Tragic Love Mafia Short Stories & Mafia Novels

I was a slum kid who fell for Damon Vitale, New York’s most feared Godfather. For five years, I was his. I took nine bullets for him. He’d kiss my scars as I bled out for him. Hold me close. Clasp the queen’s necklace around my throat. Then, once I healed, he’d fuck me senseless, with a passion that felt like forever. I thought we’d spend our lives together. I thought he would marry me. But on our 999th night together, he told me he was engaged. To Bianca, a mafia princess from a rival family. I swallowed my tears. He just grabbed my chin, blew smoke in my face, and laughed. "You didn't really think you could marry me, did you, Nora? Let's be clear. We fuck. That's it. You're not a partner. You're a piece of art I collect. A pet I own." A pet. That’s all he ever wanted for me. Instead, I picked up a burner phone. [I'm taking your offer. Three days. Get me the hell out of New York.]

I had been secretly dating Carlo Mandelli, heir to the Mandelli Mafia family, for five years when he finally agreed to marry me. A month before our supposed wedding, I went to discuss the guest list with him, but I overheard him talking to his underboss. "Your wedding to Ginetta is in seven days. What about Alessia?" Carlo's underboss asked. Carlo answered without hesitation, "Ginetta and I grew up together. Our marriage is for the good of the Mandelli family, not for love. I can't make Alessia my wife, but I'll give her all my love. She'll understand. Once the alliance is secured, I'll give Alessia a wedding ceremony of her own." His underboss shrugged and continued, "Then you'd better explain things to Alessia clearly. She's already pregnant, and stress isn't good for her." Carlo smiled but said nothing. Standing outside the door, I stared at the guest list I had just finished writing. I struggled to take in what I had just heard. Carlo had once promised to make me the happiest, most beautiful bride. He'd spent the past month secretly planning the wedding venue. I thought he was preparing a surprise for me, but he had actually been planning his wedding to another woman! Carlo thought I would love him no matter what, but he was wrong. I wouldn't spend the rest of my life with a man who was married to someone else. I decided I would leave on his wedding day and end things for good.

In all of New York, I was the only wife of a Don to get stood up at my own wedding fifty-two times. The first time, the ceremonial gunfire at our wedding triggered a panic attack in Lorenzo's widowed sister-in-law, Sera, reminding her of the day her husband died. Lorenzo made me change out of my wedding dress and stay with her at the old house for three days until she recovered. The second time, our wedding motorcade had barely left the estate when Sera called Lorenzo for help, claiming that members of a rival family had surrounded her. Lorenzo turned the entire convoy around and carried her into the hospital himself. After that, his brother's widow had a new crisis before every single wedding. And every time, Lorenzo would pull me into his arms and explain in a low voice, "Matteo took a bullet for me. I promised him I would take care of her." "Erin, you are the woman I love. She is only my responsibility. Don't make a big deal out of a grieving widow." After the fifty-second time, I finally understood. There was no future in waiting for a man like him. I was going to give him up. In seven days, I would leave for Sicily.

I used to think that what Derek Shelby and I had could survive any test of trust. Then an ambush at the docks nearly wiped out the Shelby family. Vincent Shelby, the old Don, survived an assassination attempt but was left in a coma. Everyone said I was the one who'd leaked Vincent's whereabouts. So the night before our wedding, Derek himself dragged me out of the fitting room in my wedding dress and forced me to my knees. His eyes were bloodshot as he demanded, "Sylvia Loren, I offered to make you the Donna. Why did you betray the Shelby family?" I tried desperately to explain, but he didn't believe a word. For the next ten years, he kept me alive but trapped in his territory, punishing me relentlessly. Then Vincent woke from his coma, and everyone waited for him to condemn me himself. But he struggled to grab Derek's hand and said hoarsely, "Where's Sylvia? She didn't betray the Shelby family. "Back then, she risked her life to warn me there was a mole in the family. "If it weren't for her, I would've died on those docks!" Derek froze. The color slowly drained from his face. Only three months earlier, he'd casually handed me over to the most vicious fighter in the underground ring.

Dominic De Luca always called me by his ex-girlfriend's name. When he cooked, he would call out from the kitchen without thinking: "Bianca, come set the table." The birthday gifts he gave me came with cards that read: "Happy Birthday to my love, Bianca." At first, I used to get angry. I would hold his face, make him look me in the eye, and correct him over and over: "My name is Clara, not Bianca." Every time, he would apologize, and every time, I would forgive him. I left Boston to be with him. I gave up a promotion and moved to New York to start over, because Dominic said he could not handle a long-distance relationship. I thought that meant he had finally chosen me. Until the night he got down on one knee to propose. He looked up at me and said: "Bianca, will you marry me?" That was the moment I stopped wanting to correct him. I just took out my phone and replied to an email I had ignored for an entire month. I accepted the position in London. Dominic did not know yet. The moment he put my engagement ring on Bianca's finger, I had already decided to resign and leave New York. This time, I would not wait for him to explain. By the time he finally learned to say my name correctly, I would no longer love him.

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

I was engaged to Silas, Don of the Vance Famiglia, yet in the annual family portrait, I was shoved into the back corner. Standing right beside him was Camilla, his most trusted Capo. He sighed impatiently. "We have plenty of photos together, Scarlett. Missing one won't kill you. You're the future Donna. Stop being so petty." I swallowed my pride and gave up my spot. But my compromise bought me nothing. The necklace meant for me ended up around Camilla's neck. His plus-one to galas became Camilla. His excuse was always the same: "She's a vital part of the syndicate. You shouldn't compete with her." So, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I stopped being petty. I shredded the wedding planner I had poured my heart into, trashed our photos, and left New York for good. And suddenly, the cold, calculating Don was tearing the city apart looking for me.

I only realized I was the protagonist of a mafia novel after I met my husband, and the mafia boss, Lucien Vaughn, was a traveler from another world. According to the rules of his world, he wasn't allowed to develop romantic feelings for anyone in the story. However, the moment he saw me, he fell in love. And every time his heart stirred for me, he suffered pain so intense it felt as if his soul were being torn apart. He endured it ninety-nine times. Then, one day, I was kidnapped by a rival mafia family and taken to South Merica, where I suffered brutal torture. Yet somehow, I managed to escape and hide in a basement. As I listened to my enemies raging outside and searching for me, I quickly used the secret method Lucien had taught me to contact the world beyond this one. The connection worked, and through it, I overheard a conversation between Lucien and one of his friends from the other world. “Lucien, I thought Olivia was the person you loved most! How could you arrange for your enemies to kidnap her?” Lucien's voice was calm and detached. “I didn't have a choice. If I hadn't done it, then Emily Carter would've suffered in this storyline instead. She’s only a supporting character. She would’ve died. “But Olivia is the protagonist. The storyline will protect her. Once this story’s mission is completed, I'll finally be able to stay in this world forever. And when that happens, I'll make it up to Olivia." Tears streamed down my face. My heart felt as if it had been ripped apart, leaving behind nothing but pain and despair. So, when my enemies finally smashed open the basement door, I didn't struggle or run.

Before our wedding, my fiancé, Carlo Vitale—the youngest Don on the East Coast—held a church ceremony with my stepsister. He said, "According to Mafia rules, only the woman who completes the wedding ceremony with me and receives the blessing of all the family is my true wife. "So even if your sister Elena is carrying my child, she's nothing more than a mistress." After the priest's blessing, they exchanged rings. I stood outside the church, watching through a curtain of rain as he kissed another woman. My face was white. I had loved Carlo for twelve years, from the ages of sixteen to twenty-eight. However, he had only ever had my stepsister, Sophia, not me, in his heart. I chose to let him go. Later, I left for Europe. All I left Carlo was a notice of our broken engagement and a parting gift. For some reason, the man who had always treated me with indifference seemed to have aged ten years overnight.

I had been trying to get pregnant for six months. Ernest Marino, the Don of the Marinos, would personally make me a herbal brew every day to ensure that my body was properly nurtured. He watched me tenderly as I drank the brew and whispered into my ear, "You're a good girl, Mia. You need to drink this, no matter how bad it tastes, for the sake of our baby." When my full black hair started to fall, and my gums began to bleed for no good reason, I found out that it was not medicine I was drinking. It was an immunosuppressant. Ernest had spent six months showering me with adoration, turning me into the perfect organ donor. The herbal brew I had been consuming would make it so that the recipient, his precious stepsister with uremia, would not experience rejection symptoms. He thought that I was a woman who could be treated anyway he wanted. However, he had no idea that I was a Corleone. I was from Severia's oldest, most ruthless mafia family, the Corleones.

My boyfriend, Don Alessandro Moretti, wanted a Donna who never got jealous. Whenever I disobeyed, he used silence to teach me my place. When he started taking his childhood sweetheart, Lucia,everywhere on his arm, I confronted him. He froze me out for a week. At one family dinner, Alessandro seated Lucia at his right hand, the place meant for his future wife. When I objected, he shut me out for two weeks. “Lucia and I are only friends. I love you, Eva.”He told me afterward. “But a Donna must be above petty jealousy.” Every time, I remembered the man I had fallen in love with and apologized first. But this time, two muggers cornered me in a parking lot. Still punishing me, Alessandro declined my call. During the twenty minutes I spent alone at the police station, I finally understood something. There was no future in twisting myself into the woman someone else wanted. I opened the offer from a leading research institute in Zurich wanted me to direct its five-year neuroprosthetics program and signed it. Alessandro thought my silence meant his lesson had finally worked. He didn’t know I had stopped trying to become the woman he wanted. I was leaving in seven days, and choosing my own life.

Five years ago, I finally had my father’s killer at gunpoint—only for my husband, Don Salvatore Rizzo, to pull the killer’s daughter into his arms. "Julia, don't kill her. She had nothing to do with our fathers' feud." My grip tightened on the gun. "Do you know my parents were tied to stones and dumped into the sea because of one lie she told?" Salvatore sighed and pressed down on my wrist. "Darling, calm down. Caterina is just an innocent girl. She was forced into it." To keep me from killing Caterina, he insisted on bringing her into the Rizzo Family. From then on, there was nothing left between us but hatred. Whenever I held a knife to Caterina's throat, Salvatore aimed a gun at my back. When I tore up the gown Caterina's mother had left her, Salvatore made me stand outside all night in the freezing cold. Until today, when Caterina appeared behind Salvatore with a pregnancy report from the Family doctor in her hand. Salvatore shielded her with his body. "She's pregnant. I can't stand by and let you hurt her." Caterina said timidly, "Julia, please. For the sake of the Rizzo heir I'm carrying, put down the gun." I was the biggest joke in the world. I took half a step back and drew the gun at my waist. "Let's play a game. There's only one bullet in this gun." "If I die, no one will stand in the way of your happy little family." "If I survive, let me go."

When I drink the amber-colored poisonous wine, I can hear the joyful melody of a toast song coming from the manor. The wedding between Emanuela Romano and my ex-fiance, Benedetto Martini, is being held there right now. The elderly butler, Vincenzo Romano, puts away the wine glass with a blank expression. The way he speaks is as somber as one sounds when they give a speech at a funeral. "You know the Don's will very well, Ms. Andreotti. Five years are officially up, yet neither Mr. Andreotti, Mr. Martini, nor Dr. Foscari is willing to pledge their loyalty to you via the blood vow. According to the rules, you must take your own life within seven days. "The Don had left the Ashwine to you as a means of protecting… what little pride you have." Scorching pain begins spreading from my throat. I just smile at Vincenzo in return. Pride? Does a bastard spawn of a loose Iernian woman deserve to retain pride of any sort in the cruel Andreotti family? I begin making my way toward the banquet hall, which is brightly lit. As I walk past the shimmering waters of the pond in the family garden, I can tell that the waters are insanely cold. Then again, nothing is as cold as my icy heart right now. After taking a deep breath, I fall face-first into the pond… only to feel an iron-clad grip wrenching me backward. As such, I collapse onto the lawn heavily. My older brother, Alessandro Andreotti, has bits of grass covering his expensive suit. Disgust is written all over his handsome face. "Eva!" he grits out through his teeth, his voice lowered. "Must you spoil the mood on Emanuela's big day?" He then scoots closer to me, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over my face. "You want to die, huh? Go ahead and do that, but can you die somewhere further? Don't stain the Andreotti land!" Alessandro turns to walk in the direction of the radiant lights, leaving me on the lawn, completely covered in mud. I can feel the countdown of my lifespan burning my insides. Seven days… I only have seven days to live. Meanwhile, my very own brother wants me to die somewhere further away.

Whenever they played Truth or Dare, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Clara would deliberately dare him to pull the same prank on me, and Ronan would always willingly play along: he would pretend to propose to me. The last time, I fell for it. I joyfully held out my hand, but a mechanism inside the ring snapped shut, and I cried out in pain. Ronan and Clara doubled over with laughter, ignoring my finger, which had been pinched purple. Afterward, Ronan pinned me against the wall and swore that this year, he would give me a real proposal. So when his bodyguards brought me to the private club where we first met, I changed into an expensive white silk gown, styled my hair, and applied my most exquisite makeup. I even played the touching scene out in my head, imagining myself nodding and saying yes. But as I pushed open the door to the VIP room, my heart pounding, someone threw a full glass of deep red wine in my face. It streamed down my chin and onto my gown. A woman's laughter erupted from the crowd. "I told you Aurora would show up, didn't I? Ronan, you lose!" Ronan walked over, looking resigned. He gently dabbed at my face with a napkin, his tone as soft as ever. "Dressed up just for me? A shame to ruin a good dress." "Clara dared me to bet on whether you would have the guts to come to our turf tonight. I bet that you would. The wager was this: if you didn't, I'd propose tomorrow. If you came, we'd have to wait another year." "Sorry, baby. Since you showed up, I guess we can't get married this year." The wine trickled down my collarbone, cold and sticky. I shivered. Suddenly, the whole thing felt utterly pointless. Our anniversary meant nothing compared to one of their pranks. Just like me. I could never win against Clara, his childhood sweetheart. I unclasped the simple silver bracelet, the one I'd worn for six years, from my wrist. "This is over. We're breaking up."

When I was ten, my father brought a beautiful woman home. She handed me a glass of blood orange juice. That day, my mother signed the divorce papers and later took her own life. From then on, blood oranges became the nightmare that followed me for the rest of my life. On our wedding day, I told Adrian Valenti, “If you ever want a divorce, give me a blood orange.” He held me without answering. From that day forward, blood oranges were forbidden around me. Years later, on Christmas Eve, his childhood friend, Sofia Moretti, left one on his desk. Adrian immediately cut ties with her and removed her from Valenti Holdings. That was the day I became certain he was the man fate had chosen for me. Six months later, I returned from Europe with the billion-dollar Orion Corridor deal. At my celebration, Adrian handed me a drink. After I finished half of it, Sofia stood behind me and asked with a smile, “Does the blood orange juice taste good?” I stared at Adrian in disbelief, but he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t be angry. Sofia insisted on playing a joke.” “I didn’t make you eat a blood orange. I only put some juice in your drink.” “Besides, she’s right. Refusing to go near blood oranges is a problem.” “You were enjoying it before she told you.” I threw the rest of the drink in his face and walked away. Some things were never jokes. Blood oranges were not. Neither was my decision to divorce him.

“System, I want out.” The dressing-room door stood slightly open. Through the gap, I could see my husband holding the foundation’s young assistant against a wardrobe. Her coat lay on the rug we’d chosen together. “Matteo, stop.” She caught his hand, lowering her voice. “The doctor confirmed it. I’m pregnant.” His smile vanished. “You told me birth control wouldn’t be a problem.” “I thought that one time would be okay. I’ll take care of it. Please don’t be angry. Elena won’t find out.” He stepped back and buttoned his shirt, his tone as cold as if she’d botched a business deal. “You think this makes you the next Mrs. Moretti? Violet, you know who that title belongs to.” She fell silent. The System spoke in my ear. [Assessment complete. He still loves you and has no intention of replacing you as his wife.] [Leaving will cause your body in this world to die. It cannot be restored. Do you still wish to proceed?] I watched Matteo reach for her again. “Yes.” [Request accepted. Departure scheduled in twenty-four hours.]

I went to try on my wedding gown with Lorenzo—my fiancé, the Don of the Morretti family. My younger sister, Serafina, begged to come along. I stepped out from behind the velvet curtain. There she was, pinning a brooch to his lapel. I opened my mouth to say, “Let me do that,” but the photographer had already turned to her with a grin. “Newlyweds, look this way.” They both turned. The camera clicked twice, and the photographer brushed past me. Ninety-nine shots. Every single one of Serafina and Lorenzo. Not one of me—the actual bride. I stood there, hollow. When we were children, they always played bride and groom. I clapped on cue. When we grew up, they sat at the head of family councils; I made their coffee and kept the kitchen running. “Vittoria, hand me the veil.” Lorenzo saw I hadn’t moved, walked over, and gently pulled the tulle from my stiff fingers. “Why are you standing there like that? Go check the seating chart with the butler. I’ll join you after we finish Serafina’s shots.” The photographer lifted one eye from behind his camera. “Miss Vittoria, would you step back a little? You’re blocking the light.” I stepped all the way back to the heavy drapes by the window. And right there, it hit me—how absurd this all was. If this political marriage didn’t actually need me, then I didn’t need to show up for it either.

I turned a nobody from the streets into a Mafia, and I defied my papa—a man who loved me more than anything—to do it. For five years, I cast aside the honor of being a Principessa, all for the dream of a life with him. I thought the man I loved was on the verge of becoming the next Don of the Moretti family. But then my papa collapsed during his prayers in the church, suffering a massive cardiac arrest in the one place he believed was most sacred, most safe. Robin was by my side day and night, whispering encouragement. "Isabella, you have to be strong. It's the only way your papa can rest in peace." I was planning our wedding, ready to marry the man I thought I could trust with my life, when I overheard him talking to his mistress, Ava. "We finally got rid of the old bastard." "Once I marry Isabella, half the Moretti empire will be ours.." The five years I had willingly dedicated to him had been nothing more than an incubator for his twisted ambition. I wiped my tears and became the Moretti family's princess once more. I swore I would make them pay in blood. So, on the night before my wedding, I picked up my phone and dialed my brother's number. "Brother," I said. "It's time to close the net."

Wyatt became the Don of the Volkov Family. His first move? Proposing to me at his celebration gala. But I pushed the ring away. "We're done, Wyatt." He frowned. Scoffed. "Over that red diamond necklace? I told you I forgot. Next time. For Christmas, I swear." I nodded. "Yes. Exactly because of that." Two weeks ago, he passed the old Don's final test. Secured a massive arms route. He bought gifts for everyone. Even the new getaway driver got a gold Rolex. But he forgot our anniversary. Forgot the red diamond necklace I always wanted. I tried to brush it off. He promised me. Next time. Then came Sarah. His secretary. She posted a photo on Instagram. A red diamond necklace. The caption? "Best boss in the world. Knows exactly what I love." Wyatt didn't say a word to me. But he liked her post. We grew up in the same orphanage. We only had each other. He protected me from the bullies. Swore to be my shield. Even when the old Don adopted him as the heir, he demanded to take me with him. But things changed. The Cartel, the shipments, the power. Everything became more important than me. Even now. At his own gala. I just rejected his ring. I dumped him. Then his phone rang. Sarah's name flashed on the screen. She needed help. He chuckled. Patted my cheek. Forced the ring onto my finger anyway. He whispered in my ear. "Alright, stop throwing a tantrum. I know you won't leave me. That necklace? ” “Next time, I promise. Sarah's in a little jam. I gotta go." He rushed off. I didn't stop him. The party raged on. I pulled out my phone. Found the Sicilian number I ignored for years. I typed a text. "Grandpa, I'm in. I'm coming back to claim my birthright. See you in Sicily tomorrow." I slid his ring off. Left it on his desk. Wyatt. From now on, we rule our own empires. We owe each other nothing.

My childhood friend promised to marry me once we came of age — but at my wedding ceremony, he gave my wedding ring to my stepsister, Summer Hugh. At the time, it was Victor Lowell, the fearsome mafia heir, who saved me by publicly announcing he had loved me for years. In the five years we had been married, he would fulfill every wish I had, even those I mentioned offhand. I truly believed I was the center of his world. All that changed when I stumbled across a top-secret folder as I was cleaning his bookshelf. The very first page was a file on Summer, with three red words printed in bold, “Top protection priority.” It was followed by a mission report I knew too well. On the night of the mission, there had been an attempt on my life. My blood had almost run dry before I was saved. When I woke up at the hospital, I found out that I had lost a baby I did not know I had been carrying. I wept bitterly in Victor’s arms, but I did not tell him about the baby. I did not want him to worry about me more. Now, I finally found out — Summer had been attacked that night as well, and Victor’s orders had been: “Save Summer first.” My tears soaked into the paper, smudging his handwriting. “Alright,” I said softly but firmly into the silence. “If my marriage had been a lie all along, I’ll disappear from your life. Forever.”