Cerita Pendek & Novel Pregnancy Mafia

At another Sunday dinner at the Bellandi estate, Luca Bellandi's assistant, Ava Marino, was sitting in my seat. It was the first chair to Luca's right at the long walnut table, the seat everyone in Chicago's underworld knew belonged to Mrs. Bellandi. Ava sat there as if she had been born into it, her pale wrist brushing Luca's sleeve while she poured his wine. I stood in the doorway and looked at him. "She's in my seat. You don't have anything to say?" Luca raised his eyes. "You were late. Don't blame someone else for sitting down first. There are empty chairs over there. Sit if you want. If not, get out." The dining room went dead quiet, and before I could answer, his thoughts slipped into my ears. [Vivi, don't go. Come sit beside me. Tell them it's your seat. Tell me you still want to be my wife.] [Please get mad. Please care. Say you need me, and I'll give you the whole world.] In the past, those soft, trembling thoughts would have been enough. I would've swallowed the insult and stayed beside him like a loyal dog that didn't know when to leave. This time, I didn't. I slipped the wedding ring off my finger and laid it on the table. "If the Bellandi family can't even keep a wife's seat for me, then I guess this family doesn't need a wife anymore. Luca, let's get divorced."

On the day the real heiress was welcomed home, my fiancé was already sleeping with her. Staring at the blue pills and torn lingerie scattered on the floor, I told them to get the hell out of my wedding house. But a second later, my father stormed in and slapped me hard across the face. "Who are you to tell her to leave? Bella is our real daughter!" "Elena, you’re just an outsider we took in by mistake. You’re the one who needs to get out." Marco wrapped his arm around Bella, his tone impatient: "Elena, I’m the heir to the Moretti family. I can’t marry a mongrel with impure blood like you. If you don't want to bring shame to the family, be smart and go tell the Don the wedding is off tomorrow." Bella gave a coy smile and tossed a stack of cash at my feet like she was giving alms: "Sister, I know Marco and I hurt you, but we’re true love." "Take this as your severance package. Take the money and get lost." I suppressed my rage and stepped forward to throw these disgusting people out, but Marco shoved me violently. "I told you, I’m not marrying you! Keep pestering us, and don't blame me for getting rough!" My stomach slammed against the table. I laughed out of pure anger. Who said I wanted to marry him? The one I’m going to marry is his father—the Don of the Moretti family, Lorenzo.

I was Damian Valenti’s legal wife. But to the rest of New York, Sofia Bellini was the woman he planned to marry—and I was the pregnant mistress who refused to let him go. Damian said it was only for show. Sofia’s husband had died saving his life, and he had promised to protect her. She needed the wedding and the title of Donna. I already had what mattered: his love, his fortune, and our real marriage. At least, that was what Damian believed. He was so certain I would understand that he spent our seventh anniversary helping Sofia choose her wedding dress. He never noticed that I was in the fitting room beside them, wearing the dress he had once promised to see me in. As Sofia admired herself in the mirror, Damian told her she looked beautiful. I lowered my eyes to the faint curve of my stomach and rested a hand over it. Then I made the one decision he never believed I was capable of making. He could give Sofia my wedding, my home, and my name. But he could no longer keep his wife and his heir.

Everyone knew Elio Carbone, Don of the Carbone family, was a cold-hearted womanizer. He had one rule: never sleep with the same woman twice. But for me, he broke it. The first day after our breakup, he stood outside the old Bianchi estate for a day and a night, his entire security detail in tow, just to win me back. The second day, he flew to Sicily and bought the deed to my family's ancestral estate at auction for triple its value, and had it delivered to me. The third day, he tattooed my favorite flower, the lily, over his heart. The tattoo artist said he refused any anesthetic and didn't make a sound. Later, at a banquet for the Five Families, in front of all the other Dons, he sliced his palm and made a blood oath. He swore loyalty only to Eleonora Bianchi for the rest of his life; if he broke his vow, he would pay with his life. After a year of his relentless pursuit, his devotion finally wore me down, and I agreed to take him back. I truly believed him then. That Elio truly loved me. Until one night. He took me to an underground racetrack to broker a deal with an ally. But in the roaring crowd, I saw a girl, trembling and crying, her clothes in tatters. Ava was shoved to the starting line. She was the wager for the death race. One look was all it took for Elio's face to darken. The next second, he dropped his hand from my waist and, without a word, walked toward the track entrance. I stood frozen, watching his back as he disappeared into the driver's seat of a modified sports car. I used to wake up crying, terrified he would lose his life in one of these reckless races. He had smashed his trophies, burned his marker for the illegal track, and sworn to God he would never again enter such a life-or-death gamble. My hand drifted to my stomach, covering the secret I hadn't yet had the chance to share. His blood oath was broken. And so was I.

Just after leaving the shopping district, six months pregnant, I was struck and thrown to the icy pavement by a modified Bentley. I collapsed onto the ground, clutching my lower abdomen in pure terror, desperately crying out for help. Yet the woman driving the car simply locked the doors and sat comfortably inside, casually touching up her makeup. She dialed her phone, complaining into it without a care in the world. “Darling, I think I hit someone. Some crazy woman is on the ground trying to extort us…” Within minutes, a motorcade from a powerful mafia family sealed off the entire block. Heavily armed men surrounded the scene, forcibly turning away every paramedic and ambulance that tried to get close. Clutching my bleeding stomach, I dragged myself along the ground, desperate to crawl past the perimeter, only to be pinned down hard by two men. “Don gave orders that nobody moves until we figure out what happened.” The woman stepped out of the car, her designer boots clicking against the pavement as she looked down at me with disgust. "If you’re looking for a payout, you picked the wrong target. How annoying.” The call was still connected, and from the speaker came a bone-chilling, familiar voice. “Don't be scared. Stay in the car, and I'll have my men clean up the trouble.” As agonizing, tearing cramps ripped through my stomach, hearing that voice felt like grabbing onto my last lifeline. I let out a blood-curdling scream, shouting his name. “Brett! The 'trouble' you're trying to clean up is your own child!”

My husband Bruno's goomah was pregnant with their second child. At the family dinner, he caressed his lover Ava's rounded belly. "This one will be a boy, the future heir to the Marino family. As my wife, it is your duty to raise him." This was the second time he had openly acknowledged one of his bastards. I didn't make a scene like I had before. I just calmly lifted my head and looked Bruno straight in the eye. Raucous laughter erupted from the family members around the table. "Remember last time, when she acted like a madwoman? Looks like she's finally learned her place." "The Rossi family's businesses have all been carved up. What can she do besides be an infertile trophy wife? She'll be kicked to the curb sooner or later." Bruno's face was expressionless, allowing them to hurl their insults at me. I fought back the tears burning my eyes and even managed a small smile. "Bruno, let's get a divorce." Bruno looked as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world, his lips curling into a dismissive smirk. "Liliana, if you can come up with the hundred million dollars you owe this family, I'll sign the papers right now. Otherwise, stop making a scene." I didn't argue, and just dialed an encrypted number. "I accept the terms we discussed." A lazy laugh echoed from the other end of the line. "A hundred million? Merely the cost of a port. I can have it for you anytime, my princess."

Everyone knew I was severely allergic to cinnamon. Yet when I was four months pregnant, the family’s newly appointed Consigliere personally brought me an apple pie with cinnamon in it. By the time I was rushed to the hospital, I had nearly lost my unborn child. When Damian Luccese heard what happened, he canceled his appointments and stayed by my side, refusing to leave me for even a moment. However, just as he was coaxing me to sleep, his phone suddenly rang. “Don Luccese, Vivian claims the Donna framed her! She’s threatening to kill herself!” Damian’s expression darkened instantly. “She nearly killed my wife and child, and now, she has the nerve to make a scene?” He strode toward the door, only to turn back and press a kiss to my forehead. Guilt filled his eyes. “Honey, I’m going to make her answer for what she’s done. Wait for me.” I waited until the next day, when I was finally discharged from the hospital, yet he still had not returned. When I got back home and stepped into the study, I saw Vivian Sorrento crawling out from beneath his desk. “Donna…” She looked flustered and panicked. “I swear, I had no idea there was cinnamon in the pie! If you still can’t forgive me, I’m willing to resign as the family Consigliere…” Before I could say a word, my husband caught her by the wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve done so much for this family. Until we get to the bottom of what happened, no one has the right to force you out.” His gaze shifted to me, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened. “Elena, something about this doesn’t add up. Don’t worry, I’ll find the person responsible. Vivian was being used too. She’s been so consumed with guilt that she hasn’t slept all night. Please don’t make things harder for her. Can you do that for me?” I lowered my gaze to their tightly clasped hands, feeling the blood in my veins turn to ice. Swallowing back my tears, I said nothing. Instead, I replied to my father’s message: [Dad, I’ve lost. I’m ready to return and take over the family.]

After I was diagnosed with cancer, my family stopped visiting, and the man I had been dating disappeared. Even when I had almost given up on myself, only Dante Russo stayed. He was my childhood friend, the boy who emptied his savings, sold his apartment, and spent ten years dragging me back from the edge of death. By some miracle, I recovered. Soon after, I became pregnant with his child. On the anniversary of our first kiss, I planned to tell him the news and ask when he was finally going to marry me. Instead, I found another woman's pregnancy report in his car. When I confronted him, Dante only sighed. “Serena De Luca is the Godfather’s daughter. She helped me secure the Russo family. If people find out she’s pregnant before marriage, her reputation will be ruined.” “You’re the only one I love. I’ll hold a fake wedding with her first. Once the child’s situation is settled, we’ll get married immediately.” At that moment, the pain was worse than any treatment I had survived. I only wanted to ask him one thing. What was love supposed to mean? Later, while Dante and Serena stood at the altar, Serena’s parents forced me to have an abortion. By the time Dante found out, I had already left.

At 4:00 a.m., my husband, Rocco, gently shook me awake. His voice was a low murmur, . "Alessia, my love, could you do something for me?" But his next words shattered the illusion. "Scarlett is hungry. Go make her some seafood soup." Scarlett was our maid, and she was also Rocco's pregnant goomar. "I just had fresh seafood delivered. Get to the kitchen and make her a bowl of soup. Just for Falcone's heir." I refused, my voice cold. His anger flared in an instant. "Don't be so unreasonable, Alessia." "Is it really so hard for you to make some soup?" I shook my head, silent. He stroked my cheek, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. "Fine, Alessia. So you've learned to defy me now." "Think carefully, Alessia. Do you really want to keep your place as a Falcone?" "And your position as the family's lawyer? Think about whether you still want these… then give me your answer." Seeing the arrogance in Rocco's eyes, the last ember of love I had for this man died. I took out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time. "I want out of the Falcone family."

I was his one weakness. Don Alex, the king of New York. And I was his queen. But days before our child was due, I was thrown into the Dockside Deathmatch—a cruel game broadcast for the underground world’s entertainment. The bullets flew, hidden traps lay in wait, and my every terrified, pathetic attempt to survive was broadcast live on giant screens. Then, I heard his second-in-command on the loudspeaker. "Boss, your wife's about to pop. You sure you wanna be here?" I froze. Alex was here? A moment later, a woman’s sugary voice dripped through the speakers. "Forget that bitch. Alex told me the only thing that mattered today was being here with me. Right, honey?" It was Scarlett. The Chicago Outfit's princess. Alex's childhood sweetheart from Chicago, a woman he had always pampered and shown a distinct bias towards. He had turned down her advances for years, but he never refused her whims. Today, she was in a bad mood and insisted on watching the deathmatch, so he was here to keep her company. I screamed for Alex, begged him for help, but he was convinced I was an assassin in disguise. Because Scarlett laughed and said the game needed to be more exciting. So he pressed the button. Vicious patrol dogs hunted me. My water broke, mixing with blood on the ground. I was in agony. The game hit its climax as more dogs and gunmen closed in from all sides. Everyone was betting on who would be the next to die. Alex smiled, his voice a low, careless drawl, "I’ll bet on that filthy pregnant woman to die." He didn't know the truth until I bled out on an operating table, our child dead with me. They say the ruthless Godfather shattered. Broke completely.

On our wedding day, Dante Moretti gave me one rule: spend five million dollars a year. Every last cent. I had already spent too many years being poor for him. We had lived in a basement we couldn’t afford to heat. I had worked three jobs just to buy him a suit that didn’t come from a thrift store. When he reclaimed his family’s empire and became the most feared don in New York, he wanted to give me everything. Then his childhood friend came home. Vivienne Russo called herself a marriage counselor. She gave our marriage a score of zero. “There’s no equality here. You can’t buy a healthy relationship.” Dante canceled my black card, our honeymoon, and even the private prenatal care he had arranged for me. Five months pregnant, I started looking for work again. Then I slipped in the rain. At the hospital, the doctor said my baby was at risk and wanted to keep me under observation. Dante rushed in and held me as if he could keep anything from hurting us. Beside him, Vivienne opened her notebook. “Don’t abandon your boundaries because she cries, Dante. She needs to learn independence. Pay half.” His arms fell away. “You heard her, Elena. Tears won’t work this time. You’re responsible for the other half.” I wiped my face and checked my balance. The money he had left me was just enough for a one-way ticket out.

I tricked my Mafia husband, Damian Moretti. After he left me for Clara one more time, I got him to sign the divorce papers without ever realizing it, and left with his heir forever. - Damian and Clara grew up together. So the day Clara came back, he put her right back by his side. And me, his wife of four years, could only wait for him to have time to come home, wait for him to remember our anniversaries, wait for him to finally figure out the difference between protection and love. After he broke yet another promise to me for Clara's sake, I knew it was time to leave. That night, I put the document in front of him. He'd just finished cleaning up another mess for Clara. His suit jacket still carried the scent of the orange blossom perfume she always wore. He didn't even flip through it. He signed his name on the last page. "Is this urgent?" "Yes." He nodded, didn't even put the pen back in the holder, and went right back to texting Clara. Holding that document with his signature on it, my hand was shaking. But for the first time, I felt free. He didn't know he had just signed our divorce papers. And I had already accepted a position at an overseas research institute. Soon, I would fly to Zurich with the unborn heir of the Moretti family and disappear from his world completely. By the time the legally binding divorce decree landed on his desk, by the time he tore the world apart looking for me. I would already be somewhere he could never reach, starting a new life and a new career.

The day the Thorne family announced our engagement, the New York underworld let out a collective sigh of relief. Because I was set to marry Daemon, the most straitlaced Don in the city, which meant I could no longer be the wild rose who tore up the racetrack. But I resisted with every fiber of my being, finding creative ways to test his limits. During his ten-million-dollar card game with a rival family's Capo, my hand "slipped" and sent a bottle of 1945 Romanee-Conti spilling across the ancient map that outlined their territories, sabotaging the entire negotiation. Daemon, however, just slowly and deliberately wiped the wine from the back of his hand. He didn't even frown as he cleaned up my mess. Then I "accidentally" let my spirited Arabian stallion loose in his immaculately manicured courtyard. The beast went wild, trampling his prize-winning rose garden into mud. But he arrived with his private doctor in tow, crouching before me as his long fingers gently traced the scratch on my arm. "Did the beast hurt you?" Just that one question, and my heart melted completely. "Daemon, I can marry you. But before that, has there ever been another woman who owned your heart?" "I don't share my man. Not in any way." He pointed to his heart, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Before you, this was empty." After we married, the word on the street in New York's circles of power was this: If you angered Don Thorne, his Donna might plead your case. But if you angered the Donna, you were on your own. Even I began to believe that Daemon, that mountain of ice, would eventually melt for me. Until the day I went to find him, clutching a positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy. Only to hear the family's Consigliere ask him, from the top-floor study, what the best lie he'd ever told was. Daemon chuckled and said casually, "She asked me if anyone had my heart before her." "I told her no."

On the day my husband's dying first love gave birth, his father, the Don of the Lupo family, posted ten armed men outside my door. They were on high alert, terrified I might storm the delivery room and disrupt the birth of the first heir to the Lupo family. But I never even touched the door, not even when the newborn's cries echoed down the hall. Luca's mother, the family's Donna, let out a long sigh of relief, her hand tightly gripping the woman's on the hospital bed. "Bianca, we're here. That barren woman, Stella, won't lay a finger on you or my grandson." Luca leaned over, gently wiping the cold sweat from Bianca's brow, his eyes filled with tenderness. "Don't worry, Father's had his men lock down the entire private hospital. If she dares to cause a scene, I'll have her struck from the family records myself." Only after confirming I wouldn't show up to make trouble did he finally relax. He didn't understand. In his eyes, he was just honoring a debt, giving a dying woman a child to carry on her name, helping his first love fulfill her final wish. Why couldn't I just be graceful about it? Why couldn't I see the bigger picture? A satisfied smile touched Luca's lips as he gazed at the swaddled infant. He was even thinking that if I would just swallow my pride, admit I was wrong, and show Bianca a little kindness, he would forgive my previous coldness completely. He'd make it up to me, even offering me the hollow title of the child's mother, allowing me to keep my position as the Underboss's wife. But what he didn't know was that I had already signed the divorce papers my lawyer had drawn up. In a week, I would cut all ties with the Lupo family, take the twins growing inside me and walk away. We would never see each other again, not in this life or the next.

"Give me a baby, sweetheart." My husband, Don Nico, whispered, kissing me as he drove deep inside, making us come together. I rested in his arms, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs. He was crazy for me. A month later, on our anniversary, I gave him his wish. A positive pregnancy test. I drove to his private casino, ready to give him the surprise of his life. But I stopped outside the VIP room. The door was cracked open. I heard him bragging to his men. "The wedding's in a week. Scarlett still has no idea she's been sleeping with both of us." He gestured to the man beside him. A mirror image. His twin brother, Marco. "Last time, she was all over him, begging him for a baby." A low rumble of laughter went through the room. My blood ran cold. Someone piped up, nervous. "But Boss, what if she finds out?" Nico just scoffed. The sound was pure ice, pure control. "What's she gonna do? She has nothing without me. I gave all her best work to Bianca. She's the art world's new star. Scarlett's career is dead. I killed it. Her only choice is to be a good little Donna and beg for my scraps." That casual cruelty… it shattered my heart. He destroyed me for another woman. Played me for a fool. Any love I had for him died in that instant. I pulled out my phone. I found the message I'd been ignoring. The curator offer from that top European foundation. I typed my reply: "Yes." He thought I was his to break? He was wrong. In seven days, I would be gone. Vanished from his world for good.

On our tenth year anniversary, I'm making out with my husband, Don Raimondo Brocchi, in his office. Just as I'm about to secretly slip the pregnancy report into his hand as a surprise, his secretary, Anna Altamura, walks into the office. We're forced to stop our makeout session. Meanwhile, Anna shoots me a provocative look before she begins chatting with Raimondo in fluent Italese. "Don Brocchi, who do you like more in bed? Me or the Donna?" Raimondo lets out a soft chuckle. The vibrations of his voice makes my back crawl with numbness. "You, of course. After all, you're younger and tighter, amore. Meanwhile, Cassia is already 30 years old." Haughtily, Anna picks up a document before returning to her seat. What they don't know is that my Nonno hails from Sicaria. That means I understand each and every Italese word they just said. After forcing myself to calm down, I locate the invitation mailed from Anworth Institute that comes with a permanent position in my inbox. Then, I key in a short response to the person in charge. I agree to travel to the institution. Before my trip, I will make sure to terminate everything that belongs to me.

This is the ninth year Dante and I have honored the Month of No Masters. The Corinni family's heir apparent believes this will make our relationship last longer. For one month after our dating anniversary each year, he is free, and we stay out of each other's lives. If either of us finds someone more suitable, we are to wish them well. If not, we go back to the way things were after a month. Around me, the men of the family are spraying champagne with abandon. "To another year of freedom! Congratulations to our Underboss on reclaiming his bachelor status!" "The family betting pool is open! Place your bets on the left if you think they'll still get married, and on the right if you think it's over for good!" Through the hazy cigar smoke, I sat on the corner of a leather sofa, a cold observer, as if this whole farce had nothing to do with me. Dante's hand was curled around Scarlett's waist as he brushed past me, whispering, "Don't get any ideas. You'll always be my only Donna." "I'm a kite. No matter how far I fly, the string is always in your hand." I pressed my cold fingers against the gentle swell of my belly, my expression a blank mask. Dante, this time at the family's betting table, I'm putting my money on "the end." I'm going to vanish from your world completely. That kite string you're so proud of? Tonight, I'm cutting it myself.

My husband, the Don, never acknowledged me as anything more than his political bride. From the day we married, I knew there was someone else in his heart, a woman from the slums named Elena. But for the sake of my family's honor, and for that small, pathetic scrap of love I still held onto, I endured everything in silence. Until two months ago. He came home drunk and reckless and lost all control. He kicked open my bedroom door and took me like a man possessed, and the whole time, the name he breathed into my ear wasn't mine. It was hers. But that night left something behind. I was pregnant. I thought maybe this child could be the thing that finally turned us around. So I walked to his study door, pregnancy report in hand, heart full of something dangerously close to hope. That's when I heard his voice through the door, soft and tender, speaking in a tone I had never once heard him use with me. "Don't worry, Elena. Once you have the baby, I'll bring him into the family personally. He'll be the only heir I recognize. As for Jessica..." His voice turned cold and contemptuous. "She'll never have children. For the past seven years, I've had someone slip the highest dose of birth control into the warm milk she drinks every night before bed. She's nothing but a political arrangement. Why would I let her carry my bloodline?" The door opened. He stepped out and saw me standing there, frozen. He assumed I'd do what I always did, scream and cry and demand answers. He had no idea this time was different. This time, I was really leaving.

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.

The day Lorenzo got kidnapped by a rival family, I found out I was three months pregnant. I took the million dollars his father offered, and I ran. The next time we met, I looked him in the eye and told him I'd been a mole for the rival family the whole time. He was chained up in a cellar, staring at me through the iron bars utterly despairing. He said he'd kill me himself, and then grind my bones to dust. Seven years later, when I saw him again, there was a beautiful woman on his arm. They were getting married. And I was so far down I had to beg him for a loan. He pulled out a thick stack of bills. Lit it on fire right in front of me. He said he'd rather burn it than give it to some whore feeding another man. He didn't know I was begging because my son was dying. His son too.