Regret Mafia 단편 소설 & 소설

For five years, I was with Julian, Wall Street's golden boy. Every anniversary, I’d secretly hope he would finally get down on one knee — but he never did. Every single time, he’d press a tender, apologetic kiss to my lips. "Baby, let's wait until the IPO. I want to give you the biggest wedding imaginable. Just wait a little longer for me, okay?" And I’d nod, swallowing the ache, year after year. .Finally, His company went public and landed a huge deal with the Castello family—the most powerful syndicate in the country. I was certain he’d finally propose. Instead, I found a trust fund document. There, right under the "Legal Spouse" line, was a name: Caroline. The widow of Julian’s late brother. When I called to confront him, his response was utterly callous. "I promised my brother I'd take care of Caroline and his son, Noah. The boy needs a father, Alessia. That's the only reason I married her. We have a deal—we'll divorce as soon as Noah turns eighteen." "You should be more understanding of how hard it is for Caroline to raise a child alone. Don't be so unreasonable, alright?" I didn't lose my temper. I just calmly replied: "No need. I’m not interested in sloppy seconds." What he didn't know was that I am the daughter of the Castello family's Don. I made a call to my father. "Dad.I'm ready to come home and take over the family business. I will personally attend the signing ceremony with Obsidian Group in three days." I was going to make Julian taste absolute despair.

Melville Taylor and I were chasing the northern lights in Alaska when a gang of robbers carjacked us. To make them let Melville go, I let them tie me to the back of the car and drag me six miles for their entertainment. When they finally stopped, I was covered in blood. Large patches of my skin had been scraped away, and I could barely stand. Then the woman leading the gang pulled off her mask and untied Melville. "Surprise!" Melville beamed at me. "Congratulations, babe. You passed my test! I'm the next head of the Taylor family. I'm sorry I kept that from you. Cecilia and I bet on whether you loved me enough to die for me." His bright blue eyes shone with love. "I'm so glad I didn't lose." I stared at my blood-soaked hands and the wounds covering my body as my last illusion shattered. From start to finish, what I'd believed was a sacrifice for love had been nothing but some absurd test. Then I laughed too. I wasn't the poor little nobody they thought they could push around. I was the only heir to the Calvetti family, the most powerful mafia family in North America. If he didn't value my love, I'd take it all back. "Melville, we're done."

Everyone in the Mafia knew that Viktor Castro, Don of the Castro family, adored his wife. When I complained that New York winters were too cold, he wiped out a rival Miami crew just to claim a private estate where I could escape the snow. When I told him I wanted romance, he lit up the Manhattan skyline and swore on the honor of his family: "Isabella, I will never betray you." He planted roses for me at the old family estate in Sicily and vowed before the heads of the family that I would be the only woman he would ever love. He broke a century-old rule and handed me control of the family's most important businesses, giving me authority equal to his own. But tonight, tangled in our sheets, I found a pair of black lace panties. And they were not mine.

At my pre-wedding blowout, my sister Julia Gallo suddenly challenged my fiancé Lorenzo, heir to the next Don of the Bianchi family, to a "big bet." "Let me guess how many candies you've got in your hand." "Guess right, and whatever my forfeit is, you do it." "Guess wrong, and you're covering all the leftover booze." "I'm guessing... five." She said. Lorenzo opened his right hand. Three. Julia tipped her head back to down the rest of the wine. But then— "You win." Lorenzo pulled his left hand from his pocket. "There are two more. Right here." Julia smiled at him. But tears shimmered in her eyes. She unfolded the note she'd written in advance. "Then I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd actually guess it right off the top of my head." "Your wedding is postponed. Three years." The room went dead silent. Lorenzo just kept smiling. "We've been betting since the day we first touched family business. When have we ever backed out?" "A bet's a bet." This wasn't the first time Lorenzo used me as collateral. I looked up at the clock—past midnight. My phone buzzed. A message from a familiar number. "Happy birthday." "You're not married at twenty-seven, you marry me. Still on?" I replied: "A bet's a bet. Three days, and I'll honor our deal."

My sister, Bella, had a baby in a back-alley shithole. Then she disappeared. A midwife tracked me down using an address Bella left behind. She shoved the newborn at me like a sack of garbage. My parents fell to their knees. Crying. Begging me to take her bastard. Just like that, my future as a promising artist was gone. The neighbors, the priest, my landlord… they all called me a whore. A sinner who had disgraced God. They ran me out of the neighborhood . My life was over. Eighteen years later, Bella waltzed back into my life. A cheap thug with a fake Rolex dangled from her arm. She held my son, crocodile tears streaming down her face. She called me jealous. Accused me of stealing her flesh and blood. Of keeping a mother from her child. And my son? The one I bled myself dry for? The son I poured every last cent into, turning him into a brilliant painter? The son I starved for, so much that I ended up in a hospital bed? The moment he saw his "real" mother, he cast me aside without a second thought. "You pathetic, broke bitch!" he spat. "You stole everything from us! All the happiness that was supposed to be ours!" My parents threw me out like a dog. Bella's thug husband had his men corner me in the red-light district. They pinned me against a wall, their threats vile and clear: Never come back. I had no way out. I threw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Eighteen years in the past. Then came the knock. Hell had found my door. I wasn’t going to be the fool who gave everything and got nothing. This time, I took control.

A New York tabloid covering the underworld caught my husband, Don Antonio Vescari, fooling around in a parking garage with Lillian Shaw, the pianist he kept at the estate. That same day, everyone on the dark web started betting on how much I'd pay to make it disappear this time. After all these years, it was an unwritten rule in the Vescari family: whenever Antonio caused a scandal, I cleaned it up. From the balcony, I looked down and saw Antonio kissing Lillian, his arms wrapped around her. Through the cigar smoke, he even arched an eyebrow at me, amusement in his voice. "Cecilia, she looks most like you when I kiss her, eyes red and breath coming fast. I lost my head for a second. "Don't be angry, sweetheart. I'm only having a little fun with her. Bury the photos for me, and I'll come see you later. Okay?" He said it so casually, like it was nothing at all. I froze, my hand drifting to my ring. A bitter laugh escaped me. Then I turned and walked away. The tabloids never knew when to leave well enough alone. They dug up the video of his oath from seven years earlier, the day he became Don. Covered in blood, Antonio had gone down on one knee, kissed the back of my hand, and sworn he would love only me for the rest of his life. Now the two images ran side by side across the same front page. The contrast was laughable. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. The tabloid's boss cautiously asked how much I planned to pay for the negatives this time. I said no. After all, I was going home to Sicily soon. This scandal couldn't touch me anymore.

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.

After I Took Three Bullets For Him, He Said He Was Just My Uncle I took three bullets for Don Lorenzo Moretti, the man I called my uncle. The last one nearly killed me. Only then did the family elders agree to name me Donna. But in the two weeks I lay unconscious, Lorenzo announced his engagement to Ava, the daughter of a family benefactor. The Rocci, my family, lost its power when I was ten. Ever since Lorenzo, a close friend of my father's, brought me to the Moretti estate, I was certain he would one day be my husband, despite our age gap. He always told me to find men my own age, but I just let it go. In my previous life, I crashed their engagement party, a decision that led to a miscarriage and my own violent death. But this is my second chance, and I have learned my lesson. I will reclaim the token of my love, accept my destiny as Donna, and offer myself in a marriage alliance far away in Sicily. Uncle, I finally understand. A young man is far more entertaining than an old one like you.

My childhood sweetheart, Arthur Greco, always thought I was a liar. He swore that during a street shootout when we were 15, I'd hidden in a corner, shaking. But he also claimed that once we were safe, I'd said I had taken the bullet meant for him. According to him, only after someone called me out did I admit that my cousin, Daisy Conti, had saved him. He also said that during my recent trip abroad, I'd bragged to everyone that I'd saved someone's life without even trying. But Victor Corvino, the Don of the Corvino family, sent his thank-you gift to Daisy with great fanfare. In front of the leaders and senior members of every major family, Arthur shrugged helplessly. "What can you do? Angela just loves to brag. I'm used to it. "If she ever tells you someone wants to marry her, don't believe a word of it. "Otherwise, I'll end up having to apologize to each of you on her behalf." The whole room roared with laughter, and I became the laughingstock of our world. By the time the party ended, every family that had been interested in a match had backed out. When Arthur came to pick up Daisy, my brother, Carlos Marchetti, was chewing me out. "Angela, your reputation's in the gutter! Who would dare marry you now?" I calmly kept cleaning my Browning and laughed softly. "Someone said he'd give me his entire empire as a wedding gift." Out in the hall, Arthur scoffed impatiently. "Angela, are you lying again? Who besides me would even give you the time of day?"

I was once Fiona's consigliere. I put the Falcone Family in her hands，helping her become the untouchable Don. And when a rival family put out a hit, I took the car bomb meant for her. It cost me my eyes. She knelt by my hospital bed and swore a blood oath. She would be my eyes. I would be her only husband. Later, after an operation by a top surgeon, my eyes recovered. I couldn't wait to rush home to surprise her. But when I pushed open the door, I saw her tangled together with Leo, her bodyguard, on the desk I had custom-made for her. Fiona was pressed against Leo in revealing clothing, her face flushed. Crumpled white tissues littered the floor. Between ragged breaths, she called Leo’s name repeatedly. "Fiona, why are you still keeping that useless blind fuck around? Let me take care of him for you." "Leo, shut up. I need more time. Now, get inside me. That's all that matters." The Chicago winter rain was bone-chilling that night. I completely gave up. After walking out of the house in just my shirt, I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Sicily. I will cut ties completely with this family and with her.

The Moretti Family's Thanksgiving party was in full swing downstairs—crystal clinks, fake laughs, classic mafia gloss. Meanwhile, I was curled up in a servant's room on the third floor. Jackson Moretti's wife. Legally, anyway. My hands were ice. I gripped the ultrasound report like it could anchor me. Three heartbeats. Strong, steady. It was supposed to be a surprise—his big Thanksgiving gift. To the outside world, Jackson was a polished Stanford grad, running a top-tier consulting firm in San Francisco. But behind the scenes? He ran the Moretti empire—cold, calculated, pulling strings in the West Coast's darkest corners. Three years of marriage and we barely spoke, but I still clung to the hope that maybe... maybe there was something real left. Then I heard him downstairs. "You really not letting your wife come down?" "Isabella?" He laughed. "She'd kill the vibe." Another voice chimed in. "Lina's back, right? Wild you married her twin. Which one do you actually like?" Jackson didn't miss a beat. "Isabella's just a stand-in. Quiet. Predictable. I could tell her to drop dead and she'd say 'okay.'" "So when are you ditching her?" "Dunno. She thinks she matters. I'm just playing her." I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sob. A minute later, I was heading downstairs, numb. I brushed my fingers over my belly. "Sorry, babies," I whispered. Triplets. His. He thought I was blind. Weak. Stuck. What he didn't know? A quiet woman, once she snaps—she can burn it all down.

My Mafia husband, Alessio, was sleeping with his stepsister, Sophia. In the car, the study, the bathroom, even on the dining table, they left evidence of their affair everywhere. "Sophia, don't worry. Once I solidify my position in the family, I'll give you everything." "Blair… she's just a tool to secure my position." In our eight years of marriage, he had whispered the sweetest words in the world to me. Now, his devotion was worthless. I didn't cry or cause a scene. Instead, I made a deal on the black market. In two weeks, Blair Greco would disappear from this world for good.

Married to Enzo for three years, his heart had always belonged to his childhood sweetheart, Bianca. The cut of the family business that was rightfully mine became her jewelry, and the keepsakes my brother Luca left behind were casually gifted to her by Enzo. I gave him everything, yet I remained invisible. I chose to step aside, turn my back, and vanish from his world completely. After that, the cold-hearted man lost control. He tore Little Italy apart looking for me, begging me to return. But this time, I’m never going back.

In the eighth year of my arranged marriage to Don Elias Voss, a single remark from my five-year-old son shattered every illusion I'd had about our marriage. At dinner, I was telling Elias about something funny that had happened that week, trying to make him laugh. He didn't respond. Our son, Silas Voss, did. "Mom, Dad doesn't love you. "My teacher says people only smile at people they like. "So no matter how funny your joke is, Dad isn't going to laugh." My smile froze. Elias glanced at him and didn't deny it. I'd heard the same thing from other people over the past eight years. But hearing it from a five-year-old, I couldn't keep lying to myself. I looked at Elias and asked him one last time, "Aren't you going to say something?" He just glanced at me and said nothing. I smiled and stopped talking too. That was the last dinner I spent trying to win his love.

It happened on the last shipment run I ever went on. My boyfriend and my best friend left me behind at the transfer station. I waited there for half an hour before they remembered they were one person short. Lawson called me, impatience all over his voice. "Why didn't you get in the truck?" "We're in a hurry for the celebration dinner tonight. We can't turn around." "Stop making a scene. Figure it out yourself." My mouth opened. No sound came out. Beth's voice carried through the line, clear and grating. "We're all adults here. Why does every little thing have to be handled for her?" "She has to grow up sometime." I listened to all of it and hung up without a word. The old me would have apologized on the spot, then done everything I could to catch up with them without causing a single problem. But this time, it all just felt pointless. I canceled every arrangement the family had made for me. I sent my mother a message: [I want to go to Northbay and take over the family business there.] They had always looked down on Northbay for being too small. But I had always wanted to go. I would never have to chase after them again. I would follow only myself.

Married seven years, and after my husband Nathaniel broke another promise to me over his new assistant, I set a glass jar on my nightstand. Every time he broke a promise, I dropped a coin inside. Ten disappointments. That was the final line I drew for myself. The first coin was for the anniversary he forgot entirely, all for her birthday. The third coin was for the date night he promised me, then turned around and took his men to clear out a whole venue for her birthday party. The sixth coin was for the time I got shot by accident, and he just told me to bandage it myself while he carried her into the hospital in his arms. By the ninth coin, Nathaniel finally noticed the jar. He picked it up, gave it a shake, and joked: "Audrey, this is dangerous. The last one, you have to remind me. I can't lose you." So when the tenth time came around, I made a point of reminding him before I left. Our seventh wedding anniversary. Nathaniel promised he'd be home before eleven. At eleven-thirty, Victoria sent me a photo. Nathaniel, sitting in the pet ER with her ragdoll cat in his arms, still wearing the shirt I'd ironed for him that morning. Then she sent a voice message. "It's your anniversary today, Don. If you don't head back soon, that coin jar on Donna's nightstand is going to be completely full." On the other end, Nathaniel laughed. "So what if it's full? She's not going anywhere." "I gave her power, status, gave her everything. She's crazy about me. You think she'd dare leave?" A two-second pause in the recording. Victoria let out a dry laugh. "Really?" I laughed too. I loved him too much, so I was willing to put up with anything. But in the end, that just became something he took for granted. I slid the diamond ring off my ring finger and placed it in an envelope, along with ten cold coins. Nathaniel, there really was no "us" anymore.

The day I found out I was pregnant, my fiancé, Grant Hale, told me he was going to marry another woman. His childhood sweetheart, Chloe Bennett, had gotten pregnant unexpectedly, and he said he couldn't let her family throw her out over a baby no one would claim. I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm pregnant too. If you marry her, what happens to our baby?" He frowned. "Serena, don't start acting out now. You've always been strong. Even if you really are pregnant, you can wait a few months. Once Chloe has the baby, I'll give you the wedding you deserve." He thought I'd wait for him like a good girl. What he didn't know was that I'd hidden my identity as the heiress to one of the most powerful mafia families in the country just to be with him. Now the three-year deadline I'd agreed on with my father had run out. Very soon, I'd be leaving Grant forever.

Three months since my husband, Julian Moretti, disappeared. I walked into his favorite den, the grief so deep it stole the air from my lungs. I just wanted to breathe him in, to find any trace of him that was left. Then I heard it. A familiar laugh. And the soft moan of a woman. Through a crack in the door, I saw him. My husband, the man "missing" for three months, had his hand tangled in another woman's hair. "Baby, just a little longer," he said. "Soon as I siphon enough cash from the family's books, we're gone. You and me." In his arms was Bianca, from the Rosso family. "What about your wife?" she purred. "Let her play the grieving widow. She's nothing without me anyway." My fists clenched. The world went quiet, my blood turning to ice. The next day, I put the word out to the entire Family. "I'm holding a memorial mass for my husband." At the service, he stormed in, a ghost returned from the grave, roaring that he was alive and there to take back what was his. But I was standing next to his uncle, Dante Moretti, and all I did was stare him down. "Then explain," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Explain the woman. Explain the money. Explain your betrayal... to the Family. And to me."

In the fifth year of our contract marriage, Horst Ferrara, the Don of the South District, took his childhood sweetheart, Erin Costa, and me to the underground armory to pick out weapons. The armorer recognized them and bowed respectfully. "Don, the usual for the two of you?" Horst gave him a cool nod. Erin made herself at home in the best seat behind the bulletproof glass. The newest heavy sniper rifle on the table didn't even have a biometric lock, so she could try it out whenever she wanted. The guards kept me outside the weapons area. I wasn't even allowed near the table. When it was time to log the serial numbers, the armorer opened his records and said, "Don Ferrara, Ms. Costa, your black-and-gold blade is ready. This token gives you both complete control over the South District arms factory." An inscription ran along the back of the sheath. "Horst and Erin. The South District, shared." It was dated two years ago. Only then did I remember. That day, I'd been rushed to the hospital, hemorrhaging after a miscarriage. When I woke up, he wasn't there. After he signed the notice saying I was in critical condition, he'd vanished for four hours. So he hadn't been out hunting the assassin after all. Erin stroked the hilt and asked with a taunting edge in her voice, "Once you and Diana officially take over, are we still doing our monthly sweeps?" Horst fastened her holster for her, then turned to look at me. "Of course we are. She knows the family comes before everything. "Besides, we've been through hell together for eight years. If she wants to keep her place as Donna, she'd better learn where she stands." On the way out, I got into the back seat of the armored car. Erin adjusted the weapon rack by the passenger seat to the height she liked. Then the car's secure channel automatically announced our destination. "Now heading to Erin's private safe house." I caught my reflection in the bulletproof glass and suddenly felt free. So I took out my phone, booked a flight to New York leaving in ten days, and signed the agreement to end our contract. You have eight years together and countless battles ahead. My five years end here.

Ten rounds of IVF. That’s what it took to have a baby with my boyfriend, Cormac Brown, the Godfather. On the tenth try, I finally got pregnant. Triplets. I was crying with joy, about to tell him, when I got a call from a woman claiming to be me from the future. Her voice was hoarse, exhausted. “Don’t have those kids!” “Cormac doesn’t love you. He’ll dump you the second they’re born, and your career will be over!” I thought it was a sick joke. How could Cormac not love me? Until I heard him talking to one of his men. “Godfather, aren’t you worried Miss Victoria will find out you secretly swapped her eggs for Bianca’s?” “And the doctor said her body can’t handle triplets. It could kill her.” Through the crack in the door, I saw Cormac’s face, cold and emotionless. “Her being weak after having triplets is the only way Bianca gets the lead in that Hollywood movie.” “The day Victoria gives birth, I’m proposing to Bianca.” “And Victoria? She’s just the incubator.” Standing outside, I clamped a hand over my mouth, choking back a sob. Once I calmed down, I called my agent. “I’ll take the role. I’ll be at the movie’s press conference in a week.”