Historias cortas de Mafia Mafia y novelas ambientadas en Regret

After my younger sister went abroad, I married the mafia Don in her place. Five years after we married, we became each other’s greatest enemies. He hated me for driving my sister away and scheming my way into becoming his wife. I hated him for always treating me as a stand-in, never once acknowledging me in front of the world. My lack of status brought humiliation to my vain parents, and from that moment on, their love for me turned into hatred. In the end, he and my parents left me behind on a snowy mountain while celebrating Christmas with my sister. In the bitter cold, I died together with the child I never got to meet. Meanwhile, my sister basked in everyone’s love and had the happiest Christmas of her life. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister returned from abroad. This time, I would not beg Gideon or my parents to love me ever again.

In my first life, I was finally brought back to the Moretti family as their biological daughter. Then Sofia—the girl they had raised for twenty-six years—died. From that day on, I became the person they blamed. They never threw me out. They simply spent the next ten years making sure I understood that I could have the Moretti name, their blood, and their inheritance—but I would never be the daughter they truly loved. Then our yacht sank. My parents gave me the last life ring. My brother pushed me toward shore until the freezing water took the strength from his body. Before they died, they finally told me the truth. “If we had never brought you back, Sofia would still be alive.” “If there’s a next life, don’t come looking for us again.” I died in that ocean too. When I opened my eyes, I was back seven days before the Moretti family officially recognized me This time, I didn’t go home. I signed the North Star Project agreement instead. In seven days, my identity would be erased from every public system, and I would disappear for at least ten years. My parents were still preparing my recognition banquet. My brother still thought I was only angry. None of them knew I had decided to grant their final wish from our last life. Sofia could remain their only daughter. And I would disappear from their lives completely. Seven days later, a car carrying my identity plunged off a cliff. By midnight, the news was everywhere. Dr. Elena Hale was presumed dead.

The Consigliere—my husband, Sal Barzini—who'd always despised anything soft or weak—suddenly started sleeping with a teddy bear. One button eye missing, filthy as a stray dog, yet he cuddled that beast every night, curled up in silk sheets like a baby returning to the womb. And left me freezing on the edge of the master bedroom. I couldn't stand it anymore. At our son Luca's first-year baptism, I announced I wanted out. Everyone went numb with shock. Sal grabbed a glass of red wine and threw it in my face. "You're jealous of a stuffed animal? Have you lost your fucking mind?" I wiped the wine from my cheek, cold as ice. "You say you want to spend your life with that beast. I'm giving you my blessing."

After the miscarriage, I became exactly the kind of rational, understanding Mafia wife Cillian had always wanted. When I got into a car accident, I handled it myself instead of calling him. I stopped caring about the scent of other women's perfume on his clothes. Even when I saw him drunk, passionately kissing and tangling with his first love, Zelda, in bed, I simply closed the door for them and walked away. But Cillian wasn't used to it. He bought me expensive jewelry and designer bags, throwing grand birthday parties just to show the world how much in love we were... And I only gave him a polite, practiced smile. Cillian looked at me, confused. "Why have you changed? Are you still mad at me about what happened? What do I have to do for you to forgive me?" I didn't say a word. Because I wasn't mad. I didn't love him anymore, so getting angry felt completely pointless. Besides, I had already filed the divorce papers. In half a month, I’d be leaving Chicago for good.

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.

My husband, Vincent Moretti, had a nightmare. In the dream, he'd had a one-night stand at a hotel with a young woman who had a tragic past and no family. When I found out he'd cheated, I tricked him into signing divorce papers and faked my death to escape. Then I vanished from his life for good. After that dream, the Don whose word had once been law in New York became a different man. Every time he went out, he sent me three location updates. Even a warehouse inspection meant getting on a video call with me to prove there were no women around. I laughed and told him he was overreacting. Then, at our third-anniversary dinner, I went into shock after eating the dessert a server had brought me. When I opened my eyes, Lia Romano, the nun Vincent had once rescued, was standing beside my hospital bed. "I'm sorry, Eve. I didn't mean to..." Everyone there thought she was finished. A maid had once left a jar of hazelnut spread on the dining table. The next day, he'd had her thrown into the sea to feed the sharks. This time, he only frowned. "Eve, she didn't mean any harm." "I almost died from that allergy! Vincent! Get her out of my sight!" He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he nodded. That night, I got a text from an unknown number. "Tonight. The Queen's Hotel." "Sweetheart, will you join me for the fireworks? Let me make it up to you." My friends teased me, saying he spoiled me like a princess. I forgot all about that ridiculous dream. Until I opened the hotel room door and saw something I couldn't believe. Lia, who was supposed to have been driven out of New York, was kissing my husband. And he was kissing her back.

Adrian Vale was the Don the whole city feared, and yet he spent three years chasing me, a girl who waited tables. Then, the night before our wedding, my best friend Nina Ashford and I were taken at the same time. With the cold muzzle of a gun against my forehead, I cried out, my voice shaking, “Let Nina go! She’s innocent!” The kidnapper laughed like I’d told a joke. “Innocent? She’s worth a hell of a lot more than you.” My whole body went rigid. The next second he leaned down to my ear, his smile pure malice. “You really think Adrian’s marrying you because he loves you?” “The day you tried on your wedding dress, he was fucking Nina on your bed.” “And that black ring, the one that stands for the Don’s power? He put it on Nina’s finger a long time ago.” I shook my head, over and over, refusing to believe it. But the kidnapper had already stopped looking at me. He dialed Adrian’s number. “Mr. Vale, you need to make a choice. Your bride, or Miss Ashford. Only one of them walks out of here alive.” “Which one do you choose?” In that instant, I forgot how to breathe. On the other end, Adrian was quiet for only a few seconds. Then he said it, perfectly calm. “Let Nina go.”

Seven years into our engagement, Riccardo Mazzoni turns our wedding into a mock divorce ceremony as some kind of sick joke. Instead of screaming or throwing a fit, I simply stand there, calm and silent. And just like that, I'm completely done with him. His men all around us erupt in laughter. "Elena Leone, the Don is just messing with you. You're not actually mad, are you?" I don't say a word. The laughter dies down, and the church becomes dead silent. Riccardo drops his smirk, walks up to me, and gently strokes my cheek. "What's wrong, Elena? Are you really mad?" As I look up to meet his gaze, I suddenly remember the conversation I overheard between him and his men last night. "Don Mazzoni, are you really going through with this? Aren't you afraid Elena will leave you if you make a fool out of her?" Riccardo lets out a scoff. "I promised Sofia Coppola I'd prank Elena at our wedding. Once the prank is over, I'll make it up to Elena with the most extravagant wedding imaginable. "She's been with me for seven years. We love each other too much for her to leave me." Right now, I just stare at him. I then tear off my veil. "A divorce ceremony, huh? Then by all means, continue."

My mother-in-law’s final wish was simple—she wanted one last trip to Hawaii, to bask in the warmth of the sun before her time ran out. But her son, Vincent, didn’t see it that way. He thought I was manipulating her, using her as an excuse to drag him on a vacation he didn’t want. So, out of spite, he refused to grant her dying wish. I begged him. Pleaded. Swallowed my pride and all the hurt his accusations brought. After relentless persuasion, he finally relented. I thought, at last, I could give Lucy the happiness she deserved. But on the day we were set to leave, Vincent was nowhere to be found. And that same day, Lucy suffered a heart attack. She passed away with only me by her side—never getting to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin one last time. And then I saw it. A picture. Vincent, tagged at a luxury resort with his ex. The caption from her read: Thank you for abandoning your job to take me on this trip. You’re the best. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even confront him. I just packed my bags and left. And this time? Vincent found out about the truth and begged me to stay.

Seven years married to the Don, and I was finally worn down. During the family meeting I was buried in the paperwork and didn't notice my coffee cup had left a ring on the table. Elio brought the whole thing to a halt. "Danielle. The coaster. I'm not going to say it a third time." Every capo at the table turned to look at me, helpless. My face burned. Then his secretary, Fiona, reached over with a coaster and knocked the coffee over herself. He was on his feet in an instant, all concern. "You okay? Did it burn you?" I froze. I had never once seen Elio go this gentle in the middle of chaos. Fiona gave a shy little smile and came over to me. "Donna. Your coaster." I looked at that young, pretty face of hers. So it wasn't that Elio had no rules. He just didn't use them on her. I stood up. And with everyone watching, I walked straight out of the meeting room. Elio, I'm done waiting on you.

After ten years’ being in love with Don Bianco, I finally got the chance to take wedding photos with him. My best friend Amy, who facilitated our engagement, also came to help us. When Amy was dressed in her tailored bridesmaid dress, I saw a clear astonishment in Bianco’s eyes. Amy advised to take a photo together as a commemoration, As I stood in my wedding dress as the central one, Amy laughed at herself: “I look like a maid.” Immediately, Bianco dragged me to the edge, leaving the highlight to Amy. The flash lit up, they were the perfect match. When choosing the photos, Bianco required the photographer pick the one with me on the edge as the welcome poster for our wedding. I questioned Bianco: “Why should the middle of our wedding poster be left to another woman?” Bianco glanced at me with a dismissive smile: “You’ll be Donna anyway, sweetheart. Stop being jealous.” “Without Amy, we couldn’t have taken the photo. Picking this one shows our gratitude.” Staring at the photo, I found myself dressed up to the nines, but looked like a stranger. Even standing in the position, I couldn’t own it. I didn’t want to be in the middle anymore.

Just as I was on the verge of miscarriage from a fall, my husband—New York's most powerful Don—was throwing a lavish birthday gala for his childhood sweetheart, Camilla. I called, begging for help, but he dismissed it as a cheap stunt and coldly hung up. As his wife, I bore the honor of being the Donna—yet no one knew I couldn't even scrape together a thousand dollars. All because, to "train" me into a proper Donna, he had handed total control of my life and finances straight to Camilla. Desperate, I begged anyone who would listen. But by the time I finally scraped the money together, my baby's heartbeat stopped forever. After waking up in that hospital bed, I dragged myself back to his penthouse to pack my bags. That was when I stumbled upon the auction receipt for Camilla's birthday gift. A ten-million-dollar mansion in Beverly Hills, plus endless custom jewelry. Just then, his deep, raspy voice drifted from the study next door. He was on a call with his underbosses. "Boss, was Scarlett really at the hospital begging you for a grand?" Cassius scoffed. "Scarlett is my Donna. She has my men guarding her 24/7. How could anything possibly happen to her? She's just pulling a cheap stunt for attention. Camilla is right. I've spoiled Scarlett too much lately. If Camilla isn't strict with her, how is an orphan going to earn the Famiglia's respect? She'll understand my good intentions later." Tears slipped down my face. Fuck his rules. Fuck his Donna. The second the doctor called my baby's time of death, I decided I was out of his life—never to return.

While my corpse was rotting in the morgue, my fiancé, Ron Corleone, was comforting my murderer. Lisa Corleone sobbed as she said, “After we were kidnapped and brought here, Wendy disappeared. We don’t know if she managed to escape. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on going out with Wendy…” Ron’s face was ice cold. “The future mistress of the Corleone family actually abandoned my sister and fled on her own. If she dares to come back, I’ll break her arms and legs and turn her into a maggot that only deserves to live in the dark!” In fact, I did die in some random corner with my limbs broken. The truth about my death made Ron, who had vowed to make me regret my existence, crazy.

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.

My mother is the Royal duchy and I am her sole heir. My mother was once deceived by my father, which nearly bankrupted our family. That bastard father of mine disappeared without a trace, taking the fortune he'd stolen from my mother and running off with his mistress. To prevent me from falling for the same kind of man in the future—to keep me from being fooled and robbed blind—my mother adopted two war orphans. She planned to raise them as potential husband candidates for me. But mother never knew the truth. These two men appeared respectful and obedient to her arrangements on the surface. But privately, they were both infatuated with my maid Josie. They constantly neglected me and made my life difficult, all to win her favor. My favorite, Marcus Reed, even gave up his own last name. He changed it to Josie's—Marcus Thompson. The betrayal cut deeper than I'd expected. Before mother died, she asked me the question I'd been dreading. "Which one do you want to choose as your husband?" But I had heard something interesting lately. There was a mafia heir—Vincent Rossi—who was notorious for his violence. He'd killed innocent people. Years of brutal fighting had left him severely injured. The doctors said he had less than six months to live. The mafia Rossi family wanted to marry him to a noblewoman before he died. I didn't hesitate to reach out to him. I offered an alliance through marriage. To my surprise, the Rossi family agreed. But on my wedding day, Marcus and the other candidate burst into the ceremony. They begged me to reconsider. "Please, don't do this!" Marcus shouted, his face desperate. "You can't marry him!" I stood there in my wedding dress, looking at the two men who had spent years ignoring me for my maid. Now they wanted me back? How interesting.

My fiancé’s childhood sweetheart had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had a month left to live. Even though I disagreed, he still temporarily left me to accompany her in completing her bucket list of a hundred wishes. Three days before our engagement, I held the pregnancy test in my hand, wanting to tell him he was going to be a father. Instead, his childhood sweetheart posted a photo on her social media: “Thanks to Leo for spoiling me. I have no more regrets in this life.” In the picture, Leonardo was personally slipping a ring onto her finger. That ruby ring was a dying keepsake my mother had left me, and a priceless family heirloom. Before he left, he said he wanted to take it to the snowy mountains to pray for blessings on our marriage. I commented on her post: “Wishing you both a happy marriage.” Leonardo called me almost immediately: “Elena, don’t provoke Liliana.” “You will be my Donna. We have the rest of our lives. She doesn’t have much time left.” I smiled and told him it was fine. Because I had finally come to my senses: our lifetime would always be tainted by Liliana’s presence. If that was the case, neither I nor our child wanted him anymore. After getting my ring back, I was going to leave this place.

My husband, Matteo Bellini, runs New York's underworld. Everyone said I hit the jackpot when he married me. On our wedding night, right after we made love, he brought in Aria. She was a custom-made AI maid worth millions. Matteo said she had the most advanced lie-detector system in the world. One lie, and I would pay. He kissed me. "My mother betrayed my father. He told me women are all liars. I want to believe you're different, but you have to prove it." From that day on, Aria became my living nightmare. Every time she said I was lying, I got punished. Even when I told the absolute truth. It was always hard slaps and the cold water cell. I cried and begged him. I swore I would never betray him. Matteo just looked at me with cold eyes. He said his expensive AI never made mistakes. To him, I was just a liar. Then came the family yacht party in international waters. For once, Matteo brought me and Aria along. I've had severe phobia of water since I was a kid. I stared into the pitch-black ocean. I clutched my aching chest and shook my head in pure terror. Aria pulled up her cold data screen. "The madam is in perfect health. She is only throwing a tantrum." Matteo's face went cold. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the edge. "Still lying! You're jumping today!" The moment I hit the water, my heart felt like it exploded. The pain tore through me. I couldn't breathe. My vision faded to black, but his voice cut through the wind: "This will teach you the price of lying to me!" Tears of blood rolled down my face. Matteo, I'm dead now. I'll never make you mad again.

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."

Three months since my husband, Julian Moretti, disappeared. I walked into his favorite den, the grief so deep it stole the air from my lungs. I just wanted to breathe him in, to find any trace of him that was left. Then I heard it. A familiar laugh. And the soft moan of a woman. Through a crack in the door, I saw him. My husband, the man "missing" for three months, had his hand tangled in another woman's hair. "Baby, just a little longer," he said. "Soon as I siphon enough cash from the family's books, we're gone. You and me." In his arms was Bianca, from the Rosso family. "What about your wife?" she purred. "Let her play the grieving widow. She's nothing without me anyway." My fists clenched. The world went quiet, my blood turning to ice. The next day, I put the word out to the entire Family. "I'm holding a memorial mass for my husband." At the service, he stormed in, a ghost returned from the grave, roaring that he was alive and there to take back what was his. But I was standing next to his uncle, Dante Moretti, and all I did was stare him down. "Then explain," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Explain the woman. Explain the money. Explain your betrayal... to the Family. And to me."

I gave Adrian Vale eight years of my life. Eight years of waiting,forgiving,and pretending it did not hurt every time he chose his pride,his career,or his childhood friend over me.He always said he loved me.He always said marriage was only a matter of time.But somehow,that time never came. At my best friend’s wedding,when the bouquet finally landed in my arms,I gave him one last chance.One sentence was all I needed. Instead,Adrian took the bouquet from me and handed it to another woman. He thought I would cool down,come back,and wait for him like I always had. But he forgot one thing. I was Elena Moretti,and when a Moretti woman stops waiting,she does not look back.