Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Melodramatic Mafia Regret

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.

My marriage to Dante Moretti, the heir to the Moretti family, was arranged when we were kids. But after my father died, he publicly refused to marry me. Three times. Each time, he used his dead mother as an excuse, and I couldn't argue. The third time, I walked in on him with some starlet on the anniversary of his mother’s death, and I overheard him sneer: “A boring woman like Isabella? Who the hell would want her?” “So desperate to marry me. It’s pathetic.” I looked down at my white wedding dress, turned on my heel, and knocked on his father's door. Later, on the day I moved into the Moretti estate, I ran into Dante. He thought I was there to force his hand and ran his mouth. But he had no idea I was already his new stepmother.

My boyfriend of five—Evan Callister, suddenly proposed to me. Everyone flooded me with congratulations. I felt happy too, quickly started planning our wedding. Then I overheard him talking with his gang friends. Apparently, I wasn’t his only option. Just one of five women he’d been seriously considering for marriage. A lineup that included his childhood sweetheart, a few of his long-time bed warmers, and some well-connected heiresses whose families could do wonders for his. “I didn’t imagine that you actually gonna marry Liora at the end, I thought Viola’s still the one you love.” And then Evan, “Liora’s father died. If I marry her, I could have all of her money and the casino. She cannot do a thing about it. She only has me as her family now.” “And what if Viola hears about your wedding and freaks?” his friend teased. Evan chuckled. “I told her that I will make Liora conveniently die after the wedding. Then her and I can get marry instead.” My heart iced over. But I didn’t cry or confront or even blink. Instead, I made the call to the man my father had always wanted me to marry — the one of noble status, the one everyone admired, the one I’d avoided. And just said one thing, “My wedding is three days from now. Come and elope with me.”

Three years into my marriage with Dominick, Gia, his stepsister, sent me a video clip out of nowhere. I tapped on the video, only to find Dominick tying his stepsister to the bedpost with the tie I had given him. His stepsister lay naked under him, addressing him intimately. After getting their freak on, they shared an embrace, and Gia cozied up against Dominick and uttered, “I don’t like the ring you bought me. Give it to Luna, and tell her it’s a birthday gift from me.” The next day, I sat in an upscale restaurant and stared at the vacant seat across the table. Suddenly, the Underboss wheeled a massive cake toward me. “Don Costa was called away on urgent business. He sent me to deliver your birthday gift.” The box contained his stepsister’s discarded reject. My phone buzzed with new pictures from Gia. Dominick was at the hospital with Gia for a check-up. Without a fuss, I signed the divorce papers and made preparations for a wedding. “Donna Costa, whose names should I put down as the bride and groom?” “Dominick and Gia.” A week from now, I would show the world the kind of filth the supposed solemn Don had been rolling in with his stepsister.

My husband, Kieran, is the heir to the Thompson family. In the three years of our arranged marriage, he has never once touched me. I told myself he was just cold and guarded, that I could find a way into his heart, little by little. Then one day he came home drunk, pinned me to the bed for the first time, and called out his first love's name. "Camilla, all these years... I've thought of you every second of every day..." That was when I knew. All the passion and love he possessed was already spent on another woman. I pushed him away, burned every photo of us, and went to a high-end club in New York full of handsome male models. Nine months later, I walked into the airport with my newborn baby in my arms. Later, Kieran searched the world for me, his eyes bloodshot. He asked in a trembling voice why I never told him I was pregnant, why I wouldn't let him see our baby. I glanced at him and gave a light, breezy smile. "Who said the baby was yours?"

My fiancé, Dominic, heir to the Carvalho crime family, vanished for four days. I thought a rival family had put a bullet in his head. Then I saw his ex’s Instagram story. A shot of them in bed. The caption: He still knows every inch of me. His face was hidden, but his hand wasn't. And on it, the ring I gave him, resting on her skin. That night, Dominic came home. He brought me white roses, my favorite. I asked him why. Why he'd lie. Why he'd sleep with her. He brushed it off. Just a "misunderstanding." I was done. I threw the ring in his face. Burned the wedding dress. Told him we were over. He thought I was just throwing a fit. He didn't get it. Not until he realized I was walking away for good. Then he panicked. Begged me to come back.

My best friend, Maya, flew in from Miami for my bachelorette week. My last days of freedom. She insisted on a girls' night in to celebrate, ordering all my favorite takeout. She asked me to hold her mobile phone and wait.Then her phone lit up. A message from some guy. A shirtless pic. Text: I need you tonight. Another photo buzzed through. Sex toys. Bondage gear straight out of a movie. My face burned. My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d just stumbled into her secret life. But the next image made my blood run cold. A close-up of the man's chest. A jagged scar I knew better than my own reflection. It belonged to my fiancé, Luciano Carbone.

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.]

Everyone knows Francesco Greco, heir to the largest mafia family in Solerio, is a notorious playboy. Yet when he swears to God that he'll love me for the rest of his life, I choose to believe him. He lives up to his words during the first year of our marriage. The Greco heir, whose presence alone terrorizes others, clings to me like a loyal puppy at home. But by the second year, he starts returning home with one lover after another. Rumors of his scandalous affairs spread, and I become the laughingstock of Solerio. On our eighth anniversary, his 99th lover taunts me in front of everyone at dinner. "Don't sleep in the master bedroom tonight," she says. "Mr. Greco and I are going to have some fun there. Also, change the sheets. I can't stand how dirty your things are." Everyone expects me to break down under such humiliation. Instead, I smile and turn on my heel. Then, I dial Madre Greco's number. "Madre, it's been eight years," I say, my voice steady. "It's time for me to leave."

My mother sent me to Chicago to marry Marco Ricci. A power move. One meant to cement our family’s control of the city. After all, my grandfather was the one who put the Riccis on the map. They owed us. They were supposed to treat me like royalty. I went to the fanciest jeweler in Chicago to buy my fiancé a gift. But some broad snatched it right from me. Before I could move, the store manager was fawning all over her. “Miss Bianca! A gift from Mr. Ricci? It’s perfect on you!” Marco? My fiancé? So this was his whore. She slid the sapphire ring onto her finger and shot me a look of disgust. “Who the hell do you think you are, bitch? Trying to take what’s mine?” I didn't even look at her. I just called Marco. "Your whore has something of mine. You have three minutes. Get down to the jeweler and handle her."

I've been married to my Mafia Boss husband for 15 years. When we first got married, he couldn't even afford a ring, but I didn't care; I loved him. I hid my identity. I secretly used my family's influence to help him build his empire from scratch, and I even bore him two children. His adopted sister always mocked me, calling me an old-fashioned housewife and saying I wasn't good enough for him. To avoid embarrassing him, I always endured it. Until our 15th anniversary, because both me and his adopted sister wore red dresses, he told me to stay in the kitchen: "Sofia's right. That red doesn't suit you. Don't come out until the banquet actually ends. Stay in the kitchen. I don't need the Dons from New York seeing you and getting the wrong impression." I was completely heartbroken and didn't argue anymore. I dialed a number I hadn't made in 15 years: "Principessa?" "It's me," I said, my voice steady. "Tell those old fossils on the Council... Isabella Corleone is coming home."

My husband Dante, Don of the Moretti family, was killed in a gang crossfire. I was devastated, because the same day, I’d also found out that my IVF injection had worked. I was pregnant. The Moretti didn’t want me to spiral. So they called in Dante’s twin brother, Ash Moretti, to help around. I felt both guilty and grateful until I overheard them talking in the study. “It was Ash who died. Why would you make us tell Harper it was you?” His father asked. Dante’s voice. “I only married her because you promised me the Don’s seat.” Then Gianna’s voice. “Dante had given her a child. That alone should’ve been enough.” So. It wasn’t my husband who died. It was his brother. And my husband and his sister in law thought this was his clean exit. As he wished, I gave it to him. When the doctor told me the fetus had less than a ten percent chance of survival, I agreed to terminate. And along with reclaiming everything else I had once given the Moretti, I walked away from his life—for good.

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.

Ten years ago, Elena, my best friend and my foster brother Alexander's fiancée, was tortured to death, every bone in her body crushed. I was the only witness, yet I chose to cover for the sadistic murderer. From that day on, I became the Family's greatest traitor. I accepted a ten-year prison sentence and bit off half my tongue just to keep that secret buried. Now, Alexander has returned as the most ruthless Don in Sicily. He dragged me out of my cell and strapped me into the memory extraction chair—a machine known to turn traitors into vegetables. As high-voltage currents tore through my brain, Alexander stared at me with eyes full of hatred and roared, "I will cut open your brain to find the bastard you’re protecting, and then I’ll send you both to hell!" But when the true killer's face finally appeared on the big screen, Alexander went mad.

After days of torture at the hands of my family’s rival gang, they offered me one last phone call. I called my brother, Matteo. I just wanted to say goodbye—while I still had the chance. “What is it now?” he snapped. “Matteo, I—” He didn’t let me finish. “Fix your own mistakes. Until then, don’t call me again.” Death didn’t hurt as much as those words did. I felt my heart slow to a stop as my brother’s words echoed in my ears. I guess you’re finally at peace now, Matteo. I won’t bother you again. And you’ll never have to see me again.

The night my family’s rival gang stormed the mafia ball, I was taken as leverage. My boyfriend, Nolan, and my closest friend, Riven, stood only steps away. But they chose to shield my cousin, Anna, instead. I was being saved by a secret man hours later—bruised, shaken, and already forgotten. No one asked what had been done to me. Nolan only said, “Anna was scared. She needed us more.” Days later, Anna invited me to her birthday party. I went out of courtesy—only to watch her cast me as the villain of her story. Nolan and Luca stood by her, protecting her again. That night, I said yes to the marriage alliance my family had prepared years ago. When I left the city, Nolan finally texted—angry, wounded, offended. “You’re really leaving?" I replied with just one line. “You’re more than welcome to my wedding.”

I've been with Giovanni Rossi for ten years. In fact, I'm the only lover he has. During countless nights of passion, he promised me that he'd marry me as soon as he became the Don of his family. But on the night he sits on the throne, he decides to cast me out for the sake of my replacement, Lisa Esposito. "Selena, she's different from you. You can stay as my secret lover, but she needs an official title. Lisa has been living in a clean world. The love she has for me is pure as well. She's just like you when you were 19 years old." After that, Giovanni gets down on one knee and puts on a pair of ballet flats onto Lisa's feet in a tender manner. As I step out in the heavy downpour, I never look back. What Giovanni doesn't know is that Vincenzo Bellini, the strongest Don of the mafia world, has been waiting for me for the past ten years with a crown in his hands.

My husband of five years, Eric Vale, came home drunk again. As I laid him in our bed, he murmured, “Don’t worry, my love… I’ll take care of you and our baby.” My heart stopped. Baby? We’d been on birth control since the day we married. There was no baby. I shook him lightly. “What are you talking about, Eric?” He blinked at me, confused, then smiled like nothing had happened. “Hey, babe… did I say something?” The next morning, I checked our joint account. Every month, ten thousand dollars had been wired to a woman named Bella Evers. Yesterday, he sent two hundred thousand more—with a note: I can’t wait for our baby to be born. Bella was Eric’s mistress and was now six months pregnant. So I made one call. “Papa,” I told the most feared Don in the South, “I’m getting a divorce.” I glanced at my sleeping husband. “I want him gone. And I want him broke.”

The first time Rafael betrayed me, he threw the woman from his club at my feet. His eyes were bloodshot as he told me to take my pick. My love for him was a sickness, so I forgave the transgression. For the second betrayal, I had the dancer sent out of New York, warning her never to set foot on the East Coast again. On the night of our engagement party, sealing the union of our two families, Rafael pinned me against the walnut desk in the study. His eyes burned with rage as he demanded: "Where is Nina? She's carrying a Mancini heir." "It was a mistake. You can take your anger out on me. Nina is naive; she doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, just let the child be born safely. I swear I'll never see her again." "You're afraid of childbirth. This gives you an heir without the risk." "Listen, Alessia. You are the future Donna of the Mancini family. When that child is born, it will know only you as its mother. I swear on my life." He forced me backward until shards from the vase I'd knocked over cut into my skin, staining my silk dress with blood. I looked at him and smiled, then gave him the address of a safe house in Brooklyn. He slammed the heavy oak door behind him. Shaking, I pulled out my encrypted phone. "You were right about him. Is your offer still on the table?"