Tragic Love Mafia Short Stories & Independence Novels

The day of the gang shootout, while I was cleaning up the mess, I realized our marriage certificate was missing. My husband Victor Rosso tried to comfort me. Said the whole family only recognized me as their Donna. No need to bother replacing it. I mulled it over for a few days, then still brought my ID to city hall to get a duplicate. The clerk tapped at her keyboard for a minute, then looked up at me. "Ma'am, your marital status shows as single." I froze. Then I wrote down Victor's name and mine again and handed it back to her. She checked once more. Her expression turned strange. "The system says you're single, but your husband is listed as married..." She paused. "The spouse's name is Anna Martin. Do you know her?" My mind went blank. Victor and I were each other's first love. He'd always treated me like I was the moon, the stars, everything. And Anna—my sister, his savior, the woman he personally shipped off to Milan because she wouldn't stop chasing him. Turns out, while he was calling her reckless to my face, he'd already given her his legal name on paper. I pulled out my phone and called my mentor. "Mentor, I need to get back to my jewelry studio. What's the soonest you can get me in?" "Flora. Three days. Just give me three days."

I’ve got a killer hourglass figure and siren eyes. In Hollywood, I’m the ultimate sex symbol. But after five years in this town, not a single producer would dare lay a finger on me. Because the man in my bed is Don Vincenzo, the most ruthless mafia boss in New York. Seven years together. Every time we finished, he’d hold me close, kiss me, and carry me to the bathroom to clean me up. I naively thought I’d be the only woman by his side. That I'd even be his Donna. Until the night of my 28th birthday. After the family dinner, I heard him sneer to his underboss: "Chloe is fun to play with, but for my Donna, I have other options." In that instant, I ripped out my cheap, pathetic heart. I became exactly what he wanted: a perfect mistress who only cared about his money. But Vincenzo didn't seem to like that. His dark, dangerous eyes locked onto mine. "Besides this Manhattan penthouse, is there really nothing else you want from me?" I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out a fake gasp of surprise. "You mean I can pick out a Ferrari, too?"

My husband Matteo is the Don of the Moretti family, the kind of man who makes everyone bow their heads. Except when it comes to Chiara, his genius hacker of an adopted sister. She's the one person he can't control. At least, that's what he's always told me. One causes trouble, the other cleans it up. They've been doing it for five years. Until she tampered with my brake system. The car crashed. I nearly died. He didn't show up at the hospital the entire time I was in surgery. After it was over, he rushed in to explain: "Don't blame Chiara. She just thought it'd be fun. She wasn't really trying to kill you." "She knew I'd set you up with the best medical team. She was only trying to scare you." He'd barely finished signing the papers when his assistant told him Chiara was being harassed at a bar. And Matteo rushed off again. What he didn't know was that because of this crash, we'd lost the baby we'd been longing for. But he didn't need to know. In seven days, I was going back to my own family.

When Matteo Morandi divided up the territories, he let my cousin, Chloe Serra, choose first. As always. One was the deep-water port, a gold mine and our safest territory. The other was a stretch of abandoned, crumbling docks in the slums, where rival crews often traded gunfire. For the first time, I stepped forward before Chloe could choose. I pointed to the deep-water port on the map. "I want this one." Matteo rested a warm hand on my shoulder. His voice was gentle, but his words were cruel. "Chloe can't handle the slums. She needs to be in the safest place we've got. "Celia, the slums are more your speed." I was so angry I laughed out loud, but I didn't argue. Instead, my clenched fists slowly loosened. My uncle, Enzo Serra, liked to say Chloe was the Serra family's precious white dove, while I was the vicious dog born to fight in the mud. In his eyes, it was the perfect arrangement. The marriage alliance worked the same way. Matteo needed a respectable woman at his side to clean up his brutal reputation, so Chloe was the obvious choice. But Chloe cried and refused. She dreamed of an artist and a life in the sunshine. She would never marry a Sicilian butcher. So Uncle Enzo picked me. I'd taken a bullet for Matteo and known him for 12 years, yet I was still only ever his second choice. "Then give it all to Chloe. I'm done."

The day Joss Carver was named the next Don of the Holden family, his childhood sweetheart Lydia Moss showed up. After that, I lost the little home Joss and I shared because Lydia needed a place to stay. Our dates were canceled, and our wedding was postponed, all because Lydia needed someone to look after her. In the end, Joss gave Lydia the top score I'd earned on the Mafia Commission's selection exam and the risk analyst job that came with it. He explained it to me like it was nothing. "You're Viscount Girard's daughter. You'll have plenty of other chances. But Lydia's an orphan. She needs this job more. "Once she's settled in, I'll come to your family and ask for your hand." I looked at him, and my gaze slowly cooled. He was right about one thing: as Viscount Girard's daughter, I had other options. Rigel Norton, the new Don of the Norton family, was young and successful, and he wanted a marriage alliance. I didn't have to cling to a love that had gone sour and keep swallowing my pride.

The Don of the Falcieri family was assassinated by a rival family, leaving behind his widowed wife, Livia. His younger brother, my husband Caius, took his place as Don. With the title came a duty: to secure the Falcieri bloodline by putting a child in his brother's widow. "Alessia's been barren for years. It falls to Livia to do what she couldn't. The Falcieri family cannot be without an heir." The Madre's voice dripped with scorn. Caius held me close, whispering promises. "As soon as Livia is pregnant, I swear I'll never touch her again." "Alessia, you're the only one I love." Three months, and he hasn't set foot in our bedroom. After he ignored me in front of everyone, choosing Livia time and time again, I finally left. I took what was mine and left one thing behind: a DNA test. It was my final gift to Caius.

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

The new Consigliere wanted to restructure the Mafia family’s affairs by sinking her claws into me. My boyfriend, who was a Mafia Don and wildly in love with me, wanted to get revenge on her for me. He planned to raise her status to the skies and make her suffer a horrific downfall when the right time came. He kicked me out of the family and gave all my responsibilities to the new Consigliere. She received luxury cars and jewelry from him as gifts, but he told me to tolerate it as part of the plot. When my younger brother's kidneys started to fail, I begged my Don boyfriend for the surgery fees, which he agreed to give me. On the day of the surgery, I waited from daylight to daybreak for the money, but nothing came. That was when I saw an Instagram post from the new Consigliere, taunting me. "My family's Don is such a wonderful man. Someone who was kicked out of the family was brazen enough to ask him for money. What if she can't repay us? I had to stop the money transfer. I hope this woman will find a better excuse the next time she tries to scam him." The mess ended with my brother dying. My Don boyfriend called me later in an attempt to cajole me. "Don't be mad. Joey can have his surgery later. I'm just tolerating Rosetta to encourage her to become full of herself. The higher she climbs, the harder she'll fall. Don't worry! Her birthday will be in a few days. I'll humiliate her, then make her lose everything. We'll have our wedding after that. That will cheer Joey up!" However, I knew that his so-called plot was the start of him falling in love with another woman. That was when I no longer wanted him.

Day three of the silent treatment. My husband Adrian Veta, the Don, once again went behind my back and approved Mirena Ricci's deeply flawed port logistics plan. He thought I would argue my case as I used to do at family meetings, but I merely responded faintly. When he saw that, he handed Mirena the docks I had spent years managing and dismissed several men who had openly supported me to establish her authority. Still, I did not fight back. Mirena smugly leaned against him. "I told you that she'll learn her place once you neglect her. She can't bear to leave you." Adrian agreed wholeheartedly. That evening, he made a rare visit to the estate, promising to give me management of the West District winery if I obediently stayed by his side. However, he had overlooked one thing. Just a few days earlier, while he was busy cleaning up a mess for Mirena, he had signed the stack of documents I handed him without even a glance. Tucked among the pages was a divorce agreement. Another was a declaration that I was voluntarily withdrawing from the Veta family. After that night, I was no longer his wife and certainly no longer his Donna.

On my thirtieth birthday, our car crashed on the way home from a charity gala. Damian Moretti stepped over me—his girlfriend of six years, lying there with a fractured ankle—and carried Sofia DeLuca away because the cut on her palm had made her panic. He knew I was hurt worse. He chose her anyway. It was punishment for asking whether the two of them were getting too close. That night, while I sat alone in the ER, Sofia posted a photo with her face pressed against his shoulder. [Thank you to the man who always catches me when I fall.] Damian expected me to call, cry, and demand that he come back. That was how our fights always ended: he hurt me until I panicked, then rewarded me with affection once I apologized. This time, I liked Sofia’s post. Then I accepted an eighteen-month transfer to Paris. My flight left in seven days—on our sixth anniversary. Damian mistook my silence for surrender. He thought he had finally taught me to stop questioning him. So on the night I once believed he would propose, he put Sofia in a wedding dress, held out the ring I had waited six years for, and gave me one last chance to behave. He expected me to beg. Instead, I left my key on the table and headed for the airport. By the time Damian realized I wasn’t testing him, my plane had already taken off.

Two months before the public ceremony Lorenzo had promised would finally acknowledge me as his wife, he announced online that he was getting married. Everyone congratulated me. After seven years at his side, after I had helped him stabilize the Vassari family, crush three rebellions, and win enough votes to become the next Don, everyone assumed I was finally going to be his wife. So did I. Until I stopped outside a private room and heard his friends laughing. “Lorenzo, your Donna selection list is insane. Twelve women, one ring, and you score them every month?” Someone whistled. “Right now, it’s down to Serena and that little nightclub girl you keep in your penthouse, isn’t it?” “What if you don’t marry Serena after all this?” another man asked. “She gave you seven years. She might lose her mind.” Lorenzo laughed lazily. “Whoever performs best becomes my wife. Fair rule.” The room exploded with laughter. “Come on, you’re obviously favoring your little mistress. Serena can’t win if you keep giving that girl perfect scores.” Lorenzo’s voice turned playful, almost amused. “I gave Serena the chance. If she still loses, she can only blame herself.” I stood outside the door, my heart going cold. After a long silence, I took out my phone and called my father. “Dad, I agree to come home.” “I’ll accept the marriage alliance arranged by the Commission.”

I was ten years old when I lost my hearing saving Adrian Falcone's life. After that, I couldn't survive without my hearing aids. He held my hand afterward, his eyes red-rimmed with guilt, and made me a promise in front of his entire family. "Serena Lombardi, I'll protect you with my life," he said. "I'll marry you." But when I turned eighteen, everything changed. Adrian needed to pass some test set by Daniela Moretti—the daughter of a rival family—and he chose the cruelest way to prove himself. He ripped the hearing aids from my ears in front of everyone and laughed. "You're just a deaf, useless burden," he said, his voice cold and cutting. "I've been sick of you for years. Honestly? I wish you'd died in that explosion when we were ten and saved me the trouble." I gripped the rehabilitation report the doctor had just handed me, and my fingers crushed the paper's edges. The diagnosis was precise—my hearing had fully recovered. That night, I burned my hearing aids and convinced my parents to cut all ties with the Falcone family. Adrian Falcone, we're done. Whatever we had, whatever you owed me—it's over now.

I married Don Caspian Serrano. The King of the New York Underworld. But I didn't know his ex-wife took more than just full custody of their daughter. She extracted an ironclad vow from him. Every quarter, he had to take them on a two-week vacation. All over the world. Right under the eyes of the Five Families. She called the shots. She wanted to prove one thing: the alliance between Serrano and her family was bulletproof. So on my wedding night? I slept alone. For three years, he missed every single anniversary. Until this year. His daughter sent me a prank gift. I tripped. I rolled down the stairs. Blood soaked the rug. I was hemorrhaging. Miscarrying. The doctors wouldn't operate without Caspian's approval. I called his encrypted line over a dozen times. He finally answered. His voice was exhausted. Annoyed. "Aria. Are you really making up this sick lie for attention? Framing my daughter?" "I just landed in Vegas. Tonight decides the survival of the West Coast syndicate. I am not ditching them for your petty games." "And another thing. Schedule your surgery tomorrow. Make sure you can't get pregnant. I swore a blood oath to her family. The only heir to the Serrano empire will ever be Nora." So that was it. Even if I wasn't bleeding out. He never wanted my baby. I hung up. Calmly. I touched my empty stomach. I signed the surgery consent form myself. He was loyal to his vow. Loyal to that woman. Fine. I didn't want to be his Donna anymore.

The entire New York mafia world knows that Don Alessandro of the Rossi family takes a brutal punishment from the Council every year just to marry me. Because the Rossi family has a strict rule: all marriages must be approved by the Council. Yet, for three years in a row, Alessandro submitted our marriage application, and every time, it was rejected! The first year, he was locked in solitary confinement for three days and nights. The second year, his back was whipped raw. The third year, he even knelt in a torrential downpour to beg for their mercy. I always thought it was my fault, that I just wasn’t good enough to meet the Council's standards. It wasn't until the fourth year that I found out all those rejection letters from the Council were forged by Alessandro himself. And the reason was Mia—his secretary who had been secretly obsessed with him for years. "Mia has been by my side for eight years. She took a bullet for me. She held me and cried, saying the day I get married would be the darkest day of her life." "I love Jane, but I just can't bear to hurt Mia." "It just means marrying Jane a little later. She loves me so much, she won't mind." But he was wrong. Even though my heart was breaking, I didn't want this kind of love anymore. I called my father: "Dad, I'm ready to come back to Italy and marry the Don of the Caruso family."

After Stefan Grimaldi's first love died, he hated me for five years. I did everything I could to please him, but he never softened. The only thing he ever said was, "If you really want to make me happy, go die. Go keep Sienna company in her grave." It cut deep every time. I told myself it would always be this way, that he would carry that hatred until one of us was gone. I was wrong. When assassins came for us, Stefan stepped in front of the bullet without hesitation. He went down in my arms. With the little breath he had left, he looked up at me and said, "Annie, if there's a next life, I hope I never meet you again." At his funeral, his father stood over the casket, barely holding himself together. "Stefan, I was wrong. I never should have forced you to marry Annie. If I had listened to you back then and let you marry Sienna, none of this would have happened," he said. His mother turned on me, tears streaming, her eyes filled with blame. "This is all your fault. Every time, Stefan ended up in danger because of you. What have you ever given him besides disaster?" I kept my head down and said nothing. They were not the only ones with regrets. I regretted marrying Stefan too. On the night of the full moon, I climbed to the top of the church tower and jumped. I woke five years in the past. This time, I was done.

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.

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

Lucas Morandi and I ran the biggest arms-smuggling network in Sicily. During one deal, we rescued a kidnapped barista named Chloe Bennett. That naive girl fell hopelessly in love with Lucas. She'd wait outside our villa with Italian pastries she'd baked herself. She'd hang around outside the office with coffee she'd made just for him. Lucas always knocked the pastries and coffee into the mud, disgust written all over his face. "Enough with these cheap little gifts. This pathetic domestic fantasy makes me sick." Then, during a bloody raid by a rival family, Chloe's scream gave away our position. I took a sniper's bullet for Lucas and ended up in a deep coma. Lucas hated her for it. He chained her beside my ventilator and grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to beg for forgiveness. Desperate to atone, she grabbed a shard of broken glass and slit her wrist. At the sight, the cold-blooded Don's eyes instantly filled with tears. He gripped the sharp glass with his bare hand, his voice shaking so badly he could barely get the words out. "You think you can escape me by dying? In your dreams!" She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. The man who had sworn he would never marry anyone but me kissed away her tears. I could only lie in that hospital bed and watch helplessly as something inside me died.

In the eighth year of my arranged marriage to Don Elias Voss, a single remark from my five-year-old son shattered every illusion I'd had about our marriage. At dinner, I was telling Elias about something funny that had happened that week, trying to make him laugh. He didn't respond. Our son, Silas Voss, did. "Mom, Dad doesn't love you. "My teacher says people only smile at people they like. "So no matter how funny your joke is, Dad isn't going to laugh." My smile froze. Elias glanced at him and didn't deny it. I'd heard the same thing from other people over the past eight years. But hearing it from a five-year-old, I couldn't keep lying to myself. I looked at Elias and asked him one last time, "Aren't you going to say something?" He just glanced at me and said nothing. I smiled and stopped talking too. That was the last dinner I spent trying to win his love.

At the underground black market auction in New York, Lorenzo Moretti won a rare red diamond with a bid so high it made jaws drop. The entire Commission was waiting for the other shoe to drop—waiting to see me become a joke. Because in the Moretti family, every time Lorenzo gives away a diamond, it represents another one of his betrayals. White diamonds are hush money to cover up tabloid scandals. Blue diamonds mean he had a "slip-up" at some wild party. Pink diamonds mean I caught him in his private apartment, rolling in the sheets with another woman with my own eyes. But this time was different. It was a rare red diamond. Everyone guessed the Don was preparing to divorce me. Instead, Lorenzo publicly declared his love. He said this red diamond represented a "Blood Oath"—a symbol of his true heart and loyalty to me. He said that from now on, he would return to the family and pledge his allegiance only to me. Everyone congratulated me on finally taming the Sicilian Wolf. I, however, left the signed divorce papers in the safe, and all alone, I left him forever.