. Don't embarrass your dying father." My father. Lying in a private suite, kept alive by a machine that cost a fortune. He'd mortgaged his life's work—his leather shop—for this wedding. Snickers from the guests. Julian's mother, matriarch of the Valenti family smirked. "Don't blame my Julian. A purse-maker's daughter marrying into a Cosa Nostra family? Pure fantasy." Through my tears, I saw a man leaning against the church doorframe. Caspian. Everyone knew him. The unkillable underground fighter from the docks. A plaything for the rich to bet on in their cages. He must have just come from a deathmatch—he smelled of motor oil and blood. He just stood there, watching this train wreck. The entire mob knew this beast. Came from the slums, no parents, lived in a leaky warehouse nobody dared go near. I ripped off my veil and pointed straight at him. "Julian Valenti, I'm not marrying you. I'm marrying him."

My father died. He left me a contract. A marriage to the Donovans. The Chicago Outfit. He wanted the future Don to protect me. The whole family's power, wrapped around me for life. But on my wedding day to the eldest, Finn… he ran. Took my family housekeeper's daughter with him. His brother, Cillian Donovan, stepped up. He married me instead. Wedding night. I was in the music room. Alone. Playing the cello. A sad song for my father. Cillian kicked the door open. His eyes were bloodshot. Pure jealousy. A sneer on his face. “Does marrying me instead of Finn really hurt you this much?” For the next five years, he brought women home. Different ones. Kissing them in my rose garden. Fucking them in our bed. I swallowed it all. Played the part. The perfect Donna of the Donovan family. Until today. When he kept his latest toy around for four months. My heart hit the floor. She clung to Cillian's arm, her red lips at his ear. “Cillian, the way your wife looks at me… like she wants to eat me alive.” Cillian stroked her hair, not really caring. His eyes found mine. A cruel smile. “My wife? She doesn't want to be. She wants to be his woman. The traitor's.” That night, a rival family hit the estate. Fire everywhere. Cillian grabbed his girl. Ran for the armored car. No hesitation. I was on the ground. Smoke in my lungs. Couldn't move. I watched him drive away. Leaving me in the dust. Something inside me just… snapped. Five years of this bullshit marriage. I was going to end it. Myself. …

Eight years with Marcello Cartel. I took three bullets for him, suffered two miscarriages, and finally, our wedding day was here. But the day before, Marcello said we had to postpone. "Gia’s pregnant." "The kid isn't mine. But we grew up together, and she’s like a sister to me." "I need to marry her first. Otherwise, people will talk, and she’s too fragile to handle the whispers." "We’re pushing our wedding back three years. Don't contact me until then." "You'll explain it to the Commission. Tell them you weren't ready to be the Don's wife." I sent back one word: "Okay." Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for three days later. I'm not showing up to his wedding tomorrow. And I'm sure as hell not waiting another three years. Because I am done with him. For good.

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

After the car lost control on the highway, the passengers around me were all panicking, calling their loved ones to say what they thought might be their final goodbyes. The airbags had gone off. Glass covered the seats. My hands were shaking as I pulled my burning-hot phone from my pocket. Only after a long while did I finally call Vito Moretti. When he rejected my call, I sent him a text instead. 【I probably won’t make it out of this one. Vito, what a shame that we won’t get to grow old together.】 As I stared at the chaos outside the car window, I was strangely calm. The driver managed to avert disaster, and after I escaped the accident unharmed, I saw that Vito had posted my text on his social media. A group of his Mafia brothers flooded the comments, calling me dramatic and accusing me of seeking attention. I calmly liked his post and uploaded one of my own. “After narrowly escaping death, maybe my luck is finally about to change.” His brothers immediately swarmed the comments under my post, mocking me one after another. “Oh, weren’t you almost dead? Looks like you’ve got quite the life in you.” “Serafina, did you know Vito was with Mia tonight and deliberately choose this moment to cause a scene? Who exactly are you trying to disgust?” “Why couldn’t you be the one having the anxiety attack?! A woman who stays by the Don’s side and still gets jealous of a young girl. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

When I walked out of the hospital clutching the miscarriage report, dazed and hollow, my husband Enzo called. "Feeling any better? I'll send a car for you. Corinne, you know that as my Donna, you have to follow the family rules. I can't bend them just because of your old stomach issues." "And don't blame Elara. She was only doing what she was told." I answered flatly, "Okay." He laughed. "That's my good girl." What Enzo didn't know was that it wasn't just a stomachache. I'd lost the baby. Three hours earlier, when the pain had become unbearable and I tried to leave, Elara had stopped me: "Ten more minutes, Corinne. You shouldn't put Enzo in a difficult position over something so trivial." Enzo. She was always bringing up Enzo in front of me. But the moment I learned I'd lost my child, I no longer wanted to be his obedient Mrs. Moretti. In ten days, I would vanish from his world completely.

Three years together. Lucian proposed seventy-seven times. Aurelia said no every single time. The entire family called her ungrateful. How dare she reject the Underboss? But Aurelia knew the truth. Lucian never wanted to marry her in the first place. The first three times, she said yes. She took the ring with tears in her eyes. Each time, his face turned to ice. "A proper woman doesn't give in so easily," he scoffed. She took the hint. She handed the ring back and said no. Only then did his warm smile return. Then came year three. Aurelia overheard that line between him and Bianca, her adopted sister—intimate, sick, and unmistakable. It hit her like a bullet. Lucian never loved her. Not for a single second. The Syndicate took them both from the same orphanage. Yet Bianca was their spoiled princess, and Aurelia was dirt under their boots. She thought Lucian was different. She thought he was her only way out. Reality slapped her across the face. One cry from Bianca, and Lucian dropped everything. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing. He always ran to Bianca. He always left Aurelia behind in the cold. Fine. Aurelia pulled off the invisible chain around her finger. She was done playing his sick little game. She stepped away. She let them have each other.

All of New York knew that Caspian Solis, the Don of the Solis family, worshipped the ground I walked on. Then an ambush left him with amnesia. Not only did he forget me and our twenty years together, but he also mistook his secretary, Ivy, for the love of his life. He tossed our matching bracelets and stared at me with dead eyes. "You are not my type. Ivy is the woman I love." My heart shattered. I tried everything to help him remember. Until I overheard a conversation between him and his right-hand man: "Don, how long are you going to keep this up? What if your wife finds out you are faking the amnesia?" Caspian exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, completely unbothered. "She won't." "I just want to have some fun while I am young. Eating the same meal every day gets stale, doesn't it?" "When I have had my fill, I will tell her my memory came back. After all, Lorelai is the one I truly love." Standing outside the door, I felt violently sick. A thought sparked in my mind: If Caspian could fake amnesia to play me, why couldn't I? So, I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs. When I woke up, I locked eyes with Caspian's ally and biggest rival—Zane, the most feared Don in New York. I smiled and threw myself into his arms. "There you are, darling."

After my fiancé ran away with my sister, I became the biggest scandal in New York. Then Roman Vescari—the feared Don of the Vescari crime family—confessed that he had loved me for years. I married him. For five years, Roman treated me like the center of his world. Everyone believed I was the cherished wife of New York's most powerful mafia don. Then I overheard him speaking to his consigliere. "Celeste is Adrian's wife now. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life pretending to love Evelyn?" Roman fell silent. "I married Evelyn. I'll love her and give her everything a Vescari wife deserves. Celeste is in the past." But when Celeste and I fell into a freezing lake, Roman swam past me to save her, leaving me to sink only yards away. That was when I finally understood. He could protect me for the rest of his life, but his first instinct would never be to choose me. After I was rescued, I arranged my death at sea and ended our five-year marriage. When Roman learned of my "death," the ruthless mafia don shoved Celeste away, coughed up blood, and seemed to age ten years overnight.

The Cecil family has a century-old rule: on the day a daughter marries, her father gives her a list. It lists the names of twelve bodyguards her father has trained for her since she was a child. They will serve the bride for life as her last line of defense in her husband's household. My twin sister Valentina and I married on the same day. At the ceremony, she held the contract, which was covered in red handprints. Our father patted her shoulder. "I chose every one of them for you. If anyone mistreats my darling girl, these men will make them pay." Our mother beamed. "Valentina will always be the treasure of our family." All I received was a single flimsy, worthless sheet of paper. It didn't even bear a seal. "Father, where is my list?" His gaze darted away for a moment. Then he looked back at me, his expression brazen and self-righteous. "Your sister is marrying Don Moretti's oldest son. The Moretti family is one of Sicily's most powerful Mafia families. Of course she needs more men. "I added your twelve men to her list. She needs twenty-four guards to make sure no one looks down on the Cecil family." Our mother backed him up. "The outsider you're marrying can't even fire a gun. Why would you need bodyguards? Stop thinking only of yourself." I looked at the worthless sheet of paper and smiled bitterly. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

My husband, Cillian Burke. King of the New York underworld. He runs his life on strict orders. Every second counts. Break his rules for more than three minutes? He strips my access. Instantly. Not a single second of grace. Today is our anniversary. I walk into the core lab three minutes late. Morning sickness. And just like that, I lose the purity test for my new drug. Liliana Croft is already sitting at my station. Taking my place. This is the fourth time. I fall one step behind. He punishes me without hesitation. He gives my world to Liliana. The first time. A Family meeting. I was two minutes late checking the books. He flew to the Vegas underground trade. He took Liliana instead of me. Second time. Prenatal checkup. Five minutes late. He took Liliana to our lakeside safe house. We were supposed to spend the weekend there. Third time. Morning sickness. Ninety seconds late coming downstairs. He left with Liliana. They went to a family dinner. Only core members were allowed. "You always ruin my schedule, Ava. I gave you a time. You are my wife. You are also a Burke. Obey my rules. Absolutely." I stand alone outside the lab. A sudden cramp hits my stomach. My hands shake. I call Cillian. No answer. I call again. No answer. Third time. He finally picks up. "The alarm terrified Liliana. She is unstable. I am not leaving her. Call the Family doctor yourself. Ava, listen to me. Stop wasting my time with petty drama." I look down. Dark blood spreads at my feet. I drop my phone. Cillian. Your ironclad rules never bend for me. Not once. Fine. My turn. I am cutting you out of my world. Forever.

I was alone at Maria Hospital for a prenatal checkup when someone added me to a group chat I didn't recognize. Everyone in it was family or a close friend. My foster sister, Linda, had posted a video with the caption, "Enzo is such a great new dad!" In the video, my husband, Enzo, held a newborn and gently played with the baby's tiny hand. The baby's hospital wristband said Maria Hospital. Everyone in the chat was celebrating the birth. No one noticed I was there. My brother Luke wrote, "Congratulations! This family is finally complete." I said nothing. I saved the video. The moment it finished saving, a notification popped up. Linda had removed me from the group. I steadied myself and called Enzo on his private line. "Enzo, where are you?" "Baby, I'm at the airport in Los Angeles. I'm flying back to you soon. "The doctor told me yesterday that you have mild gestational diabetes. I had a nutritionist put together some meals for you. Make sure you eat them." I stood outside Linda's room, staring through my tears at Enzo's back. "Is that so? Do airports have hospital rooms now?"

After we made love, Damon pulled me into his arms and opened WhatsApp. A message from Serena popped up, along with a revealing mirror selfie. "Damon, we had a deal. Once she's slept with you, you're in my bed for the next month." I turned my head, stunned. He kissed my cheek absentmindedly. "Serena and I bet on whether you'd sleep with me today. Looks like I lost. "Let's take some time apart. In a month, I promise you a grand wedding." I looked at him, keeping my face calm despite the cruel joke. On the day I moved out, Damon blocked the villa's front door, frowning. "Layla, it's just a bet between Serena and me. Don't throw a tantrum." I didn't answer. I picked up my suitcase and left without looking back. A month later, he proposed, just as he'd promised. I held up the wedding ring I'd just put on. "Sorry. I don't take back trash."

My fiancé, Orlando, was a mafia captain. Three years ago, he got caught in a shootout, and someone tried to kill him. I took the bullet for him without thinking twice. The wound left me so weak that I spent most of my days stuck at home. Afraid I'd get hurt again, Orlando brought in a maid named Cecilia to look after me and act as my stand-in. Whatever was meant for me, she tried it first to make sure it was safe. Little by little, she got everything before I did. First to break in my heels. First to sleep in my wedding bed. Even the trip to Iceland I'd waited years for—she went with Orlando first, in my place. When the accident happened at the shopping center, Orlando still carried Cecilia into the emergency stairwell first. A falling stone column crushed my ankle. Lying in that hospital bed, I finally lost it. Orlando only frowned at me. "Nadia, stop making a scene. Cecilia is just your stand-in. She faces the danger first so you can stay safe." He sounded so sincere. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nadia, try to understand how hard this is for me. I can't let you get hurt again. I just can't." That devotion of his made me give in one more time. I never imagined that even at my own wedding—the day that mattered more to me than anything—Cecilia would wear my wedding dress before I did. I can make do with something secondhand. But I don't want a secondhand man.

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore.

The day my husband kicked me off the Rinaldi family council, Irene Costa was sitting in my chair. She had been engaged to his late brother. She was wearing my pearl necklace, and the brooch pinned to her chest was reserved for the Donna of the Rinaldi family. My mother had left me that necklace. I kept it in a safe, and the only person who knew the combination was my husband, Victor Rinaldi. He looked at me, his voice cold. "Irene is taking your place at tonight's South Port negotiation. When you learn to control your jealousy, I'll give you your seat back." No one at the table said a word. My pin, my necklace, and the South Port proposal I'd spent three months working on now lay in front of Irene. Everyone had forgotten that when I married Victor three years earlier, I brought my father's port and connections with me. I was the reason he still held the Don's seat. I was the reason the Rinaldi family had risen again. I reached for my necklace. Victor thought I was reaching for the pin instead and stepped in front of Irene. "It's just a pin. You're still the Donna. Be generous. Don't embarrass Irene." I said nothing else. Four days later, I set a stack of documents in front of him. "The South Port agreements. They need your signature." He was replying to a message from Irene. He picked up the pen without glancing at the documents. "You've checked them, haven't you?" Victor had always trusted my work. He had also always believed that no matter how badly he humiliated me, I would never leave. I watched him finish signing, then pulled the dissolution of our marriage contract from beneath the South Port agreements. In seven days, I would leave with the port my father had left me, the people loyal to me, and everything Victor had spent years mistaking for Rinaldi property.

I married Luca, the godfather I'd grown up with since childhood, and he tore off my veil with his own hands at our wedding. "The wedding is void. You were never the real Vitale princess." I turned to Dante and Sebastian in disbelief—the four of us grew up together, they adored me beyond reason, there was no way they'd just stand there and watch. But Sofia came walking toward me, smiling, an arm looped through each of theirs: "Sister, you're imagining things. The name and the engagement both belong to me." I tried to step forward and demand answers. Luca stepped on my train and sent me crashing to the floor. Sebastian crouched down, his smile gentle, his tone like someone coaxing a disobedient dog: "Elena, you didn't actually think we ever loved you, did you?" Dante looked at me with cold indifference, as if those two men who'd been ready to tear each other apart because I chose Luca had never existed at all. They dragged me out of the church and threw me into the downpour. The system that brought me to this world and then vanished for fifteen years suddenly came online: 【Host, the courtship mission is detected as complete! The wedding ceremony is valid. Return to the real world immediately?】 I sat on the stone steps, wedding dress caked with mud and rainwater, looking down at my scraped-up hands, and almost laughed out loud. This play I'd been performing for fifteen years was finally over.

On Christmas Eve, my mother sent a long gift list to our family group chat. It had everything from sports cars to diamond necklaces. I was full of anticipation, but when the gifts were finally handed out, I realized the sports car was for my brother, Luca. The rest—the diamonds, the Hermès bags—were all for Mia. Mia was our family’s adopted daughter. Her father used to work for my Papa and took a bullet for him. Because of that, the Sterling family had raised Mia as their own flesh and blood for ten years. Not a single gift was for me. When I asked my mother about it, she stated the obvious: "Julian is your fiancé. He’ll have something prepared for you." "Mia is so pitiful for losing her father because of us. We have to give her the most love, right?" I wanted to scream that I needed gifts from my family too, but I kept my mouth shut. I looked over at Julian, only to find he hadn't gotten me anything either. Instead, he was smiling, handing Mia a custom gown he bought for her. Sitting on the sofa at the edge of the grand hall, watching them, it finally hit me: there was no place for me here. Looking down at my phone, I signed an overseas deployment contract with Doctors Without Borders to a field hospital in Colombia. Five years. No returning home. I decided to leave for good, and never come back.