Familial Bond Mafia-Kurzgeschichten & Regret-Kurzromane

When an attacker threw acid at my face, Mom was attending my cousin Celeste's family induction ceremony. But that day was my eighteenth birthday too. As I lay dying, I used the last of my strength to send her a voice message. [Mom, help me... I'm on the West Side. Someone is trying to kill me.] Her reply came almost immediately. [Stop using these tricks to compete with Celeste for attention, Emilia. I know exactly what you're like.] That same night, the Don summoned Mom back to the Romano estate to investigate an unidentified body found on family territory. The victim's face had been destroyed. Chemicals had eaten away the fingerprints on both hands. Mom led the security team through three days and nights of investigation. From the evidence, she concluded that the victim had been tortured for hours and had died fighting, terrified and utterly without hope. She cursed the killer's cruelty and swore she would make him pay. But she never recognized the body lying in front of her as the biological daughter she hated to mention. Me.

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

Before my wedding, my parents and my best friend shoved me into the storage room. “Stay hidden and keep quiet. Wait for the Godfather to come find you. That’s the only way you’ll find happiness!” I curled up in the corner, waiting from dawn until nightfall, but no one ever came. Just as I was about to push the door open, I realized the storage room had been locked from the outside. I pounded on the door with all my strength, smashing at the lock until my hands were covered in blood. But when I finally made it to the wedding venue, I saw my twin sister wearing my wedding dress, her arm linked through my fiancé’s as they prepared to walk onto the stage and exchange their vows. “Are you sure this is okay? I’m afraid my sister will be angry.” Beth shyly leaned into Edward’s arms and whispered. My best friend, Alice, laughed. “What are you afraid of?” “You were the one who fell for Edward first. You’re just taking back what was always yours.” “Besides, she’s locked in the storage room right now. She’ll never find out!” Edward nodded and tightened his arm around Beth’s waist. “Let’s just think of it as fulfilling the marriage we never got to have. She deserves it.” My parents watched from the side and let out a wistful sigh. “If it weren’t for Monica, this wedding would have been Beth’s in the first place.” “I wish more than anything that Beth and Edward could be together.” I stood frozen in place, cold spreading through my entire body. So everyone had been in on this deception, while I was the only one kept in the dark. If that was the case, then I wanted nothing to do with this fake marriage or this fake love ever again.

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

According to the Moretti family's rules, my twin sister Chloe and I were supposed to inherit our grandmother's trust when we turned eighteen. But the night before the trust was unlocked, my mother came to us with red-rimmed eyes and told us the family was three million dollars in debt. We needed to pay it off immediately. My fiancé Damian held my hand and moved our wedding date up to the end of the year. He promised we'd face it together. That night, Chloe and I both signed the waiver. Three days later, I got my Harvard acceptance letter with a full scholarship. I rushed home early to share the news—and walked straight into the living room projector still running. On the screen was a group chat I'd never seen before. It was called "Protect Chloe." [Did she sign?] [She signed. She voluntarily gave up her inheritance. Everything belongs to Chloe now.] [That's what Chloe deserves. Vivian's the older sister. She should be the one to give in.] [She doesn't need that much money anyway. She'll have the Salvatorre Donna title soon enough.] Because I was born ten minutes before Chloe, my parents had always favored her. And now, even my fiancé had chosen her side. I didn't say a word. I confirmed my Harvard enrollment and booked a flight to Boston. They thought I'd do what I always did—get angry, cry, then come crawling back. But this time, I was really done with them.

The Cecil family has a century-old rule: on the day a daughter marries, her father gives her a list. It lists the names of twelve bodyguards her father has trained for her since she was a child. They will serve the bride for life as her last line of defense in her husband's household. My twin sister Valentina and I married on the same day. At the ceremony, she held the contract, which was covered in red handprints. Our father patted her shoulder. "I chose every one of them for you. If anyone mistreats my darling girl, these men will make them pay." Our mother beamed. "Valentina will always be the treasure of our family." All I received was a single flimsy, worthless sheet of paper. It didn't even bear a seal. "Father, where is my list?" His gaze darted away for a moment. Then he looked back at me, his expression brazen and self-righteous. "Your sister is marrying Don Moretti's oldest son. The Moretti family is one of Sicily's most powerful Mafia families. Of course she needs more men. "I added your twelve men to her list. She needs twenty-four guards to make sure no one looks down on the Cecil family." Our mother backed him up. "The outsider you're marrying can't even fire a gun. Why would you need bodyguards? Stop thinking only of yourself." I looked at the worthless sheet of paper and smiled bitterly. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

On Christmas Eve, my mother sent a long gift list to our family group chat. It had everything from sports cars to diamond necklaces. I was full of anticipation, but when the gifts were finally handed out, I realized the sports car was for my brother, Luca. The rest—the diamonds, the Hermès bags—were all for Mia. Mia was our family’s adopted daughter. Her father used to work for my Papa and took a bullet for him. Because of that, the Sterling family had raised Mia as their own flesh and blood for ten years. Not a single gift was for me. When I asked my mother about it, she stated the obvious: "Julian is your fiancé. He’ll have something prepared for you." "Mia is so pitiful for losing her father because of us. We have to give her the most love, right?" I wanted to scream that I needed gifts from my family too, but I kept my mouth shut. I looked over at Julian, only to find he hadn't gotten me anything either. Instead, he was smiling, handing Mia a custom gown he bought for her. Sitting on the sofa at the edge of the grand hall, watching them, it finally hit me: there was no place for me here. Looking down at my phone, I signed an overseas deployment contract with Doctors Without Borders to a field hospital in Colombia. Five years. No returning home. I decided to leave for good, and never come back.

Bianca and I were switched before birth. She became the beloved daughter of both families. I became the girl neither one wanted. Every month, I carried a suitcase between two guest rooms while Bianca kept a bedroom, parents, and a place at the table in both estates. Then Bianca was diagnosed with a deadly blood disorder, and both families demanded that I become her stem cell donor. There was only one problem. My donor screening showed that I might be seriously ill too. They refused to read my medical report. They called my nosebleed an attention-seeking stunt. Then they forced me to voluntarily surrender every claim to both families before they would pay for my tests. The next day, I learned the truth. I had acute leukemia. Bianca had never completed the examination required to prove she was sick. I sent both families the evidence. They still didn't believe me. When they asked what I thought, I smiled and agreed to let them fly Bianca to Europe for treatment. They praised me for finally learning. While Bianca received treatment overseas, I suffered a fatal brain hemorrhage alone. As I took my final breath, I couldn't help wondering. Would they finally regret never thinking to spend more time with me?

My adopted sister, Bianca, screwed up. Big time. It was at a charity dinner. Hosted by the Vitiellos. The most powerful Mafia Family on the East Coast. She spilled hot coffee on the Vitiello boss's sister. Right into her eyes. Almost blinded her. Massimo went ballistic. He’s the cold-blooded Don who runs the whole damn coast. He wanted a hostage from our family, the Costas. Within five days. Or it was war. My mother grabbed my hands. Her eyes were red and filled with pain. “Bianca didn’t mean it. She’s terrified. She’s hiding in her room, shaking so hard she can’t breathe. Valeria, you're tough. You can survive this. Just go to Massimo for a few days. I swear I'll get you back.” My twin brother sighed. “That Don is a psycho. Bianca is too delicate. She wouldn’t last a day. You’ve always been the strong one. Just… do this for her.” Even my fiancé, the man I’ve been engaged to for years, held me. He whispered, “Baby, just take the heat for her. Once this all blows over, I’ll give you the biggest wedding you’ve ever dreamed of.” What a joke. I wasn’t even at the party. But I was the one paying the price. So I gave them what they wanted. I walked right into the Vitiello estate. And then they regretted it. They cried, and begged me to come back.

I'd been married to Lucas, the Don of the Mitchell family—the biggest crime syndicate in the country—for six years when I found out he'd given my own daughter to his savior to raise. I was about to confront him when he beat me to it, asking for a divorce. His savior didn't have much time left. Her dying wish was to become his Donna. "She ended up like this because she saved me. Her last wish is just to be my Donna. You understand, don't you?" "Don't worry. You'll always be my only Donna. Once this is over, we'll remarry right away." I'd lost count of how many times he'd sacrificed me for her. So I nodded calmly and signed the divorce papers. Seven years of love. Nine hundred and ninety-nine disappointments. I was done standing by his side while he repaid his debts. I sent one message: "Help me plan a fake death. A plane crash." The day he slid the Donna's ring onto his savior's finger, I boarded that plane. If he wanted to marry another woman, then— I didn't want him anymore.

On my tenth birthday, my parents, the Don of the Falcone family and his wife, were murdered in a targeted hit. Because they took a sudden detour to pick up my custom birthday gift, they drove right into a rival syndicate's fatal ambush. My brother, Vincenzo, blamed my childish demands for their deaths. When Vincenzo took over as the new Don, his first act was to banish me to a remote convent to do hard labor. For eight whole years, he never visited me once. When I died on the operating table in the family hospital, he was standing guard right next door. He was watching his adopted sister, Lucia, get a heart transplant. He had saved her from a street shootout years ago. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard him comforting Lucia through the wall. He told her not to be afraid and promised to save her. The last words he ever said to me were, "Are you faking a cough or fainting this time? Do not bother me unless you are actually dead!" Twenty-four hours later, a nurse finally found my body lying in a pool of blood. No one ever came to claim me. What my brother didn't know was that my heart would keep beating inside Lucia's chest forever.

The Cassano family has a strange tradition. Any man who wants to marry me has to go into a dark room with my father for his “test.” Only the ones who pass get to be with me. But over the years, I’ve had several boyfriends, and every single one of them came out of that room a different person, with murder in their eyes. My fifth boyfriend, Dominic, scoffed at the idea. “It’s just some old-school scare tactic.” “I love you, and I want to marry you,” he promised. “Don’t worry, baby.” He went in. When he came out, he looked at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “You filthy bitch. I can’t believe the Cassano family even lets you live.” He lunged at me, his hands wrapping around my neck, trying to kill me. I closed my eyes in despair. I don’t understand. What the hell is in that room? Why does everyone who enters come out wanting me dead?

On the way to my wedding, our car was ambushed. The guards rushed me and Camilla to our family's private clinic. I was bleeding heavily. Blood completely soaked my bridal gown. My mother Alessia holds absolute power over the family. She took one cold look at me. Then she turned around and called in the top trauma team. She made them examine Camilla over and over, all for a minor scrape on Camilla's forearm from a stray bullet. "Camilla's wound is in plain sight," Alessia snapped. "If this leaves an ugly scar, how will she ever stand among high society?" I begged her to stay. She just brushed me off without a second thought. "You are my flesh and blood. You should be tougher than this. If I save you first, the men will think I am playing favorites with family." "Once I take care of Camilla, I will see to you." She walked away without looking back once. I could feel my life slipping away from me. Weakly, I grabbed Dominic. He had just stripped off his leather gloves. "Dominic, save me... the broken steel beam from the door stabbed right into my chest..." Before I could finish, he shoved my bloody fingers away with pure disgust in his eyes. "You were curled up in the reinforced armored back seat. Camilla was in the front passenger seat with zero cover. How could you be hurt worse than her?" "Gianna, drop the sick jealousy. Do you have to fight Camilla for attention every damn time?" He turned and walked straight into the sterile trauma room. He forgot. When the gunfire erupted, he was the one who yanked the steering wheel to shield Camilla next to him. He swung the car around. He made the back seat take the full hit from the truck. I took every ounce of the deadly impact meant for her. Alessia even cut off the ER doctor during his critical report. She yelled in his face. She accused him of acting along with me to beg for attention. Then she ordered everyone to treat only Camilla's "severe trauma." My vision began to darken. The twisted steel beam bit deep into my ribs.

Nine months ago, my younger sister Bianca and I were kidnapped at the Chicago docks. She saved me from an attacker. But when she woke in the hospital, she couldn't remember who she was. Instead, she believed my fiancé, Adrian De Luca, was the man she loved. My family begged me to play along until she recovered. “It's only an act,” Adrian promised. “Once she's better, everything goes back to normal.” Because Bianca had saved my life, I agreed. Then our engagement trip to Sicily became her recovery trip with Adrian. She moved into the lakefront safe house Adrian and I had chosen for our marriage. My fingerprint access was erased, our bedroom was redecorated for her, and my clothes disappeared from the closet. Everyone made the same promise: once Bianca’s memory returned, they would give back everything that belonged to me. Nine months later, she walked down the aisle at the Blackstone Hotel in the ivory wedding gown made for me. Adrian stood waiting at the altar, and the De Luca family crest bracelet he had given me was fastened around her wrist. My mother leaned close. “It’s only a wedding staged for her treatment. Don’t make a scene.” I looked at the bracelet. Someone had resized it to fit Bianca perfectly. That was when I understood. No one intended to give me my life back. I didn’t argue or cry. I opened the London partnership offer I had rejected nine times and accepted it. My flight left in four days. This time, they would learn how to live without me.