Mafia Mafia Short Stories & Karma Novels

My husband's childhood sweetheart took the Cullinan I gave him for a midnight joyride. One person ended up critically injured. He wired half a million euros from the family account to hire a fall guy, then flew her to Switzerland for a ski trip. I called him from outside the operating room, desperate. "Your father is dying. Authorize the surgery, now!" He laughed, her head on his shoulder in the video call. "Using my father's health to lie? Sofia, you've crossed a line." The line went dead. The heart monitor flatlined. Later, at his father's funeral, he raged, swearing to find the killer and make them pay. I looked at the gathered family elders, then pointed at the trembling woman behind him. "The killer is right there. The one you paid to protect."

When Lorenzo Fontana, the top Don of Bajadoro, posts a massive bounty on the dark web seeking someone to bear him a child, the entire Terella underworld is shaken. "Whoever gives birth to my first heir will become the Donna of the Fontana family." On the night I take the job, soldati press a gun to the back of my head and force me onto a helicopter bound for a snow-covered mountain estate. Just like that, I become one of the 15 candidates. Money is the greatest temptation that the human heart can hardly resist. Within a few months, several women proudly announce that they are pregnant. But they, along with their unborn children, are all thrown off a cliff. The reason is always the same—the child isn't Lorenzo's. Ever since the first scream echoes from behind the estate, I am never able to sleep peacefully again. It is because after a reckless night with Lorenzo, I have become pregnant too. On the day I go into labor and see what I have given birth to, cold sweat breaks out across my body due to my immense shock. At least those women who fell to their deaths gave birth to human babies. I, on the other hand, give birth to three eggs that are as big as footballs!

My fiancé Julian owed $50 million in gambling debts. He and my best friend Chloe drugged me. They sold me to an underground casino in New York. I woke up in a cell. I stared through the iron bars at the man I had loved for five years. My heart broke. Julian thought I would still fight back. He sneered at me through the bars. "Save it. No more tricks. I owe Don Victor $50 million. You’re my only way out." "Victor loves breaking stuck-up artists like you. You think you're so high and mighty? Crawl into his bed and beg. Let's see how he rips off your cheap lace!" "Once he's done breaking you, Chloe and I will get married. We’ll take over your gallery. It’s perfect!" The drugs still clouded my brain. My body went limp. I collapsed on the dirty floor. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Five years of pure devotion. This was my reward. Absolute betrayal. But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know Don Victor. The ruthless tyrant. The mafia boss who ruled the American underworld. He was my father. Ever since my mother died, my father guarded me like fragile glass. He was terrified the world would leave even a single scratch on me. Now, Julian was serving me up like a piece of meat. To please my own father. If he knew I was the one in this cage... Soon, the entire New York underworld would face the Don's absolute fury.

Everyone on the terrace laughed when Mara Brennan slipped her room key into my fiancé’s jacket pocket. “Does she honestly think a room key will make Adrian overlook that face? The Morettis don’t take in damaged goods.” A second later, someone dumped a glass of wine over her head. Mara went still. I stepped in front of the cameras and offered her a handkerchief, but she shook me off. “Drop the saint act, Vivian. You just got luckier with your parents.” The next morning, I woke above an auto restoration shop, unable to lift my left shoulder. Raised scars ran along my neck. An old tablet lit up beside the bed. In the video, Mara kissed an emerald brooch, wearing my face. [That woman in New Orleans actually pulled it off. I gave her my savings, and she put me in your body. Your name, your lakefront mansion, Adrian—they’re all mine. You can spend the rest of your life being the freak nobody wants to touch.] I switched off the video and pressed a hand to my scarred cheek, then laughed. Mara thought she’d stolen the Falcone family’s greatest treasure. She had no idea how long I’d been begging someone to let me out.

In the Cesare family, every bride's wedding gown had to be handmade by an elder. Tradition held that the more elaborate the gown, the happier the marriage would be. My twin sister and I were getting married on the same day. At the fitting, Cersei's gown was breathtaking. Tens of thousands of crystals and diamonds covered its sweeping train. Mom had spent more than six months weaving the delicate lace for her veil by hand. "Cersei, my darling, you look so beautiful!" Mom gazed at her, her eyes filling with tears. "When you walk down the aisle to Antonio in that gown, every guest will be speechless!" Then I looked at mine. The seams were sloppy, the fabric was wrinkled, and there was not a single decoration on it. Worse, it had been stitched together from scraps left over from Cersei's gown. "Mom, Dad, is this my wedding gown?" Dad immediately shot me an annoyed look. "Is there a problem? Your sister is marrying the son of the Di Lauro family's capo. If her gown isn't lavish enough, both families will be humiliated! That bookish nobody you're marrying is just some low-level lackey who opens car doors for his boss. When we met him, he even tried to make himself sound impressive by claiming he owned a startup!" Mom made no effort to hide her contempt. "If you wore anything fancier to marry a man like that, his family would think you were showing off." Cersei quickly chimed in with a smug smile. "Exactly, Lilith. Mom and Dad are only looking out for you. Don't be ungrateful!" "Bookish nobody?" I almost laughed. Raphael was the Don's chosen successor. He simply kept a low profile and never flaunted his position. To outsiders, he described himself only as a businessman. So where had this nonsense about him being some employee who opened car doors come from? "Sorry, Lilith. I happened to see Raphael opening a car door for someone, so I told Mom and Dad what I saw. You don't mind, do you?" Cersei sounded apologetic, but the mockery in her eyes said otherwise. I shook my head

In the third year of my relationship with Dante Santoro, heir to the Santoro family fortune, I got pregnant. The night before the Don's birthday banquet, he finally brought me home as his girlfriend. Giulia Costa, the housekeeper's daughter, smiled sweetly and asked about my food allergies. I mentioned I was allergic to truffles. In the end, every dish at dinner was loaded with truffles. I swallowed my irritation and grabbed a slice of cake that looked safe. Two bites in, I heard her laugh. "I got creative and mixed truffle powder into the frosting. How is it?" Before I could answer, my throat closed up and I could not breathe. Giulia gasped and covered her mouth. "Ms. Leone, your skin is turning purple! Do you have some kind of contagious disease?" Everyone watched as I was carried out like trash. The moment my allergic reaction cleared up, Giulia insisted on helping me pack. I told her multiple times not to touch my ring. In the few minutes I spent in the bathroom, she "accidentally" knocked it down the drain. That was the wedding ring Dante gave me. I lost my temper and confronted her, but Dante just laughed it off. "She's jealous of your pretty ring. Don't be so petty." That night, Giulia brought sleep-aid drinks to my room as an apology. Dante convinced me to accept her peace offering. I drank a few cups and felt drowsy almost immediately. When Giulia walked me back to my room, I told her to lock the door behind her. Ten minutes later, a group of men shoved their way inside and beat my stomach until I miscarried. The baby was gone. Giulia's eyes filled with tears as she claimed she never saw anyone enter. She said I never wanted the Santoro family to have an heir and had orchestrated my own abortion. Dante went white with rage and ordered his men to dump me in the ocean. When I opened my eyes again, it was the night before the banquet.

In the world of crime family, Don Damian and I were known for two things: him for running wild, me for standing by him. Everyone knew I was crazy about Damian. It started when we were kids. I was born with a congenital heart defect. My parents couldn't afford the surgery and chose to walk away. Back then, Damian was just a street-level errand boy whose father had gambling debts. He had no standing, no money, nothing. But to raise cash for my surgery, he volunteered for the most dangerous work the Coronelli family had, the kind where each job was a gamble with his life and every payday came in blood. He clawed his way up. The Don eventually took him in as an adopted son, and I became his wife, just like I'd always hoped. But ten years into our marriage, Damian stopped coming home. I'd sit alone at a table of cold food, calling him over and over. Sometimes a woman's voice would answer in the background. He had a private lounge at the family's club, and there was never a shortage of company. My best friend Vincent couldn't understand it. "Is it worth it? He doesn't love you anymore." I just smiled. "He gave me my life. I know he still loves me." Then Vincent forwarded me an encrypted video. A girl in a hospital gown sat on a hospital bed. At the edge of the frame, a hand with sharp-knuckled fingers reached into the shot, a hand wearing the family crest watch. Their fingers were intertwined. The caption read: [My hero promised to marry me once I'm better!! yay!!] I stared at the screen for a long time. That watch. I knew it cold. It was the one I'd fastened it onto his wrist myself more times than I could count, and there was no way I was wrong.

Grant, the heir to the Bennett family, had been my protector for over a decade. He taught me how to fire my first shot and saved me from every attempt on my life. After someone slipped drugs into Grant's drink at the family gathering, he stumbled into my room, and his icy control shattered. His hands found my waist as he pulled me close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered my name. A single night of drugged passion left me pregnant with his child. When my twin sister, Claire, found out, she left a note and disappeared, heartbroken. After that, I was cast as the cold-hearted villain who drove her own sister away. Grant personally forced the contraceptive potion down my throat and exiled me to the lawless territories beyond our family's control. To make me atone, he abandoned me to fend for myself in that desolate land. I was eventually killed in the crossfire of a mob war. As I lay dying, my mind was flooded with memories of Grant. The troublemaker he always called me was finally gone. He must have been relieved. When I next opened my eyes, I had returned to the morning after that disastrous night. This time, without hesitation, I drank the contraceptive potion myself.

At one of the exclusive private casino parties, my eyes landed on a diamond tiara. The catch? It was the prize for a high-stakes blackjack game. Luckily, poker happens to be one of my many sins. A girl named Elara—whom I once pitied enough to introduce to Throne, hoping she’d land a job—has now declared she wants the tiara too. Naïve. Probably thought beginner’s luck was a real thing. I figured, fine. Let the cards decide. If I win, I walk away with the tiara. If I lose, I’ll find another way to soothe my pride. Easy enough. Thorne, my ever-watchful husband, leaned in and murmured, “Go easy on her.” I didn’t. I won. Beat the dealer faster than her and won the tiara. That girl cried at the table. Thorne didn’t look impressed for once. He rather seemed... irritated. I thought it was for Elara’s sake. Turns out, it was for mine. A year later, same party, different stakes. The grand prize? My own sex video. While holding Elara in his arms, my husband said to me, voice almost amusing, “Don’t you like winning prizes? Then go on. Win our sex tape back.”

After days of torture at the hands of my family’s rival gang, they offered me one last phone call. I called my brother, Matteo. I just wanted to say goodbye—while I still had the chance. “What is it now?” he snapped. “Matteo, I—” He didn’t let me finish. “Fix your own mistakes. Until then, don’t call me again.” Death didn’t hurt as much as those words did. I felt my heart slow to a stop as my brother’s words echoed in my ears. I guess you’re finally at peace now, Matteo. I won’t bother you again. And you’ll never have to see me again.

Inside the Mate Bond Registry hall, our number was about to be called. But just as the clerk was reaching for our file, my best friend Maya held up her phone with a grin. On the screen, clear as day, was the cancellation confirmation. "Oh my God, Elara, you didn't actually think you were getting registered with Lucian today, did you?" "We started a bet yesterday, just to see how long it'd take you to figure it out." "Didn't expect you to stay clueless the whole time. You even wore a dress for the occasion." The people around us burst out laughing. Lucian was leaning back on a bench, completely unbothered, like none of this had anything to do with him. "You've been obsessing over this Mate Bond thing nonstop. You need to relax." "If I don't teach you a lesson now, are you gonna start tracking what time I patrol and what time I get back to the territory?" "Becoming my mate isn't that easy." The laughter got louder. That's when the registration clerk reminded me: "Miss Elara, today's registration window closes in less than twenty minutes. If you need a new number, you should get one now." Maya was laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth. "Hear that? Even the clerk feels bad for you." "Better go line up again. If Lucian changes his mind, you'll really be out of luck." I didn't respond to her. I just stepped away from Lucian's reaching hand, found the registration desk, and got a new number. Then I opened my phone and sent a voice message to someone else. "I lost a bet with my father. Per the terms, I have to marry you." "Bring the family seal and your identity scroll to the Mate Bond Registry. Ten minutes."

The 99th time my fiancé, Draven, hung up on me, I dragged myself to the family's church, my diagnosis of end-stage renal disease clutched in my hand. "Father, I wish to renounce the Rocci family and break off my engagement to Draven Frost." The words had barely left my lips when my parents burst in with my adopted sister, Bianca. My father, the family's Consigliere, didn't hesitate. He slapped me across the face, right there in front of the priest. "Your fiancé is a respected Capo in our world, and you choose to insult him like this!" "You're dragging our family's name through the mud in front of the whole organization!" My mother snatched the diagnosis from my hand, sneering after a brief glance. "Playing sick for attention again, are you? What is it you want this time?" My adopted sister, Bianca, clung to our parents' arms, her voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry, sister. You can have my place at the gala. Please, just stop making trouble for Mom and Dad!" I wiped the blood trickling from my nose and calmly repeated my words to the priest. "I am no longer a daughter of the Rocci family. I am not worthy of an alliance with the Frosts." "I will be dead in three days. I want this engagement broken before then."

The seventh time Dante Moretti served me divorce papers, I was sitting with my son in a cheap diner on Chicago's South Side. I forced a smile and brushed my hand over my son's hair. "Just wait a little longer, sweetheart. This time, Mommy will get custody of you." He stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he looked up and asked, “Mommy, how much do you need to sell me for before you're happy?” Before I could answer, he pulled a handwritten divorce agreement from his backpack and pushed it toward me. "I know you keep fighting Dad for me because you want more money from him." "I wrote the agreement for him. Please sign it. Dad is already tired. Stop making his life so hard." His handwriting was crooked, but every word had been written with care. Dante would give me three million dollars. At the bottom, in my son's childish scrawl, was one more line. [After you take the money, don't bother me, Dad, and Serena anymore. Let us be happy.] Serena was Dante's childhood sweetheart. The woman he trusted more than his own wife. For five years, I had stood against Dante's family, his lawyers, and half the Chicago underworld just to keep custody of my son. For him, I would've walked away with nothing. But the child I had raised for eight years had already chosen another mother. So why shouldn't I give their perfect little family exactly what they wanted?

My adopted sister, Rebecca Lawson, steals the gift I painstakingly prepared for the Don and presents it at a family gathering. Everyone in the room is stunned. So, my parents turned what was supposed to be my engagement party into a celebration banquet for Rebecca. They sit together and raise their champagne glasses to toast her, while I collapse alone in the bathroom, hitting my head and bleeding out. After regaining some consciousness, I use all my strength to call them for help, but only the mafia's consigliere and my fiance—Yves Gilbert—answers my calls. "Tessa, why didn't you come to Rebecca's celebration? She felt hurt by your absence! I know you've always been jealous that she could easily gain everyone's affection, but it's what she deserves. "Quickly come over and apologize to Rebecca. Don't disappoint us any further." Yves hangs up the phone after saying that. I stare at the darkened phone screen with an unsightly smile. They don't know that the gift I have prepared for the Don is still a half-finished product and needs to be repaired. However, I don't have the time to tell them. Because I am about to die of illness.

I secretly sent Lena Parker, my husband Dominic Caballero's mistress, away to Sicara. I'm defying his authority as the Don of Coastwick, New Hudson. That very night, he abducts my parents and younger brother, using their lives to force me to reveal Lena's whereabouts. Dominic pushes his phone in front of me. On the screen, I see my family tied to chairs, the timer of the bombs ticking down. 00:59:59 00:59:58 He sits across from me and taps his fingers softly against the table, like he's closing a business deal. "Alyssa, you have 59 minutes," Dominic says in a calm, almost gentle voice. "Where's Lena?" I freeze, my throat tightening as if strangled. I can't get a word out. This is the third time he's pressed me. The first time, he asked where Lena had gone, but I stayed silent. The second time, he grabbed my chin and said in a low voice, "Alyssa, don't play games." Now, for the third time, he's threatening my family's lives. "Dominic…" I call out, my voice trembling. "They're my family. They're the most important people to me." He chuckles. "Is that so? Then why didn't you think about how important Lena is to me when you sent her away?" I stare at him, feeling how utterly absurd it all is. Important? He told me before that other women were just playthings. Once he got bored, he'd dump them. He swore I was the only one he loved. But now, for Lena, he's willing to kill my family.

Every time my driver took me back to Camorra Family, he brought his girlfriend along. Since she was going the same way, I said nothing. That was until one day when I opened the car door and found a note stuck on my usual seat in the back: "Freeloaders are not allowed in this car. " I ripped the note off and looked at my driver,David. "What is this supposed to mean?" David's girlfriend was sitting in the passenger seat, glaring at me with hostility. "Can't you read?" she snapped. "You've been shamelessly hitching rides from my boyfriend everyday. If you can't afford a car,just stay home. Son of a bitch." I stared at her in disbelief. Before I could say anything,David immediately got out of the car and hurried over to me. Lowering his voice,he explained nervously, "Princess,my girlfriend doesn't know that I'm your driver. She's just very possessive because she loves me,that's why she wrote it ." Then he added, " She feels uncomfortable sitting in the same car as you. I'll take her home first,and then I'll come back for you." With that,David got back into my Maybach and drove away. I stood there, watching my own car disappear down the road, then took out my phone and called the family soldiers " Someone has taken possession of family property without authorization. I need you to come and handle it."

At the party for our first wedding anniversary, I hit the floor—face-first on a red carpet, gasping like a fish out of water. Carlo Pipino, my husband, had his arm draped around Gianna Verde, his childhood flame, sipping champagne and laughing. Gianna knew I was allergic to nuts. So, obviously, she bathed everything in hazelnut dressing. One bite and boom—my throat locked, my lungs lit up, and hives popped like confetti. I reached for my allergy meds—came up with a fistful of melted M&Ms instead. Gianna laughed when she saw my face. "Surprise! Carlo swapped your meds. Seriously, Siena, one nut? Dramatic much?" I slid off my chair, wheezing, while the crowd placed bets on how long my "performance" would last. "Carlo... my meds..." I croaked. "Please. I'm gonna die." He sighed, annoyed. "God, you're so dramatic. Why do women always play dead for attention? You know I love you. Just stop this show already." Right then, my heart shattered faster than my lungs could. I stopped begging. Hit the distress signal. Called my real family.

I’d been dead a month before my family even noticed. It wasn’t concern that brought them to that realization. It was my silence after the so-called “dinner” with Adam Rossi, the infamous mafia boss. My father scoffed like always,“She probably shacked up with that bastard. Too busy spreading her legs to pick up the damn phone.” My sister texted me a photo of them smiling under the Christmas tree, ornaments twinkling like nothing was wrong. Bitch, she wrote. You better talk Mr. Rossi into working with Dad, or you might as well be dead already. And my mother—once the softer one—was now colder than the frost on their windows. “I told you, we should’ve sent Gia to charm Mr. Rossi. Serena always screws things up.” They didn’t think I would die. Not until they found my body—broken, rotten, and forgotten—in Adam Rossi’s basement.

My employees host a savage livestream cursing me out as a cold-blooded Scrooge just because I didn't hand out frozen turkeys for Thanksgiving. What the internet didn't know was that our company, rooted in a powerful mafia family, has one, single, unbreakable tradition for every major holiday: ten uncirculated American Eagle gold bullion coins hand-delivered directly from our private vault. No paper trails, no taxes, no exceptions. As the whole internet was calling for my head after watching her livestream, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I sent out a company-wide memo: "To honor our cherished holiday traditions, the family gold distribution program will be discontinued this year. In its place, to ensure everyone experiences a traditional Thanksgiving, all employees will receive a complimentary, grocery-tier frozen turkey." The memo dropped. The office exploded. A stampede of my employees swarmed my office door, practically on their knees begging me to bring back the gold.

My sister was autistic. The doctors called it "severe sensory overload." The rule was simple: No sudden noises. Ever. So my whole life was set to mute. I never wore heels. I never raised my voice. I wasn't even allowed to laugh. It was all to keep her from having a meltdown. My father, Victor, the Don of the Castellano family, would grip my shoulder. His face was a mask of apology. "Sera, you're my good girl. Protecting your sister is our duty. You're healthy and strong. You can sacrifice a little for her, can't you?" That day, I was on the second-floor terrace and accidentally knocked over a pot of white roses. The sound of it shattering sent my sister, who was sunbathing in the garden below, into a meltdown. For the first time, Victor glared at me like I was the enemy. He roared, "Can't you just be quiet? Do you want to drive her insane?" My sister backed away in terror, right into a glass table, and let out a piercing scream. Victor charged past me, a blur of rage and panic. He slammed into me on the stairs as I was running down to help. I lost my footing and crashed chest-first into the sharp corner of a wrought-iron banister post. Pain exploded in my chest. I opened my mouth to scream, but only silence came out. My family swarmed around my shrieking sister. No one even glanced at me. My lungs filled with blood. I was drowning on the floor. They all thought my sister, the one with autism, needed the family's comfort. They thought I just took a fall. That I could wait. They were wrong.