Melodramatic Mafia Short Stories & Regret Novels

I was eight months pregnant when I slipped in the bathroom. I lay bleeding on the floor, unable to move. My Apple Watch sent a fall alert to my husband, Gabriel, the mafia don. I waited on the cold tiles for forty minutes. He never came. A maid bringing my dinner heard me calling for help. She called the guards, who broke down the door and rushed me to the hospital. When Gabriel arrived, he held my hand. “I’m sorry, Nora. I won’t let this happen to you or our baby again. I promise.” After I came home, he replaced the tiles in every bathroom so I wouldn’t slip again. Everyone said he loved me more than anything. But we both knew where he’d been during those forty minutes. He was at his late brother’s wife Celeste’s house, taking care of her son, Aaron. Before I fell, he’d sent me a text. “Aaron fell. I need to go check on him.” When my alert came through, he tapped to confirm he’d seen it. Then he went back to cleaning his nephew’s scraped knee. He thought I’d forgive him like I always did. A month later, he was about to name Aaron his heir until our son was old enough to take over. He sent the butler to bring us down for the announcement. The butler returned with divorce papers. “Don, I’m afraid Donna has already left for Zurich.”

On the night of our seventh anniversary, I was pulled into an emergency C-section. Before I could scrub in, my director caught my arm. “Gianna, the woman on that table is under the protection of a man powerful enough to ruin this hospital by morning. Do not make a mistake.” I glanced at the patient chart and frowned. Men in our world including Enzo were all obsessed with their wives. How could a man like that possibly have another woman he cherished? The surgery went well. Clean incision. Clean closure. No complications. I had barely exhaled in relief when a swarm of men in black dragged me to my knees outside the recovery room and forced me to my knees outside a private recovery suite.

I was packing up to leave work when the shooting started in the neighborhood. The company sent out a mandatory evacuation notice: everyone had to be out of the building by six, no exceptions. Before leaving, one of my coworkers asked, "Chiara, want me to drive you home?" I waved it off. "Leo says he's five minutes out." At five that afternoon, I could hear scattered shots in the distance. I called my boyfriend, Leo Bianchi. The call didn't go through. The last message in our thread was from half an hour earlier. He'd said he was five minutes away. I figured the shooting and lockdown would slow traffic a little. At half past five, the perimeter outside the building was breached and the power was cut. I was the only one left in the office. I called Leo again. This time the call went through, but Lena Pisani, his coworker, answered. "Chiara? Is that you?" I hesitated, caught off guard. "Where's Leo?" "He's driving. He can't really pick up. We're on our way to my place. Leo said it wasn't safe for me to go back by myself. "Oh, and he said he messaged you half an hour ago, telling you to find somewhere safe. You made it home, right?" The gunfire outside was deafening, and I slowly went cold inside. For three years, every bit of Leo's attention had gone to his new coworker. And whatever feelings I still had for him finally burned out. "Yeah. I'm home." A home he would never be part of again.

The day I buried my mother, my husband, Luca, the Don Ricci, conveniently disappeared. Later, my best friend, Annie, sent me a video. In it, she stood beside Luca in a hospital room while a doctor confirmed her pregnancy. Luca looked… happy. Radiant, even. The baby was theirs. Then another message came. Annie’s voice, “Sis, looks like you failed—just like your mother did against mine.” I had always known my father cheated on my mother and had a child out there somewhere. I just never imagined… it was Annie. That night, Luca came home—with Annie by his side. I said only four words. “I want a divorce.” Luca refused, saying I wouldn’t survive without him—but it was just gaslighting. In truth, he couldn’t afford to lose me or my family’s power. So I called one man Luca hated most in this world—his uncle, Stefan Ricci. The man who once stood equal to Luca in the race for power… If Luca believed he could humiliate me and still keep me tethered to him—his perfect little guarantee to the Don’s seat.… Then I could just as easily make another man take his place.

At my wedding rehearsal dinner, a photo of me and my fiancé’s older brother—naked in bed—was displayed in front of everyone. I said it was a setup. Jason, my soon-to-be husband and the Don of the Vale, said, “I trust you.” He erased the footage—and married me anyway. For two years, he kept me hidden while my stepsister, Nerissa, stood beside him in public. He said it was to protect me—so I believed him. I believed him even when the rumors said he was sleeping with her, even when he introduced her as his Donna… until today, when I found them in bed together. Jason didn’t even stop kissing her when he saw me. “Do you like this anniversary gift, Alina?” That was when I finally understood— Jason had never believed me—and the reason he still married me wasn’t love. It was punishment.

I've been married to Elliot Graves, the mafia drug lord in NYC, for the past eight years. But today—on our wedding anniversary—I received a photo of him with my best friend, Lila, celebrating as if they were the ones married. And in her arms was my son, Owen. I stared at the image, then typed out two words in reply. “How perfect.” Half a hour later, Elliot stormed through the front door. His voice thundered through the hallway. “Why do you always have to be so bitchy to Lila?” Owen, my own little boy, shoved at my leg and glared. “Bad Momma,” he said. “I wish Miss Lila was my real mommy.” I didn’t flinch. I simply walked over to the drawer, pulled out the crisp stack of papers I’d long prepared, and dropped them on the table with a quiet finality. “Alright,” I said, my voice calm. “It’s all my fault. Now, can I go?”

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.

My husband, Charles Marino, sent me three videos in a row to let me know where he was. One was from the docks, where he was inspecting a shipment. Another showed him stepping off the cargo ship. The last showed him arriving at the casino. Each video showed exactly where he was. My doctor glanced at my phone and smiled. "Your husband really loves you. He checks in with you all the time. If I remember correctly, he took a bullet for you four years ago." "Men like that are rare these days. He'd never cheat on you, and he'd give his life for you." I folded the pregnancy test results and smiled back. "He's just changed. That's all." Four years ago, during a shootout at the docks, Charles took a bullet for me. Everyone else was falling back, but he charged in and shielded me with his body. The bullet went straight through his shoulder, two finger-widths from his heart. That fight cost me the baby I was carrying. That was also when I decided, deep down, that he was the one. But less than a week later, I went to see him at the hospital and caught him in bed with my best friend, Susie Clarke. To win my forgiveness, he begged me and hit himself over and over. His wound tore open, and blood seeped out. Before they rushed him back to the ER, he grabbed my hand and whispered, "I'd give my life for you. Why can't you forgive me this once?" "Without you, I'd rather be dead." In the end, I gave in and forgave him. From then on, he always checked in to tell me where he was. I tucked the test results into my bag and told the doctor, "It wasn't easy for me to get pregnant. I'm going home early to surprise him." I could already picture how excited Charles would be. But the moment I opened the front door, I froze. The room was a mess. It was the same scene I'd walked in on in that hospital room four years ago. Now it was happening all over again, right in front of me.

I had just gotten back from the hospital when Mom pulled me into the walk-in closet and held a pale pink couture gown against me. "Try it on. It's from the designer's new collection. We have a major event this weekend, and as the Wellman heiress, you need to look your best." Heat crept into my cheeks. The pregnancy test results were still tucked inside my bag. How could Mom already know? I smiled and nodded. "But Mom, wouldn't white be better?" I ducked my head, a shy smile playing on my lips. The news of my pregnancy was right on the tip of my tongue. "White does look prettier. Soren has such good taste, picking that white wedding gown for Daisy. You're the maid of honor, so pale pink is perfect." The smile froze on my face. Just then, Daisy called up from the living room. "Vivian, are you home? I brought my fiancé!" I picked up my phone and stared at the good-morning message Soren had sent me yesterday. "My dearest Vivian, you are the only bride I will ever have." I turned around and saw Soren and Daisy standing in my doorway, wrapped in each other's arms. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Soren, you lied to me.

I’d been dead a month before my family even noticed. It wasn’t concern that brought them to that realization. It was my silence after the so-called “dinner” with Adam Rossi, the infamous mafia boss. My father scoffed like always,“She probably shacked up with that bastard. Too busy spreading her legs to pick up the damn phone.” My sister texted me a photo of them smiling under the Christmas tree, ornaments twinkling like nothing was wrong. Bitch, she wrote. You better talk Mr. Rossi into working with Dad, or you might as well be dead already. And my mother—once the softer one—was now colder than the frost on their windows. “I told you, we should’ve sent Gia to charm Mr. Rossi. Serena always screws things up.” They didn’t think I would die. Not until they found my body—broken, rotten, and forgotten—in Adam Rossi’s basement.

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.

I was the Castell family's designated heir in Rosewick, Delmaris, and my older sister Sabrina had been adopted into the family. So she was overprotective of me. She reminded me constantly, "Avery, you're the family's only heir. It's not safe for you to be out in public." Even my dates with Julian Vescari, the Don of the most powerful family in Rosewick, were things she attended in my place. When the grapes ripened at the estate, Sabrina said the crowds made it unsafe. So she went with Julian to pick grapes instead of me. At family banquets, she said there were too many cameras and it made an assassination too easy. So she linked arms with Julian and gave the speeches in my place. Every time she came back, Sabrina told me gently, "As long as I'm standing in front of you, you can inherit everything safely." I always believed she did it for my sake. Until the day before my engagement to Julian. Sabrina was sitting in the dressing room in the gown I'd had made for myself. As I passed the doorway, I happened to see Julian feed her a peeled grape. Sabrina complained sweetly, "I run around handling everything for the two of you and never get a moment to myself, and one grape is supposed to settle it?" Julian answered easily, "You've worked hard. Ask me for anything you want." Sabrina looked him up and down, and then she smiled. The intimacy between them froze me where I stood and sent a sharp pain through my chest. In that moment I finally understood. This boundary-crossing game they called protection had to end.

I was with Don Silas for seven years. From when he had nothing to when he ruled Chicago's entire underworld. To everyone else, I was just his dirty little secret. His men humiliated me in public. His Commission members spat insults at my face. The few friends who knew the truth couldn't stand it. They confronted him. "Are you really going to let Alessia be your shadow forever? You won't even give her a proper title?" Silas was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was like ice. "Carina's husband was my most loyal underboss. He took a bullet meant for me. The Outfit demands I honor his sacrifice. I have to pay it." "Alessia loves me. A title is just a title. She'll accept it." My friend felt a chill run down his spine. "But I heard your engagement party with Carina is next week. Alessia is pregnant with your heir. What if she finds out..." Silas's voice was sharp. Final. "Alessia will endure it. For me." I stood in front of my apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at a picture of the "Heart of Sicily" on my phone. I felt like a fool. The man who whispered in my ear, promising to place this ring—the symbol of the Family's true Donna—on my finger, was Silas. And the man now preparing to give it to another woman in front of all of Chicago was also Silas. The glittering diamond in the photo felt like it was laughing at me. I think Silas was wrong. I won't bet my life, or our child's future, on a man who always expects me to be the one to step aside.

I'd been with Daniel Bonanno for five years. On our anniversary, I was the one who processed his marriage license application— but the bride wasn't me. It was Emma Miller. He told me it was just a merger. A fake arrangement between families. Once he became the Don, he'd marry me for real. I'd heard that line so many times I'd lost count. But I watched him grow closer to that woman. Day by day. Even when I was kidnapped, he was in bed with her. And finally, it hit me. Five years of loving him, and it was all just a joke. So I faked my death. I made sure everyone thought I jumped off that cliff. But after that, Daniel started haunting the base of that cliff. Two years, pacing back and forth, murmuring under his breath: "I was wrong. Please. Just come back."

My father died. He left me a contract. A marriage to the Donovans. The Chicago Outfit. He wanted the future Don to protect me. The whole family's power, wrapped around me for life. But on my wedding day to the eldest, Finn… he ran. Took my family housekeeper's daughter with him. His brother, Cillian Donovan, stepped up. He married me instead. Wedding night. I was in the music room. Alone. Playing the cello. A sad song for my father. Cillian kicked the door open. His eyes were bloodshot. Pure jealousy. A sneer on his face. “Does marrying me instead of Finn really hurt you this much?” For the next five years, he brought women home. Different ones. Kissing them in my rose garden. Fucking them in our bed. I swallowed it all. Played the part. The perfect Donna of the Donovan family. Until today. When he kept his latest toy around for four months. My heart hit the floor. She clung to Cillian's arm, her red lips at his ear. “Cillian, the way your wife looks at me… like she wants to eat me alive.” Cillian stroked her hair, not really caring. His eyes found mine. A cruel smile. “My wife? She doesn't want to be. She wants to be his woman. The traitor's.” That night, a rival family hit the estate. Fire everywhere. Cillian grabbed his girl. Ran for the armored car. No hesitation. I was on the ground. Smoke in my lungs. Couldn't move. I watched him drive away. Leaving me in the dust. Something inside me just… snapped. Five years of this bullshit marriage. I was going to end it. Myself. …

After my parents dead, I was taken in by one of his closest friends—the Draycotts. Kaelen Draycott, their only son, treated me like I was family. And I, stupidly, fell for him. When I confessed, he called me sick. Evil. Disgusting. From that day on, he made my life hell. He brought women home, loud enough for me to hear everything. Just to remind me where I stood. When it came down to it, he saved his fiancée. Left me to be shot, mocked, and forgotten. I knew what he was capable of. So this time, I made the choice. I’m leaving. And knowing how much he hates me— Let my farewell be the best wedding gift he’ll ever get.

Everyone in Sicily knew my fiancé, Silas Lazzari, had one rule. Every night at ten, he turned off his personal phone and refused to take calls from anyone. Even when we were crazy about each other, he'd hang up the moment the clock struck ten. Last Christmas Eve, the rival Greco family ambushed me. I was shot in the stomach and couldn't stop bleeding. I called him again and again. When I finally got through, his voice was sharp with irritation. "Sophia, can you respect my rule for once? Don't let it happen again. I'm hanging up." Thank God the ambulance arrived in time. I barely survived, and I was left with a long scar down my arm. When I came home the next day, he frowned and complained that my late-night call had almost disrupted his sleep schedule. He never even noticed my bandaged arm hanging at my side. Today, the Greco family got hold of data leaked from the phone of Silas's adopted sister, Lina Conti. Silas put me in charge of containing the breach. My assistant emailed me all the stolen data. I opened it and found a log of every call between Silas and Lina, including when and where they called and what they discussed. Last Christmas Eve, after Silas hung up while I begged him for help, he stayed on the phone with Lina until one in the morning. Throughout our eight years together, he'd talked to Lina every night until well past midnight. Numb, I read all 99 pages of call logs. Then I pulled up our marriage license application and hit Cancel.

On the flight to Arlencia, a post popped up: [What's it like to have sex in a wedding dress?] The pic showed a girl yanking some guy's purple tie while he hiked up her gown. His face was blurred, but hers? Straight-up blissed out. Everyone in the comments was swooning over how in love they looked. I didn't swoon. I froze. Because that purple tie? I gave it to Zeke Santoro, my fiancé, a few days ago. And that wedding dress? The exact custom one he had made for me. There was only one. I kept zooming in, heart racing, until I spotted a family photo in the background. My hands were shaking when I called him. "I wanna see the dress," I said. He hesitated. "It's at the studio getting final touches. Not with me right now. I'll show it to you later." I just smiled and hung up. That was all I needed. Zeke cheated—and the girl? His stepsister, Jella. Total circus. I reopened the post and shot her a DM: [Your wedding dress is stunning. I have the same one.]

The night before our engagement, my best man Reese suggested we play Never Have I Ever — our version, where you name something you have that you think no one else does, and anyone who doesn't have it puts a finger down. "Sitting in this room is someone I can't have," he said. Everyone else's fingers went down, except Reese's and my fiancée Molly's. The others erupted in whistles and teasing, not caring that I was right there. "I have the most loyal fiancé," Molly said. "Boring and dull." Everyone glanced at me, and the private room fell into an awkward silence. I was suddenly exhausted. Molly and I had been together for two years. Tomorrow was our engagement party, yet she'd just publicly admitted there was someone she wanted but couldn't have. And in her eyes, the only redeeming quality her fiancé had was loyalty. When my turn came, I said calmly, "I have a grand wedding of the century." I turned to Molly beside me. "But as of now, it's canceled."

In New York’s Upper East Side, there were two heirs. One was a speed-obsessed daredevil dominating the racetracks, the other was a brilliant actuary who controlled the flow of capital. Born into powerful families and polar opposites in temperament, yet they grew up side by side as each other’s only best friend. They had fought over girls and bickered endlessly over racing bets. However, at fifteen, there was one thing they did in perfect unison. They each put on the same roughly carved bronze badge. They were trinkets Mia had idly made during a craft class, marked only by a faint “M” scratched on the back. Back then, Mia was seated in the last row of the classroom. Her background was a complete mystery to everyone. Yet they wore that badge for ten whole years. Whether standing on the F1 podium or locking in billion-dollar trades at the exchange, the cheap little badge on their chests never changed. Until Ella showed up. She was the cherished daughter of a rising conglomerate family. She hand-stitched two gold-thread fabric patches and gifted them to them. The patches looked so ordinary they looked like the kind of trinket you would find three for a dollar at a flea market. And yet, they both replaced their bronze badges with her plain patches. Mia did not say anything. She simply folded away an old newspaper clipping with a photo of the three of them smiling together. That night, she called her father in Sicily. Her voice was emotionless. “Papa, I accept the marriage arrangement.”