Mafia Mafia Short Stories & Regret Novels

After I moved into my new apartment, my neighbor, Bianca Ferraro, started showing up at my door every evening for a free meal. I lived alone and always cooked more than I needed. For the sake of keeping the peace, I did not mind sharing. That changed one workday at 3:00 am, when someone pounded on my door and yelled, "Open up! My boyfriend's waiting at the bar downstairs. Make me a cheese platter and open a bottle of red wine. I need to bring it down." I opened the door, still half-asleep, and stared at Bianca standing in the hallway. "You're serious?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't act like it's such a big deal. It won't even take you that long." My temples throbbed. "I'm not your personal chef. Why would I make you food at 3:00 am?" Instead of apologizing, she crossed her arms and scoffed. "No wonder you're still single. You can't even do someone a small favor. What guy would put up with someone like you? “My boyfriend's the most powerful mafia boss around here. One phone call from me and you won't be living on this street anymore." Well. She clearly had no idea that I was the Principessa of this city's most powerful mafia family. Never mind the apartment, the entire street belonged to me.

The Norman family had an unwritten rule. Only the Don's daughter could inherit the family business. As the Don's first adopted daughter, I had the whole family on my shoulders: the docks, the casinos, the arms trade, 72 crews, and more. Too bad I didn't know the first thing about the business. So the Don sent his advisor, Oliver, to handle everything for me. Every gun and drug deal crossed my desk, and none went through until I signed off. But in ten years, I never even opened the books. And the golden lion seal, the symbol of the Norman family's power? I'd press it into wax without a second thought. Over time, I had less and less say in the family. There was even a saying going around the family that the golden lion seal was worth less than a penny in the gutter. I didn't care. I kept doing whatever I wanted. Then Oliver decided to marry Mia Nolan. I was happy for him, and I even gave Mia the family's three most profitable casinos as a gift. But after the wedding, she sold all three of them. And that wasn't all. She wanted to freeze my accounts, and she slapped an asset transfer agreement down on my desk. I stared at the bill and the transfer agreement for a long time before it sank in. She doesn't actually think that just because Oliver has run things for me for ten years, the Norman family belongs to him, does she? I'm the one who renews his appointment as advisor every year with the golden lion seal. If I don't stamp it, he's worth less than a dog.

Everyone knew Andre Marino as the Don who kept business separate from his personal life. I couldn't call him unless it was business. If someone wronged me, I couldn't ask him to step in. We'd been together for five years. He'd taken a bullet for me. When we were trapped with no way out, he'd given up his chance at rescue so I could get out. He'd done everything a man could do for someone he trusted with his life. But I couldn't walk in and out of his study as I pleased. Every time I needed him, I had to wait outside the door for a long time. Andre said the study was his private space, and he had to keep things above board. I had to wait at the door for a full hour so everyone could see he wasn't playing favorites. Only then could I knock and go in. Then one day, I came back from picking up a shipment and stood outside his study, waiting to report in. The wind had turned my nose bright red. His second-in-command, Nora Russo, walked straight in, wearing his trench coat. She glanced back at me and said casually, "Annie, don't blame the Don for not letting you come and go as you please. He's big on rules. Business is business. Personal matters stay out of it." "Then why can you come and go?" I demanded. Nora twisted her family signet ring on her ring finger, a knowing look in her eyes. "Our families go way back. We've always been allies, always fought side by side. He's even got my last name tattooed on his chest." One of the men behind me gave a fake cough. She scoffed. "What? Am I wrong? She has no say in the business, and on the personal side, she can't even get through his door. Other than taking care of Andre's needs in bed, what good is she?" The door opened. It was obvious Nora had made herself at home. Pink, the color he hated most, now covered every wall. I stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, I let the question drop. If he couldn't give me the love I wanted, I knew what to do. I'd go to the man who was willing to make an exception for me.

Seven years into my secret marriage to Leon Ferrante—Don of the Ferrante Family—and he still wouldn't make it public. Before the vows, I was his Consigliere. Every arms deal went through me. After? Just another housewife. Swapped my holster for an apron. Kitchen counter became my war zone. He didn't want kids. Said he had to take care of his autistic little brother. I got it. So I gave it all up—for his Family, for that kid. The Family blew up fast. The kid? Went from blank stares to sharp comebacks. Even started talking. But Leon still kept me in the dark. His mother wouldn't quit. "Give him a healthy heir. He'll settle down." I thought maybe she was right. I clung to him for a few nights. I got pregnant. Came home with the results, ready to tell him— Then I heard his "autistic" brother ask, clear as day: "Papa, are you gonna divorce Anna and marry someone else?"

What's the first thing you'd do if you were reborn? Me? I'd start by divorcing my husband, Finn Gallagher. Yeah, Finn Gallagher, the same man who runs half the underworld from behind closed doors. The Don. The richest man alive. The man women dream about; his face plastered on magazines, named "Sexiest Man Alive" five years in a row. In my last life, I tried everything to make him look at me like I mattered. I married him. I gave birth to his son. I swallowed every ounce of pride, trying to be the perfect wife. However, it didn't work. To him, I was no different than a waitress he might casually tip—forgettable, replaceable, invisible. So this time, I'm not begging. I'm not pretending. I'm handing Madeline Brooks the key to my place in his life, and walking away. She's Finn's first love, and also the shadow that haunted every day of my last life. Now Madeline was sitting opposite to me, blinked at me like she didn't hear me right. "You tried so hard to push me out," she said slowly, eyes narrowed. "Now you want me to be with Finn?" "Yes. That's all I'm asking. Just talk to Finn. Tell him to sign the divorce papers." I looked at her confused face and kept going. "Everyone knows I'm the last person who'd ever let Finn go. So if I say I want a divorce, he won't believe me for a second. But you? You're the one who can make that happen... aren't you?" She laughed, because she was finally getting her chance. I laughed too, because I was finally free.

The year I turned 20, Vincenzo Romano, the Don of the Romano family, suddenly confessed his feelings for me beneath the August meteor shower. He said he'd secretly loved me for years. I looked at his jaw, clenched so tight it looked unnatural, and said yes. For five years, he spoiled me rotten. Whenever he came home from a trip abroad, he brought me a bouquet of pink myrtle. Whenever we made love, he kissed the tip of my ear and called me his "little princess." Then one day, I overheard his right-hand man, Dario Bassi, talking to him. "Are you really going to keep up the act with Enora? Didn't you only get with her back then to make Lyla jealous? "Lyla's divorced and back now. You can drop the act, can't you?" That night, I opened the locked drawer in his study. He'd once told me it held little reminders of our love. Instead, I found his keepsakes from Lyla Ferraro: a watch, emerald cufflinks, a sandalwood rosary... Each piece was engraved with their initials. There was also a stack of love poems in Latin, written in his own hand. They were passionate and lyrical, nothing like the calm face he showed the world. Every one of them was addressed to Lyla. Five years. Five years of lies, shattered in seconds. I quietly booked a train ticket to Geneva. In two days, I'd be out of Vincenzo's life forever.

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.

Five years into our marriage, my mafia Don husband finally offered to throw me the wedding ceremony we never had. Before I could even feel a ounce of joy, our four-year-old son, Leo, was already glued to his father, Sean, eagerly discussing every detail of the wedding. "Daddy, I want to be the ring bearer! And we have to let Aunt Celine wear the prettiest dress to be the maid of honor!" "The wedding dessert has to be Aunt Celine's favorite cherry pie." My husband agreed to every single request. Then, he picked up his phone and called the "Aunt Celine" our son spoke of—his childhood sweetheart. He carefully asked about her other preferences. They looked like the real family of three, finalizing the wedding's time, location, and even the style of the wedding dress. After being left out in the cold for three hours, I finally couldn't hold back and questioned them: "I'm the bride. This is my wedding! Why are all the arrangements catering to someone else's preferences?" But Sean just furrowed his brows impatiently, his tone laced with reprimand. "Why are you so ungrateful? If Celine hadn't rushed you to the hospital back then, you and the kid would be dead." "It's just a wedding. Do you really have to be this petty? As long as you're the bride in the end, what does it matter?" Looking at our son beside him, who nodded in total agreement, I suddenly lost all strength to argue. So, in their eyes, I owed Celine a life debt for the rest of my days. If that was the case, then I would just hand over my husband and son as repayment.

The Vale family was the most powerful mafia syndicate in the New York City. And I—along with a few other carefully chosen girls—had been handpicked to join their ranks, trained from the ground up so that the next head of the family could choose his wife from among us. Wife. That was the kinder word for it. The truth was whoever got picked would become his shield, his weapon, his most loyal protector. Someone who would kill for him. Die for him. Years passed. One by one, the others fell away. In the end, only Elara Quinn and I remained. And then, Elara died—killed on a secret mission. After that, there were no more choices left. I became Adrian Vale’s wife by default. I had given everything to Adrian. And I loved him. I thought he loved me too until I took a bullet to the chest—meant for him. As I lay there, barely breathing, I heard Adrian talking to his assistant, “Don’t bury her in the Vale cemetery. My half is reserved for Elara.” That was it. Elara—who had never even lived long enough to marry him—still had a space carved beside him in death. I? I had taken the hit that should have ended him… and yet I wasn’t even good enough to be buried near him. I slowly closed my eyes. And when I opened them again, I was back on the day the Vale family formally announced Adrian as their new head. The day everything began.

When I was three months pregnant, my Don husband’s so-called step sister, Ruby, showed up at my door. Her swollen belly was impossible to miss, “Donna, since my due date is so close, I thought you should know… the Don’s heir is in my belly.” She laid everything in front of me—intimate photos of her and Caleb, records of the weekly money transfers he sent her, even the deed to a mansion. The earliest dates traced back to the time I lost our first baby, when the doctors told me it would be difficult for me to conceive again. All these years, I had been enduring IVF treatments, desperately trying to carry our child once more—while he was fooling around with his so-called step sister. Well, if Caleb wanted another woman so badly, he could have her. I had no intention of staying anyway. I was already planning my leave.

After my fiance’s childhood friend found out I was born with a heart condition, she secretly poured a high-dose energy drink into my champagne. The moment I drank it, my heart started racing, and stabbing pain spread through my chest. In a panic, I tore open my only emergency medication, but the water I used to take it had been swapped with strong lemon water. As soon as I drank it, my face went pale. I lost all strength and collapsed to the ground. “Lemon water’s full of vitamin C. It helps with hangovers and keeps you healthy.” Charlotte Whitmore laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. With her arms crossed, she looked at my fiance, Ethan Cross, the boss of the Rolling Stones. “Ethan, your fiancee’s acting is incredible! “I’ve been a doctor for years, and I’ve never seen anyone react like this to a little champagne and lemon water.” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. The pain made my eyes sting, and I clutched Ethan’s leg. “Honey, please, call an ambulance! I can’t take it anymore…” For a moment, his expression wavered, but the guests quickly cut in. “Come on, stop pretending! Nobody dies from a bit of champagne and lemon water.” “Yeah, you’re just jealous Charlotte got promoted and didn’t want to toast to her.” Ethan’s face turned cold again. He yanked my hand off and stepped away. “Charlotte’s a doctor. You’ll be fine with her here.” I stopped begging and texted my father asking for help.

Bianca is dying. Acute myeloid leukemia, stage three. The family doctor told me on the phone—bone marrow transplant, only option, perfect match. Identical twins share ninety-nine percent compatibility. I crushed the diagnosis report. My name was at the top: Gemma Blackwell. But the doctor trembled, whispering apologies. A clerical error. The sick twin was Bianca. The cure was me. I had to get home. Rain lashed the taxi windows. I rehearsed the scene: Father setting down his cigar, Mother gasping, me explaining the mix-up. The report has my name, but the blood work is Bianca's. I can fix this before it's too late. My phone lit up. Family group chat. Father's message was short: [Gemma is terminal. Bianca forbidden from donation. Family decision.] My blood turned to ice. They had seen the misdelivered file. They thought I was the one dying—and they had voted to let me rot. When I pushed open the door and saw Father, I felt it— the temperature drop, the world freezing around me. Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't stop them. "Father," I said, my voice barely steady. "I have a question for you." He looked up from his cigar, annoyed. "If it were Bianca dying," I whispered. "Would you have made me give her my marrow?" The room went silent. He set down the cigar. A long pause. "No," he said finally. "Of course. We have resources. We would find another donor. We would never ask you to take that risk." I smiled a little. Just a small, sad smile. "Good," I said softly. "That's exactly what you said. Don't regret this."

My little sister had always been too frail to run and play, so I wasn’t allowed to, either. My parents insisted I sit quietly beside her and learn to be a lady. “Be more like Bianca,” Mom would say. “You’re a don’s daughter. Act like one.” But when I wore the same color as her, Dad would tell me to change. “Must you compete with your sister for attention?” Once, I baked my brother his favorite almond cookies. He pushed the tray aside. “Bianca makes these for me. Stop copying her just to get my attention.” Yesterday, he snapped at her for interrupting a meeting. She cut her wrist with a kitchen knife. They rushed her to the hospital. My brother pulled the guards from my studio to protect her at the hospital, leaving me there alone. Men from a rival family broke into my unguarded studio. They took me captive, stabbed me in the stomach, and dragged me down to the basement. I called my brother with trembling hands. “They broke into the studio. I’ve been stabbed… Please, help me.” “Stop lying.” He sounded exhausted with me. “Bianca had a scare yesterday, and now you’re telling me you’re dying? You just can’t stand her getting all the attention.” Then he hung up. The concrete was cold beneath me. My hand went slack. The stairs blurred, then disappeared. I hadn’t lied. All my life, they had treated my pain as another attempt to copy my sister and steal their attention. This time, I died. Days later, when the police called them to identify my body, they were frantic with regret.

My family's driver, Marco, always brought his girlfriend along when he drove me. I put up with it. His dead father took a bullet for my family once. Until today. I opened the door of my custom bulletproof Cadillac. Someone wrote on the inside of the window in red lipstick: "Stay away from my man, bitch." I wiped the smudge off with a tissue. "What is this?" I asked, my voice dead. Crystal sat in the passenger seat. She glared at me like I was poison. "Can't you read?" she spat. "Stay away from my man, you parasite. Buy your own car, you broke bitch." I watched this circus. I said nothing. Marco rushed to my side. He whispered frantically: "Aurora, she doesn't know I'm just a driver. She thinks... she thinks the whole family business is mine. She loves the power. Please." Then came the ultimate betrayal. "I need to take her to Fifth Avenue first. I'll come back for you later." He drove off in my car. He left me in the dust. I stood there and scoffed. I called Cassian, my brother's top enforcer. "Someone stole my car. And my patience is gone. Find them. I want them alive."

Two powerful Mafia families controlled Sicily: the Moretti family and the Vincenti family. To survive here, you had to swear loyalty to one side. Three years ago, Luca Romano of the Moretti family was being hunted by his enemies. I hid him, badly wounded, in my wine cellar. That was the only reason he survived. Later, he proposed to me. But on the eve of our wedding, just as the two families were preparing for peace talks, the police set up an ambush at the meeting place. Only a handful of insiders knew the new address, and all the evidence pointed to Sofia Greco, Luca's childhood friend. But Luca burned the evidence and named me as the suspect instead. "You want me to die in her place?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Sofia's father controls the Moretti family's weapons and money. Nothing can happen to her right now. "You've spent your whole life on the farm. You've never been involved in family business. They won't find anything. In a few days, I'll bring you home." Everyone around him acted as if it were perfectly reasonable. "Without Luca, you're just a woman who runs a farm. "If anything happens to Sofia, his whole crew goes down with her. If you're going to marry him, you can take the fall for him this once." In the end, Luca shackled me himself and delivered me to the two families for trial. Everyone was waiting for me to confess. But at the far end of the long table, Don Lorenzo Moretti and Donna Isabella Vincenti—the heads of the two families—rose the moment they saw my face. No one in Sicily knew that the two of them, bitter enemies for more than 20 years, had once been in love. And I was the daughter they'd kept hidden for years.

The day I caught my husband, Soren Calloway, the city’s most feared mafia boss, taking his childhood friend and former fiancée, Celeste Arden, for a pregnancy checkup, I lost control. Celeste had once broken off their engagement and run away with another man. Now divorced and with no family left, she had returned to him. At first, he only wanted to protect her. But every time he protected her, I became the jealous wife who couldn’t accept his relationship with her. I smashed cars and caused scenes at his clubs; even if it meant becoming the laughingstock of the city, I refused to let her snatch my husband from me. It wasn’t until my father became critically ill—and he froze all my bank accounts—that I finally gave in. “You’ll get the money when you apologize to her.” I gave in. But on the day of my father’s surgery, she claimed that seeing me had triggered her panic attack and put her in a bad mood. My husband withheld the hospital payment. “A few hours won’t kill him.” Then he turned off his phone and spent half a million dollars flying Celeste 7,000 miles out of the city to see the lights she wanted to see. That night, Celeste posted a picture of the two of them beneath the lights. “Some people are worth leaving everything behind for.” As I held my father’s cold hand, I booked a one-way flight abroad.

For five years, I believed my husband was a mechanic—until the day that belief shattered. On a luxury yacht, I saw him standing there with our son and my best friend, the three of them together like a picture-perfect family. That was when I learned he was the heir to a mafia family. My best friend was his fiancée. And my son called her Mom. I thought that was the worst betrayal I'd ever know. I was wrong. My best friend faked my son's kidnapping, forced me to my knees in a warehouse, and sprayed chemicals on my right hand, trying to destroy the hand I used to design. I left, burning with hatred, and boarded a flight to Milan. When we crossed paths again, my ex-husband begged for forgiveness, drowning in regret. I turned and walked away. Some wounds cut too deep to ever heal. And I would never beg for anyone's love again.

Before the Visconti family's truce banquet began, only two seats remained empty at the long table. One was at the far end. The other was to the left of Lucas Visconti, the man I'd married under contract. Three months earlier, to settle a blood debt hanging over my father, I'd signed a marriage contract and become the secret wife of the youngest Mafia boss in New York. According to the seating chart approved and sealed by both families' consiglieri, Sophia Vitali, their negotiator, was supposed to sit at the far end. The list hadn't been changed, but the place cards on the table had been swapped. I had just started toward Lucas when he looked up. "Sophia, take this seat." The banquet hall fell silent. Enzo, the Vitali family's consigliere, stiffened. "Is this a gesture of goodwill, or are we to understand that Sophia is now under your personal protection?" Adrian, Lucas's consigliere, spoke under his breath. "Boss, the official seating chart hasn't been amended. We can still fix this." Roman Hayes, the underboss, also stopped the estate manager from setting out any more silverware. But Lucas overruled the objections. Sophia's brother Dominic had taken a bullet for Lucas six years ago and died of his wounds three days later. "She's here for the negotiations. I take full responsibility." Enzo demanded that the incident be entered into the truce minutes and reserved the right to suspend the talks. Lucas didn't back down. Throughout dinner, he fielded every toast meant for Sophia, using the negotiations as his excuse. When a waiter knocked over a champagne flute and broken glass sliced my wrist, he didn't even turn around. I slipped off the obsidian ring reserved for the Visconti inner circle and set it on the table. Adrian and Roman's expressions changed in unison. Lucas had forgotten the one thing that mattered: the secret wife he'd kept in the shadows was the only person who could unlock every dark secret of both families.

My husband, Charles Marino, sent me three videos in a row to let me know where he was. One was from the docks, where he was inspecting a shipment. Another showed him stepping off the cargo ship. The last showed him arriving at the casino. Each video showed exactly where he was. My doctor glanced at my phone and smiled. "Your husband really loves you. He checks in with you all the time. If I remember correctly, he took a bullet for you four years ago." "Men like that are rare these days. He'd never cheat on you, and he'd give his life for you." I folded the pregnancy test results and smiled back. "He's just changed. That's all." Four years ago, during a shootout at the docks, Charles took a bullet for me. Everyone else was falling back, but he charged in and shielded me with his body. The bullet went straight through his shoulder, two finger-widths from his heart. That fight cost me the baby I was carrying. That was also when I decided, deep down, that he was the one. But less than a week later, I went to see him at the hospital and caught him in bed with my best friend, Susie Clarke. To win my forgiveness, he begged me and hit himself over and over. His wound tore open, and blood seeped out. Before they rushed him back to the ER, he grabbed my hand and whispered, "I'd give my life for you. Why can't you forgive me this once?" "Without you, I'd rather be dead." In the end, I gave in and forgave him. From then on, he always checked in to tell me where he was. I tucked the test results into my bag and told the doctor, "It wasn't easy for me to get pregnant. I'm going home early to surprise him." I could already picture how excited Charles would be. But the moment I opened the front door, I froze. The room was a mess. It was the same scene I'd walked in on in that hospital room four years ago. Now it was happening all over again, right in front of me.

On the night of our anniversary, I had prepared a new set of lingerie for my Mafia husband Joey, but he had prepared divorce papers for me instead. A Cuban cigar was clamped between his teeth, a look of pure entitlement on his face. "Adriana, we need to divorce. Vivian's father is a capo. If I marry her, my future's set." "Look, sweetheart, you're just a broken family's leftover daughter. You should be grateful I kept you around this long." "Once I have the family ring, maybe I'll throw you a few scraps, let you be my little side piece." Everyone expected the daughter of a fallen family to step aside for his ambition, to be the loyal dog I'd been for the past seven years. But that night, I made a deal with the devil. I accepted a match arranged by my family and married the true king of New York's underworld. I vanished from Joey's world completely. Three years later, I returned to New York on my husband's arm. We were there on family business. Dante was called away for something urgent, leaving me to wait for him at his private club. I never expected to run into Joey, the man I hadn't seen in three years. "That's enough, Adriana. Stop with the childish tantrums." "Our son Angelo's almost six. He needs care. I'm being generous, offering you a position as his nanny." I laughed. What was this idiot talking about? He was calling the most feared and revered Donna in all of New York a nanny?