Marriage Mafia Short Stories & Novels

From my earliest memories, my entire family is cold and distant toward me. When my parents look at my younger sister, Claire Lloyd, their eyes fill with warmth and joy. Yet, when they turn to me, only disgust remains. Claire's life is filled with applause and excessive love, while mine is filled with disdain and suffering. When the explosion erupts at the street corner, I save the stranger beside me. Later, I learn he is Byron Whitmore, a mafia family's Don. He begins pursuing me after I rescue him. Later, I quit my job and move to a new place, but he finds me and proposes in 100 different ways. "Why me?" I ask countless times. "Because it's you," he always answers. The wedding causes a sensation throughout the city. I truly seem to have transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan. That is, until I'm five months pregnant, when Claire needs a transfusion of rare Rh-negative blood after a car accident. The blood bank has a shortage. Because of that, my parents knock me unconscious and send me to the hospital. In my daze, the blood extraction machine hums continuously. As two thousand milliliters of blood leave my body, I see Byron. Tears well up in my eyes. I begin thinking he's here to save me. Instead, I hear him say, "We can't take any more. Sharon and the baby will die." "But Claire has lost too much blood. She'll die, too..." My mother pleads. "No one wants Claire safe more than I do." Byron's voice is thick with pain. "She's my first love. I've never forgotten her. I only married Sharon because her face looks so much like Claire's. "But I can't trade her life for Claire's. Trust me—I'll find another way." So, that's his reason for marrying me. The blood extraction machine continues running, but my heart has already stopped beating. The affection I see in his eyes has never been for me. He's always looking through me at someone else. Everyone in the world loves Claire, and Byron is not the exception that I foolishly believe him to be. That grand wedding is nothing but an ugly duckling's self-deceiving fantasy.

My son asked me for something I couldn’t give. “Just three chances, Mom,” he whispered. “If he really doesn’t love us after that… we’ll leave forever.” He was talking about his father — Giovanni Romano. The heir to a Mafia empire. My husband in name only. He never called our son his own. He never once said he loved me. Chance one, Giovanni forgot. Chance two, he lied. Chance three… he broke something no apology could fix. So I packed our bags, held my son’s hand, and walked away. No tears. No goodbyes. Just quiet. The night our plane took off, my phone buzzed. “Wait,” his message read. “I’m coming home.” But home isn’t where he is anymore. It’s wherever my son finally sleeps without crying. Because some promises don’t break — they shatter. And some mothers never wait again.

By the fifth year of my marriage to James Hill, he began pretending to be his late twin brother, the late Don of the family. With that, he took over all of a Don’s duties and the role of my sister-in-law, Hilary’s husband. Every time after he slept with her, he would cut his arm open, kneel before me, and beg for forgiveness. “Pia, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. Once Hilary gives birth to the heir and secures her position, I’ll fake my death and come back for you.” He told me his twin brother had died saving him, so he had to fulfill his brother’s last wish. During the year he pretended to be his brother, James slept with Hilary ninety-nine times. After a full year, Hilary finally gave birth to the family’s heir. I truly believed James would fake his death as promised, then take our son and me away from this bloody life. However, I saw him with Hilary in his arms, teasing the tiny baby she carried. “Hilary, I’ll stay with you and our child until he’s ready to take over as the next Don.” Silently, I wiped my tears and went back to my room to pack my suitcase. My son saw me crying and ran into my arms, gently wiping away my tears with his little hands. “Ma, Aunt Hilary already had her baby. Why isn’t Papa coming home yet?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase as I told him softly, “Because he doesn’t want us anymore. But don’t be sad, sweetheart. I will build us a home.” If James wanted to raise an heir, then I would return to North Atlantis’s most powerful mafia family, take my rightful place as my father’s heir, and become the Godmother of the Mafia.

I went through 100 hormone shots for him—just to finally get pregnant. Five years begging those shots to work—all for Rafe Morello. The Don with ice in his veins... but also the guy who used to wipe sweat off my forehead in the middle of the night. Everyone thought we were goals. Then I handed over my lab results, and the nurse paused, blinking up at me. "Sorry, what's your relationship to Rafe Morello? There's already a pregnancy under his wife's name." I froze. Carmela Vitale. His dead brother's wife. Spouse listed: Rafe Morello. Breathing? Suddenly optional. No tears. No drama. I just slid off my ring and tucked it into my bag. Then I called the number buried at the bottom of my drawer. My voice? Freakishly calm. "Yeah. Three days. Pick me up." It wasn't about revenge. I left because I finally got it—some people, you gotta cut loose if you ever wanna stop bleeding. Three days later, he walked into a silent bedroom. On the nightstand: my wedding ring, the signed divorce papers, and a copy of the ultrasound. He sat on the floor and just... kept rubbing that ring. Regret doesn't knock. It floods. And that night, it drowned every lie he thought he could get away with. That was when he finally figured it out—love could wreck a person worse than hate ever could.

Divorced and remarried—I've lost count of how many times Aaron and I stepped in and out of marriage. He once treated me like something precious, but less than a year after our wedding, he asked for our first divorce. The reason was simple, Vivian was coming back. "Vivian's a public figure," he told me. "I don't want anyone thinking she's involved with a married man." That third-tier actress had nothing but her father's sacrifice to her name. He had taken a bullet for Aaron—a life for a life. And because of that, Aaron believed he owed her everything. Every time Vivian returned to the country, Aaron divorced me. And every time she left, we remarried. The first time we split, I drowned my tears in whiskey and stumbled back to his house half-drunk. The lights inside were warm. He was with her. And I stood outside, shivering through the night. The second time, I tracked his every move—restaurants, auctions, charity galas—just to "accidentally" run into him again. Later, I learned better. The moment he mentioned divorce, I would quietly pack my suitcase and disappear from his mansion. My love and humiliation kept me trapped in that endless cycle of breaking up and coming back together. But this time, when Aaron waited for me at City Hall to remarry, I never showed up.

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn. I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution. He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead." The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat? As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet." Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you. "I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed." Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right. So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker. Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire. When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. He's holding a fake confession letter with my forged signature, storming into my old apartment in the rust district, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he grabs the corner store owner downstairs, demanding to know where I am. The owner pauses, wiping his hands on his apron, calmly tells him: "Serafine? She died five years ago." "Heard it was retaliation from a rival family during the gang war. They ambushed her in an alley... shot her over a dozen times. She died immediately." My husband, Lucien, refuses to believe it. Convinced the owner is on my payroll, hiding me to help me escape his reach. He scoffs, his eyes filled with scorn: "Oh, so what? Because I called her out for messing up that last job, now she's throwing a tantrum?" "You tell her, if she doesn't come back and take the fall in three days, I'll revoke her grandmother's 'special family protection'! Let the old woman rot!" With that, he storms out, his rage still simmering. The owner watches him leave and sighs, shaking his head. "There's no grandmother left to protect... That woman passed away not long after Serafine did... couldn't survive the winter without our family's medical supplies and protection..."

On my birthday, one of my husband’s subordinates leaned close to him and whispered in Russian, “Sasha has a surprise prepared for you tonight.” My husband smiled at me as he finished cutting my cake. Then, in the same language, he replied, “She has quite a few tricks in bed. I’ll see her later. “Just don’t let Madam find out, or I’m afraid I’ll get thrown out.” Everyone around laughed and assured keep it quiet. None of them knew that I’d been fluent in multiple languages since I was a child. What they also didn’t know was that I’d found the hidden phone he kept in the false drawer, where all the filthy videos of him and Sasha were saved. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I contacted a few remaining connections in the Vegas and had them prepare a new identity for me. In three days, Claire Vega would no longer exist, and he would never have me again.

A fortune-teller once told me that my husband would betray me in the seventh year of our marriage. Looking at Mario Brasco—his eyes filled with nothing but me—I couldn't help but scoff at the fortune-teller's words. Everyone knew Mario loved me enough to give up everything. When I caught a simple cold, he abandoned a multimillion-dollar mafia deal and flew home just to be by my side. When I was kidnapped, he took three bullets rescuing me, yet never once thought of giving up. When my sister confessed her love to him, desperate enough to end her own life, he turned her down without hesitation and forced my father to send her overseas. But on the seventh anniversary of our marriage, I received an unexpected email from an unknown sender. After reading it, I asked Mario for a divorce.

My name is Carmela Romano. My wedding to Enzo Moretti, the mafia boss, comes with a price tag of hundreds of millions. The extravagant affair leaves the world utterly astonished. Enzo declares his love with a sky full of fireworks and fills the venue with a million roses. The ten-carat ring on my finger gleams brilliantly, outshining everything around me. Everyone envies our love story. But one day, everything falls apart. After a brutal attack by a rival gang, I suffer a miscarriage. To my disbelief, Enzo is absent, preoccupied with a parent-teacher meeting for Luca Vitale—the son of his childhood sweetheart. After 66 unanswered calls, Enzo finally texts me. "I'm at Luca's parent-teacher meeting. Stop calling me!" "Luca grew up without a father. I'm only helping him this once. There's no reason to make a scene!" Blood seeps out beneath me, and the agony in my stomach is unbearable. I can only sink deeper into despair. The child I've waited for all these years is gone. The snow falls heavier with every passing moment. I close my eyes, yearning to escape this world with my baby. But miraculously, a patrolling officer discovers me, barely clinging to life. When I wake in the hospital, one thought burns in my mind. "I want a divorce. Enzo, I'm done with you."

I’m the best art forger and intel specialist in Chicago. And I fell for the man who owned it all, Don Vincenzo Russo. For ten years, I was his secret, his weapon, and his woman. I built his empire from the shadows. I thought I’d get a ring. After all, every night he was in this city, he was buried inside me, taking his pleasure. He’d whisper that I was his, that no one else felt this good. But this time, after he was finished with me, he announced he was marrying the Russian Bratva princess, Katerina Petrov. That’s when I knew. I wasn’t his woman. I was just a body. For an alliance, for her, he sacrificed me. He left me to die. So I destroyed every piece of the life he gave me. I made one call to my father in Italy. And then, I vanished. But when the Don who owned Chicago couldn't find his favorite toy… he went insane.

To earn a place in the Nostra family, I forge a new identity. The night my lie unravels, Don Nostra looks at me as if I'm dirt at the bottom of his shoe. I press a razor blade to my wrist. "Kick me out of the family, and I'll die right here." "Fine. Since you want to be my wife that badly, I'll give you what you want," Lorenzo Nostra snickered. After that, he brings home woman after woman. He forces me to kneel outside his bedroom door, saying, "Watch and learn. This is how you please your Don." The stinging pain in my knees is nothing compared to the chill in my heart. When he is done, he towers above me. "All this for a title," he says with a sneer. "You really put up with anything." Enduring him becomes the only way I can survive this world. Then, one day, he walks in with a civilian girl named Maria Romano. "Go. Bring her the heirloom Madre left behind," he commanded. This time, I refuse. I turn and walk away, never once looking back. When Lorenzo uncovers the truth, he loses his mind and begs me to come back.

People used to say Pierce Voss, my husband, also the boss of the largest mafia in Kingsburg, and I were the kind of couple others envied. He once lit fireworks across the entire coastline just to celebrate my birthday. He bought me a private island because I mentioned loving the ocean. He made the entire mafia respect me as the most esteemed woman in the world. He shut every woman out of his world so I would never feel insecure. I thought our love was unbreakable. After ninety-nine rounds of IVF, I finally got a positive result. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep the whole night, planning to surprise him at our tenth-anniversary party the next day. But instead, I cut into our wedding cake and found Lena Young’s pregnancy report hidden inside. She fell to her knees in front of everyone, sobbing. “Serena… I have cancer. I don’t have long. Please… let me stay with Pierce for whatever time I have left. Give my child a name.” The room erupted, with gasps, whispers, cruel amusement. And in an instant, the woman Pierce Voss had supposedly adored became the laughingstock of the entire Kingsburg city. The love I had been so proud of shattered like cheap glass. Clutching my own pregnancy report, I held back my tears and prepared to walk away with my baby, far from his world, far from the lies. But before I could escape, someone framed me for harming her. I was thrown into detention for three days. And in those three days, I lost my child. Pierce Voss lost me, and every last piece of love I ever had for him. No matter how desperately he begs later, there is no returning to who we used to be.

I had personally trained Damiano Vestri and brought him up the ranks to become the mafia’s Don. The family’s inner circle accepted him, and he was loyal only to me. Whenever bullets went flying, he would always shield me and take many of them for me. The night before our wedding, I waited for his return, but what I got was news of his death. A week later, I received an email with a pregnancy report and a photo. The photo showed Damiano caressing another woman’s belly. It turned out he had faked his death so that he could be with his first love. The due date for her pregnancy was approaching. I scoffed and clicked the safety off on my gun. If he wanted to fake his death, I would help him turn it into a real one.

On the day that was supposed to be my wedding—the bride wasn’t me. The ceremony I’d waited for five years for turned into a joke when Valentina, my sister, walked down the marble aisle in a white wedding dress. Her arm was linked with Luca’s — the man who was supposed to be waiting for me at the altar. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she said softly. “But you are no longer the bride today.” Then she touched her stomach, eyes gleaming with triumph. “I’m pregnant with Don Romano’s child.” Her words detonated inside my skull, and the whole world went silent. As if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she lifted something glossy up towards the light. A black-and-white ultrasound image. It read clearly: Gestational age — 12 weeks. My eyes burned, tears stinging as I turned to Luca, desperately searching for anything—a denial, an explanation, regret. Instead, he only sighed, weary and resigned. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” he said helplessly. “Valentina doesn’t have much time left. This wedding… it was her last wish.” “I’ll make it up to you,” he added. “We can have another wedding later.” My father, Moretti, stood behind him, wearing the same stern expression he’d worn my entire life. I have never seen him smile at me, not even once. “Bianca,” he said sharply, “Your sister is dying. Let her have this.” My brother nodded without saying a single word, as if that was enough to be a solid answer. All my life, they had chosen her—her tears, her whims, her needs—over mine. Today was no different. Something inside me quietly cracked. Fine. If no one in this family cares about me, I’ll leave.

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, the groom's name was swapped out. The woman my boyfriend was now promised to—the pampered mafia princess nestled in his arms—looked at me with a triumphant smile. "Isn't it perfect?" she sneered. "A fraud of a bride for a fake heir. What a match." I ignored her and turned to the man I loved. This was the man who endured three days of brutal punishment just for the right to marry me, when the Rossi family first acknowledged him as their true heir. Now, he just nodded along with her. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? It's just a piece of paper. Once Sienna's had her fun, you two get a divorce, and then it'll be our turn. I promise." I smiled. Then I turned and walked straight to the so-called "fake" heir. "The marriage license is filed, honey," I said. "Let's go plan our real wedding."

My mafia boyfriend, Silas Vale, didn’t recognize me when I dragged myself back to him after being tortured and shot by his rival gang. He was too busy holding Amy—his childhood sweetheart—in his arms. “Get this woman away from me,” he snapped at his guard. “Amy’s afraid of blood.” I’d lost so much blood I genuinely thought I might die that night. But luckily, a stranger passed by and rushed me to the hospital. When I finally recovered enough to walk, I went home—only to find Silas there, completely unconcerned about the fact that I had disappeared for almost a week. And Amy was there too. Her clothes were scattered across the floor. I didn’t confront Silas or say anything. I just pulled out my phone and called my brother. “You said you are moving to Italy? I’m coming with you.” If Silas couldn’t cherish me the way he was supposed to… then I’d vanish from his world for good this time.

My husband is the Don of the entire New York East Coast Mafia. For ten years, I dimmed my own light to be his perfect silent partner, the dutiful wife who gave him the perfect heir. I thought we were the lovers who wou ld die for each other. Then came a mere associat. My husband and son had formed an alliance with the woman who seem want to take my place. But they just said, "Elena, you have the crown and the kingdom. She has nothing but us. Be generous." So, to make her smile, my husband trampled on my dignity again and again. To please her, my son affectionately calls her "Mom." In their eyes, I was the iron wall, the woman who would swallow any insult for the sake of the family honor. Until the fire. My husband locked me inside the burning room, to let me "reflect" on my jealousy. He didn't know that the fire didn't kill me. But it burned away the last ash of my love for him.

In order to protect me, Don Salvatore deliberately announces that my fiance, Simone Pozzi, is his long-lost son. Simone shakes with excitement when he sees the man in a bespoke suit stepping out of the Rolls-Royce that is parked outside my house. Just as I'm about to tell him it's all a lie, he shoves me aside. He even brushes his sleeves in disgust, as if he has touched something filthy. Simone says, "Stay away from me. Don't let your poverty rub off on me! Since I'm the Don's son, we'll call off our engagement. An illegitimate bastard like you isn't even fit to wipe my shoes!" When I try to explain, he cuts me off by writing out a check and flinging it hard into my face. The sharp edge of the paper slices across my cheek. "Take this one million dollars as our breakup fee and don't bother me again. We're no longer from the same world," Simone says. I watch the check flutter down into the mud and quietly turn off my phone screen. On the screen is a message Papa—Don Salvatore—has just sent me, "Just bear with it a little longer, Principessa. Papa will bring you home soon to take over the famiglia." Simone is so determined to cut himself off completely. He might have the luck to claim a fortune that big, but not the life to enjoy it.

I am the most secret Principessa of the Sicilian "Shepherd" Mafia. For my safety, my identity was a closely guarded secret since birth. I lived in the shadows, leaving the outside world entirely ignorant of my true standing. On my wedding day, my mafia fiancé allowed his female bodyguard to feed my family's heirloom token to his dog. He mocked me for coming from some "backwater" family, claiming I wasn't worthy to be his bride. He even threatened to wipe my family off the map.. Looking this, I simply made a single phone call. Moments later, armored vehicles crashed through the estate gates, and our family’s chief Consigliere knelt me in front of the terrified crowd:"Principessa, your father sent us to bring you home." It was only at that moment that my arrogant fiancé finally understood. The woman he had humiliated was the sole heir to the "Shepherd" family that controlled the European arms trade. But it was too late for regrets.