Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & Regret Novels

On the National Working Women's Day, the company gave perfume to every female employee as a gift, except me. Just as I was about to ask HR, I overheard my colleagues whispering in the breakroom. "After all, Gianna is the CTO. Isn't it a bit too obvious to leave her out so publicly?" "That’s Mr. Caro's order. We’re just following it." "Who doesn't know Serena is Mr. Caro's real love? But Gianna shamelessly spends half her day running into his office!" I froze in place. Married for three years, I accompany Matthias Caro in building this company from the ground up. To avoid office gossip, I never asked him to make our relationship public over those these years. In return, when my colleagues maliciously speculated about me, I got his indifferent, evasive silence and his blatant favoritism toward an intern. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialed the number of my father, who was the most feared Mafia Don of the East Coast. "Father, I plan to return to the family." "And... please change the company's bidding slot to someone else." For three years, to protect Matthias's pride, I hid my identity as the Mafia Princess, leveraged my network and technology to bring hundreds of millions of dollars into his company, and even secured a spot in this bid. But now, I’m taking it all back.

I was supposed to marry Marco DeLuca, the man of my dreams, in just three days. He was the mafia don of the South—dangerous, ruthless, the kind of man everyone warned you about. And I came from the Moretti family, just as powerful, a dominant force in the North. But just when I thought I had it all, fate had other plans. What was supposed to be a simple drug deal negotiation—one Marco had asked me to cover—quickly spiraled into a gunfight. In the chaos, a bullet tore through my chest. Marco made sure everyone in that room paid for my accident, but no matter what he did, it didn’t change the fact that I was lying here, wondering if my life would ever be the same. And it only got worse. In the haze between consciousness and dreams, I overheard Marco speaking with his family doctor. “After removing the bullet from Miss Moretti’s chest, we found fragments near her heart,” Dr. Levois said. “She may need another surgery.” “There’s no need for another surgery. As long as she can breathe, I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. But if you treat her now, she’ll wake up and ruin everything I’ve planned.” Marco’s words hit me hard. “And I promised Camilla I would bring our daughter, Violetta, into the family,” he continued. “It’s better this way. Gianna won’t be a threat to her then.” So the wedding I’d longed for, the love I once believed in, was nothing but a cruel illusion. What Marco wanted, what I thought was mine, had twisted into my worst nightmare. If this was what Marco truly wanted… so be it. It wasn’t like I cared anymore.

I served three years in federal prison for the Don's precious Sophia, and then he suddenly fell for me. The day he came to pick me up, he had a sapphire necklace ready, the kind I'd begged him for once and never got. I dropped it onto the back seat without a second glance. His expression darkened. "If you have something to say, just say it. Don't take it out on things." I smiled. "Three years inside taught me never to keep anything valuable on me. It would only bring trouble." He swallowed hard and pulled me close. "That's over now. You have me. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you." I pushed him back. "Then give me my wedding ring." I'd told him once: if the day ever came that I was leaving, I'd take that ring with me. Three years had been more than enough to kill whatever love I had left.

I came back from picking up takeout to find the fingerprint lock on our front door wouldn't recognize me. The passcode had been changed too. I was about to call my boyfriend Lawrence when I remembered he'd just broken up with me. I looked down at myself, wearing nothing but loungewear and slippers, a coffee stain splashed across my shirt. After a moment's thought, I caved again and sent Lawrence an apology. But the red exclamation mark beside it told me he'd already blocked me. This was the ninth time he'd broken up with me, and the ninth time he'd blocked me. I wanted to knock, but my hand rose only to hang in the air for a few seconds before dropping limply to my side. That closed door might as well have shut out my love along with it. Too many breakups. I was tired. Maybe it was time to let it end. Give him what he wanted, and set myself free.

At the Moretti family banquet, Don Cesare Moretti won a two-person package to a private island resort. The host asked with a teasing grin, "Don Moretti, who are you taking with you?" Every pair of eyes in the room turned to me. The crowd began chanting my name, their voices rising with gleeful anticipation. "Adriana! Adriana!" My heart hammered against my ribs. I smiled at Cesare, hope blooming warm in my chest. But Cesare didn't even glance my way. His gaze had drifted past me, settling on his secretary sitting near the front. His voice was casual, almost indulgent. "Give it to her. The girl's been working late lately. She deserves a break." His secretary's face went scarlet. Those soldiers paused for just a beat—then someone shouted, "The Don is so thoughtful," and the laughter swelled again, smoothing over the moment. My best friend Bianca leaned in, whispering through clenched teeth, "We planned to get married together on the island this year. How could he forget something like that?" I smiled and forced back the tears. Then I reached over and straightened her collar. "Don't worry. The plan stays. The wedding happens." Then I called my father and said yes to the family arrangement. I would marry the Don of the Romanov family—Cesare's biggest rival. If Cesare didn't want to marry me, that was fine. I'd just find myself another groom.

When I arrived at the engagement party, I bent down to pick up my dropped purse, only to find my fiancé and my best friend had already walked into the banquet hall side-by-side. By the time I gathered up my dress and hurried after them, Susie had naturally linked her arm through Charles'. They were chatting and laughing together, casually discussing how to take over an international drug trade route that day. It was as if I had never existed. Growing up, Susie and Charles were the two most brilliant prodigies in Sandelford's mafia families. As adults, they both became the most capable members of their respective families. Charles even became the Don of the Anderson family several years ago. Meanwhile, I was constantly stuck playing catch-up behind them. Even after all these years, I had never been given access to our family's core business operations. Charles used to comfort me by saying, "Innocence is a strength, too. You don't need to worry about the dirty work. Susie and I have it covered." He gave my forehead a gentle kiss, then turned around and flew off to Southeast Usia with Susie to negotiate business deals, keeping his phone switched off for days on end. Watching the two of them raise their glasses to celebrate another victory, a sudden wave of exhaustion hit me. I was tired of playing this game. Since I could never catch up to them, I wasn't going to chase after them anymore.

The night before my fiancé, Soren, and I were supposed to leave for Northern Europe to start our new life, the sounds of a lively discussion drifted from his private club. "Christ, Boss, are you insane? Why the sudden marriage alliance with the Rosetti family to make a play for Italy? Didn't you say you were getting out of the life with Abby and heading north?" Soren leaned back into a leather sofa, his voice nonchalant and muffled by a cloud of smoke. "Plans change. Besides, remember, I'm the one who made her who she is." "Once she sees the new empire I'm building, that little canary will come flying right back to my cage. The woman can't live without me." I stood in the shadows of the club, a wine glass in my hand, a dull ache blooming in my chest. The anniversary gift I had so carefully chosen for Soren was still in my purse, waiting for me to give it to him. I slipped out of the smoke-filled club, tossed the gift into the nearest trash can, and booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe. But what he didn't know was that just as he could betray our future for Monica, I could abandon him for mine. All those years we spent dancing with death were never just for his sake.

What's the first thing you'd do if you were reborn? Me? I'd start by divorcing my husband, Finn Gallagher. Yeah, Finn Gallagher, the same man who runs half the underworld from behind closed doors. The Don. The richest man alive. The man women dream about; his face plastered on magazines, named "Sexiest Man Alive" five years in a row. In my last life, I tried everything to make him look at me like I mattered. I married him. I gave birth to his son. I swallowed every ounce of pride, trying to be the perfect wife. However, it didn't work. To him, I was no different than a waitress he might casually tip—forgettable, replaceable, invisible. So this time, I'm not begging. I'm not pretending. I'm handing Madeline Brooks the key to my place in his life, and walking away. She's Finn's first love, and also the shadow that haunted every day of my last life. Now Madeline was sitting opposite to me, blinked at me like she didn't hear me right. "You tried so hard to push me out," she said slowly, eyes narrowed. "Now you want me to be with Finn?" "Yes. That's all I'm asking. Just talk to Finn. Tell him to sign the divorce papers." I looked at her confused face and kept going. "Everyone knows I'm the last person who'd ever let Finn go. So if I say I want a divorce, he won't believe me for a second. But you? You're the one who can make that happen... aren't you?" She laughed, because she was finally getting her chance. I laughed too, because I was finally free.

My family's driver, Marco, always brought his girlfriend along when he drove me. I put up with it. His dead father took a bullet for my family once. Until today. I opened the door of my custom bulletproof Cadillac. Someone wrote on the inside of the window in red lipstick: "Stay away from my man, bitch." I wiped the smudge off with a tissue. "What is this?" I asked, my voice dead. Crystal sat in the passenger seat. She glared at me like I was poison. "Can't you read?" she spat. "Stay away from my man, you parasite. Buy your own car, you broke bitch." I watched this circus. I said nothing. Marco rushed to my side. He whispered frantically: "Aurora, she doesn't know I'm just a driver. She thinks... she thinks the whole family business is mine. She loves the power. Please." Then came the ultimate betrayal. "I need to take her to Fifth Avenue first. I'll come back for you later." He drove off in my car. He left me in the dust. I stood there and scoffed. I called Cassian, my brother's top enforcer. "Someone stole my car. And my patience is gone. Find them. I want them alive."

Dad had 22 sons before he finally got me, a daughter at last. He was so thrilled that he replaced our century-old crest of two lions with a lily. I grew up surrounded by doting older brothers. But not one of them had a clue about girls. So when my brother Anthony Gambino brought Elena Bellini home from Milan, I was delighted. When we first met, she stroked my hair and promised to have afternoon tea with me every day. Anthony said she was the love of his life. When Dad saw how much I liked her, he approved the marriage on the spot. But the day after the wedding, she cornered me in the glass greenhouse at the back of the estate. "You stupid little girl. Did you really think I came here to be your playmate? "My husband controls shipping operations at every port in North America. One day, he'll have the final say in this family. "In two weeks, I'll have him send you to Mexico to marry a drug lord. "The only girl the Gambino family treasures will be my daughter." I stared at her smug smile, stunned. Does she really think Anthony got control of our shipping operations all by himself? Years ago, Dad had asked me which brother I liked best. I'd pointed to Anthony without giving it much thought. Dad had put him in charge of the organization's books right then and there. If his wife wanted to make my life miserable, I'd just have Dad pick a different heir.

At our seventh anniversary gala, my husband, Alexander Rossetti, had gifted me the city's one of a kind Rose Manor. I was kissing Alexander. That's when his Capo, Romeo, stepped up with his wine glass, lowering his voice in pure Sicilian dialect with a teasing grin: "Don, the Jasmine Manor for Elena's all settled, identical to the one you gave to Donna." Alexander let out a chuckle. He shot back in Sicilian, casual as ever: "What can I say? She begged me in bed, said she wanted the same thing as her sister. " He kissed my cheek as he spoke, gazing at me with all the warmth in the world, while telling his men: "Don't say her name. If my Donna finds out, we're all in deep shit." His men exchanged knowing smirks, raised their glasses to him, and swore up and down they'd keep their mouths shut. He kissed my cheek, and didn't notice my smile had frozen solid. Maybe Alexander was too smug. He forgot one thing. My grandmother came from one of the oldest families in Sicily. I understood every single word they said. Fireworks burst overhead. Alexander said: "I love you, Olivia. We'll be together forever." I hugged him back, but behind his back, I pulled out my phone, opened the weapons research invitation that Santoro Institute had sent me days ago, and hit "Accept." Three days from now, I would vanish from his world completely.

Most people knew me as Helena Rinaldi's tagalong. She was the rightful heir to the Rinaldi family. I'd been a penny-pincher since I was a kid. If I could've split a penny eight ways, I would have. My proudest moment was getting my best friend and me through a month in the slums of Queens on ten dollars. Then I learned my best friend Helena was a mafia Don's long-lost daughter. When he brought her home, she packed me up and took me to the estate with her. So she could take better care of me, she landed the family a ten-billion-dollar Sicilian arms-smuggling deal. They all said she was an angel sent from heaven. The family even took its crews and territory back from Camilla Rinaldi, the adopted daughter, and put them in Helena's name. Helena gave me three billion dollars and put me in charge of the smuggling operation. She even said I could skim a little off the top. So I did as she said. All I spent was $10,000, to bribe the old man who watched the docks. Then, today, the smuggling operation ran into trouble. The cargo ships were seized, and the money was tied up. It turned out the whole line was a trap Camilla had set with a rival family to bring Helena down. The old Don, Enzo Rinaldi, and his wife, Lucia, were so furious they ended up in the ICU. Helena sat in a corner, pale and silent. Camilla kept pressing her. She slid a contract across the table, demanding the Rinaldi family's territory. "The family raised me, so I'll clean up this mess for you. Just sign every dock and casino over to me. "Otherwise, the five families will come after you and the whole Rinaldi family. They'll leave you dead in the street!" Helena's eyes were red. Her fingers shook as she picked up the fountain pen. In the dead silence, I scratched my head and asked a perfectly sincere question. "Huh? Can $10,000 really bankrupt the mafia?"

The year I turned 19, I met my father's adopted brother, Luca Ferraro, for the first time. He was the most ruthless Don in all of Sicily, and on paper, he was my uncle. That day, he looked into my eyes and couldn't seem to tear his gaze away. From then on, I was his personal assistant by day, never more than a step from his side. By night, he tore my stockings and took me on his desk. For five years, I was his secret lover. He had me wear red dresses and get a rose tattooed on my thigh. He turned me into exactly what he liked best. Then Sofia Russo, the woman he'd never gotten over, came home. He walked out of a meeting with his men to pick her up at the airport. I followed him there and saw the same rose tattoo on that woman's thigh. Only then did I understand who he'd really seen every night as he gripped my waist, breathing hard. An hour earlier, he'd had me on the couch in his office. Now he was gently draping his coat over her shoulders. When Luca saw me, his face darkened, and he pulled me into the alley out back. I demanded an answer. He bit down on his cigar and gave a cold laugh. "Aria, you're the one who said you liked me, that you wanted to be with me. I never said I'd marry you. "You're nothing more than a mistress. Don't think too highly of yourself." I pulled my coat tight to hide the marks he'd left on me, looked down, and texted my father. "Tell the Romano family I agree to the marriage." When I looked up again, I smiled at Luca. "Fine, Don Ferraro. Goodbye, then."

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.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I found another woman’s lace thong in my bedroom. My husband, Mark Donovan, stood in front of the closet and said coldly, “She’s just a kid, Leslie. Don’t make this ugly.” That “kid” was pregnant with his child. That “kid” had already moved into my home, worn his shirts, slept in my bed, and made him cut down the magnolia tree my dead parents planted for me. Everyone in the Donovan family thought I would scream, cry, and beg. After all, I had loved Mark for nine years. But this time, I only picked up my suitcase. Because they didn’t know one thing. The divorce had already been filed. The Donovan wife’s emerald brooch had already been returned. And the evidence against his precious little mistress had already been delivered to the old Don. Mark thought I was walking out of his mansion. He didn’t know I was walking out of his life. Forever.

I’ve got a killer hourglass figure and siren eyes. In Hollywood, I’m the ultimate sex symbol. But after five years in this town, not a single producer would dare lay a finger on me. Because the man in my bed is Don Vincenzo, the most ruthless mafia boss in New York. Seven years together. Every time we finished, he’d hold me close, kiss me, and carry me to the bathroom to clean me up. I naively thought I’d be the only woman by his side. That I'd even be his Donna. Until the night of my 28th birthday. After the family dinner, I heard him sneer to his underboss: "Chloe is fun to play with, but for my Donna, I have other options." In that instant, I ripped out my cheap, pathetic heart. I became exactly what he wanted: a perfect mistress who only cared about his money. But Vincenzo didn't seem to like that. His dark, dangerous eyes locked onto mine. "Besides this Manhattan penthouse, is there really nothing else you want from me?" I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting out a fake gasp of surprise. "You mean I can pick out a Ferrari, too?"

Three days before the wedding, the church called to inform me that my fiancé had changed the date. When I went to ask him why, I walked in on him throwing a bachelor party with his friends. "Samuel, this was the day Claire personally chose. Why would you suddenly change it?" someone asked. Samuel Gordon stubbed out his cigarette, looking utterly nonchalant. "Because that day happens to be Janet's birthday," he said. "I need to celebrate it with her." The room fell silent in shock. "Aren't you afraid Claire will find out and kill you? Have you forgotten what she did before?" At the mention of my name, Samuel gave an icy snort. "That was all in the past. Claire loves me to death now. She even took three bullets for me once, so how could she ever bring herself to hurt me?" I stood at the doorway, watching the snow fall behind me, and let out a long sigh. Five days later, he stood in an empty church, frantically calling my phone. "Did you forget? It's our wedding day!" "I didn't forget," I said. In another church, wearing a wedding gown, I was saying "I do" to another man.

Five years into my marriage to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Outfit, the entire underworld knew he loved me more than life itself. He’d had a violin—for me—tattooed right next to his family crest, a symbol of loyalty that could never be erased. Until I got the photo from his mistress. A cocktail waitress, sprawled naked in his arms, her skin marred by the dark bruises of rough sex. She had scrawled her name right next to the violin he’d gotten for me. And my husband had let her. "Dante says only being inside me makes him feel like a man anymore. You can’t even get him hard anymore, can you, sweet Alessia? Maybe it’s time to step aside." I didn't reply. I just made a single call. “I need a new identity. And a plane ticket out.”

My adopted sister, Sofia Leone, was the orphaned daughter of my father's most loyal right-hand man, Enzo Bellini. She'd just been diagnosed with kidney failure. Just because our blood types matched, my family ordered me to give her one of my kidneys. I refused and fought them on it for three months. Everyone in the Leone family called me cold and selfish behind my back, saying I'd rather stand by and watch my own family die. The day Sofia came out of emergency surgery, my brother, Dylan Leone, came to my room looking exhausted. He was the future Don of the Leone family. "Sofia's still so young. Her life is only just beginning. "It's just one kidney. It won't really affect your health. Aria, please. I'm begging you." The moment he finished, Sofia called him, sobbing. "Does Aria still want me dead? Maybe I... wasn't meant to live?" Dylan's voice was soft as he comforted her, but his eyes were full of grief. "Don't talk like that. I'll find a way, I promise." When I was in middle school, I was kidnapped by another family. Dylan stormed in alone to rescue me and took three bullets. Then he carried me out on his back while I shook uncontrollably. "As long as I'm around, nobody's ever going to hurt my little princess." Now he'd forgotten that I had a clotting disorder and couldn't safely undergo major surgery. Just then, my doctor, Matteo Conti, texted me my test results from the day before, along with a warning. "Ms. Leone, you have severe bleeding in your digestive tract. You need to be admitted right away!" As Dylan kept telling me how much Sofia was suffering, I suddenly felt so tired. "Fine, Dylan. I'll give it to her."

In Sicily, forgetting a face can get you killed. I was born face-blind. Unless I recognized someone's tattoo or voice, I had no idea who I was looking at. Sometimes, I couldn't even recognize my own parents. But my best friend, Sofia Ricci, was convinced I just wasn't trying hard enough. She decided it was time to cure me of all that "drama." She even got my brother, Don Victor Lombardi, and my fiancé, Luca Marchetti, to play along. The three of them called it "extreme survival training." At the underground casino, they once abandoned me in a private room packed with strangers. At family banquets, they'd ditch the suits I knew them by and vanish into the crowd. I would be left wandering from person to person, asking strangers for help because I couldn't tell who was who. To them, it was survival training. Today, we were in an Old Town square crawling with lowlifes, negotiating a deal. I only left for a moment to wash my hands. When I returned, the three of them had vanished. They were supposed to be waiting outside, but the bodyguards were nowhere to be seen either. Meanwhile, our enemies were closing in from the street. I instinctively reached for my radio. Then it hit me. Sofia had taken my encrypted radio earlier and offered to "hold on to it" for me. I swallowed my panic and backed into a nearby bar. As soon as I reached the counter, the bartender handed me a note. I knew the handwriting. Sofia. "We've shown you twice what the enemies on this street look like. Pick them out and find your own way out. You've got this, sweetie! We'll have drinks waiting for you at the safe house." I looked out the window. A blur of unfamiliar faces was closing in. What a joke. They call this training? They're gambling with my life. But maybe being face-blind isn't such a problem after all. With a gun in my hand, I don't need to recognize anyone. Anyone who comes near me is the enemy.