Tragic Love Mafia Short Stories & Regret Novels

The year I turned 20, Vincenzo Romano, the Don of the Romano family, suddenly confessed his feelings for me beneath the August meteor shower. He said he'd secretly loved me for years. I looked at his jaw, clenched so tight it looked unnatural, and said yes. For five years, he spoiled me rotten. Whenever he came home from a trip abroad, he brought me a bouquet of pink myrtle. Whenever we made love, he kissed the tip of my ear and called me his "little princess." Then one day, I overheard his right-hand man, Dario Bassi, talking to him. "Are you really going to keep up the act with Enora? Didn't you only get with her back then to make Lyla jealous? "Lyla's divorced and back now. You can drop the act, can't you?" That night, I opened the locked drawer in his study. He'd once told me it held little reminders of our love. Instead, I found his keepsakes from Lyla Ferraro: a watch, emerald cufflinks, a sandalwood rosary... Each piece was engraved with their initials. There was also a stack of love poems in Latin, written in his own hand. They were passionate and lyrical, nothing like the calm face he showed the world. Every one of them was addressed to Lyla. Five years. Five years of lies, shattered in seconds. I quietly booked a train ticket to Geneva. In two days, I'd be out of Vincenzo's life forever.

My childhood friend promised to marry me once we came of age — but at my wedding ceremony, he gave my wedding ring to my stepsister, Summer Hugh. At the time, it was Victor Lowell, the fearsome mafia heir, who saved me by publicly announcing he had loved me for years. In the five years we had been married, he would fulfill every wish I had, even those I mentioned offhand. I truly believed I was the center of his world. All that changed when I stumbled across a top-secret folder as I was cleaning his bookshelf. The very first page was a file on Summer, with three red words printed in bold, “Top protection priority.” It was followed by a mission report I knew too well. On the night of the mission, there had been an attempt on my life. My blood had almost run dry before I was saved. When I woke up at the hospital, I found out that I had lost a baby I did not know I had been carrying. I wept bitterly in Victor’s arms, but I did not tell him about the baby. I did not want him to worry about me more. Now, I finally found out — Summer had been attacked that night as well, and Victor’s orders had been: “Save Summer first.” My tears soaked into the paper, smudging his handwriting. “Alright,” I said softly but firmly into the silence. “If my marriage had been a lie all along, I’ll disappear from your life. Forever.”

Forty-eight hours before my wedding, I called the planner and asked her to change the bride’s name. Dante Rinaldi had postponed our wedding nine times for Bianca Valli, the girl he’d grown up with. Now she had chosen the flowers, the music, even the dress I was supposed to wear. He had promised her our first dance, too. “Are you certain?” the planner asked. “Mr. Rinaldi has finally confirmed the date.” On my laptop, beneath my name, a note read: Revise to Bianca’s preferred colors. “Then give her the rest of it.” For years, I had fitted my career around the man who ran the Rinaldi family. My transfer to our magazine’s Paris office was finally approved. This time, I would take it. Dante could keep the wedding. I had two days to leave.

My mother, Diane Sutton, was helping me into the bridal suite when she suddenly stumbled forward. Someone had smeared strong adhesive across the red carpet. Her shoe came off, and four of her toes poked through her torn stocking. My father, Martin Sutton, rushed over to help her, but as soon as he turned, everyone saw the sticky note on his back. "Clearance! 99 cents!" The room fell silent. Chiara Lombardi, Enzo Valli's assistant, couldn't hold back anymore. She burst out laughing, then said, "Look how embarrassing they look! I hereby declare the 100th test officially underway!" I froze. "Wasn't it already over?" Three years ago, Enzo told me he wanted to marry me. His father, Don Marco Valli, respected me as an attorney but believed my family background made me unfit to marry his son. So Marco and his advisor came up with 99 tests and put Chiara in charge of them. They hoped I'd eventually give up and call off the wedding myself. Over the next three years, Chiara replaced my toothpaste with mustard, swapped my shampoo for depilatory cream, and even released rats into my room at night. Whenever I felt like I couldn't take it anymore, Enzo would pull me into his arms and murmur, "Nora, just hang on a little longer. Once the tests are over, I promise no one will ever hurt you again." He could not openly defy the procedure the advisor had set, but he never once bothered to ask what Chiara had put me through. As long as we got married in the end, what I endured along the way didn't matter. Last night was the 99th test. I thought the nightmare was finally over. Then Chiara announced, "You passed. But your parents haven't! You're going to be the Donna one day. Your parents represent the Family too. If they can't handle something this minor, what good are they?" I turned to Enzo for help. He ruffled my hair as if soothing a petulant child. "Do as Chiara says. Just hang on a little longer." I'd put up with this for three years. I was done enduring it.

At an underground auction, Bianca Ferraro, the fiancee of Don Lucian Castellano, bought a single night of my services for five dollars. Everyone sneered that I was the cheapest woman in the world. Bianca just pointed at me, laughing so hard she shook. "Back then I pinned a traitor's label on her, and as punishment I sold her straight to her creditors." "As I recall, she went for a few dozen dollars." She swirled her glass, her smile turning more vicious. "Five years on, worn out and used up, of course she's lost her value." The guests on the yacht roared with laughter. Only the yacht's owner, Lucian Castellano, crushed the glass in his hand to powder with a sharp crack. Blood ran down his knuckles, but he seemed to feel no pain. He only stared at me. And I, in the bunny outfit Bianca had thrown at me, poured wine for the rich and powerful and angled for their tips as if nothing was wrong. The next second, he shot to his feet and seized my wrist. But before he could speak, I coldly pushed his hand away. "Don Castellano." "You have a fiancee. Do you want my services too?"

On our seventh anniversary, Don Leonardo Luciano gave me an eight-carat pigeon's-blood ruby ring. He told me it was a family heirloom, passed from one Donna to the next. "Camilla, I can't give you a wedding yet, but in my heart, you're already my wife." My eyes filled with tears as I slipped it onto my finger. Then I asked my best friend, Nora Bennett, to examine it after her shift at the auction house. She held it under a lamp and slowly turned the stone. A ring of crimson light appeared inside it. "This isn't a natural ruby." "How is that possible? Leonardo gave it to me. It's a family heirloom." Nora frowned. "Really? I heard every piece of Luciano family jewelry bears a gold lion crest. Does yours have one?" I took off the ring and checked. Nothing. Just then, a new story from Victoria Moretti popped up on my feed. She was the daughter of another powerful mafia family. The photo showed her aboard Leonardo's private yacht. And on her finger was a ring identical to mine. A man stood beside her, his face hidden from view. But I recognized the watch on his wrist. I'd given it to Leonardo. Then I saw the caption. "After all this time, you finally put the family ring on my finger."

The Ivanovas and the Vitales are well-known aristocratic families who have maintained everlasting friendship through generations. My name is Anastasia Ivanova. I have been the daughter of the Ivanovas for twenty years, only to discover just now that I was switched at birth. When I was swept out of the Ivanova’s mansion like rubbish, Lorenzo, the youngest son of the Vitale family, firmly picked me up in spite of all objections. Lorenzo always acted cold and distant toward me. I didn’t know why he came to take me into his car at that time. He whispered in my ear again and again, ‌"I’ve wanted you for a long time."‌ He pinned me against the leather seat, making me cry until my voice was hoarse. At that moment, I finally understood his coldness over the years was not indifference but restraint. Soon after, Lorenzo overrode all objections to marry me. His parents were vehemently against me, but Lorenzo directly stripped them of power and became the youngest godfather. Scarlett Montgomery tried to stop us from getting married, but Lorenzo canceled all her credit cards and threatened to send her away. I thought we would have a happy life. Three days before our wedding ceremony, he planned to send me abroad, claiming enemies might retaliate. But, I accidentally overheard him talking to Scarlett in the hallway at night. "Thank goodness. You tricked her into leaving until after I give birth. You’re so good to me!"‌ He kissed her cheek, ‌"I don’t want Anastasia know our affair. You must keep it secret."‌ Their dialogue made me devastated. But I didn’t confront him immediately. Instead, I quietly completed my immigration paperwork as a way to make a clean break with him.

The day before the family purge order was issued, I saw my own name on the Bellini family’s internal network. In the field marked Recommended Executor, the name written there was Adrian Bellini. The current Mafia Don. And my fiancé. When I called him, his voice was flat. “Relax, Vivian. Celine submitted the exit request for you. It was just a joke.” “Go explain it to the council yourself. They’ll cancel it.” Celine. The assistant who followed him everywhere, always in expensive little skirts, the one who adjusted his tie for him in public as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I held the phone in my hand, I had nothing left to say. So the place I had nearly killed myself to protect for three years was, to him, nothing more than a joke. I didn’t withdraw anything. I completed the handover as usual. Signed the papers as usual. Left New York as usual. It wasn’t until much later that Adrian finally realized something was wrong and asked me, “Vivian, I told you to get your name taken off the list. Why didn’t you go?” “Why should I?”

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."

I stood by Carlos Mancini for 50 years. I watched him rise from a nobody on the streets of Sicily to the cold-blooded Don of a Mafia empire. I thought we were soulmates who could never be pulled apart. I believed that until the day he lay dying. I leaned over his bed, sobbing my heart out. But his cloudy, unfocused eyes looked straight through me, fixed on something far away. He murmured, "Nina, in the next life, we can finally be together..." In that moment, I felt as if I'd been struck by lightning. Nina Russo was the widow of one of Carlos's fallen men. 40 years ago, he'd brought that timid woman back to the estate and looked at me hopefully. "Sam Russo died for me. It's my responsibility to take care of her for the rest of her life." I pulled out my revolver, pressed it to my temple, and made him choose between Nina and me. He was terrified. He snatched the gun away, pulled me into his arms, and tried to calm me down. "You're overthinking this. You're the only woman I've ever loved. I don't feel anything like that for her." He sent Nina overseas with a large sum of money, enough to make sure she'd never want for anything. But from that day on, the light went out of his eyes. When I opened my eyes again, I'd gone back 40 years. Young and handsome in his black trench coat, Carlos stood tall before me while Nina hid behind him, looking fragile. Carlos looked at me with a hint of nervousness and anticipation in his eyes. "Alice, she's Sam's wife. I promised Sam I'd take care of her..." I swirled the glass in my hand and let out a soft laugh. "Of course. Let her stay at the estate." This time, I chose to let them have each other while I walked away.

My husband was Damian, the Don of the Manhattan Mafia. Everyone thought he worshipped me, but the second his childhood sweetheart, Sophia, came back, I became invisible. He ditched me for her over and over again. It all broke when I started miscarrying. Even as my blood stained his car seat, he didn't even flinch. He just shoved me out of the car. "Sophia has a severe phobia of blood. You’re going to terrify her!" I woke up in the hospital to a taunting text from her: “I said I was a little hungry, and Damian actually got in the kitchen to cook for me. He spoils me way too much.” The photo showed the most powerful man in the city personally making her a meal. I didn't cry. I just called my mentor. "Sir, I had thought it through, and I was accepting the invitation for that international medical research project. Get me out of here. The further, the better." Since he couldn't let Sophia go, I decided to let them be. In three days, I was leaving Damian’s world for good.

I used to think my husband was the angel who saved me from the depths of hell. Five years ago, I would have died for my ex-fiance, Marco Lombardi, but his carelessness caused Mom's kidneys to fail. He ignored 99 of my calls, and with an empty bank account, I couldn't even afford the surgery to donate my kidney to her. Only later did I discover that during that time, he was having romantic getaways with my stepsister, Penny Rossi. When I hit rock bottom, mafia Don Leon Costa showed up. He got me the best doctors, handled everything when Mom died, and even proposed to me when I was a complete mess. In our five years of marriage, he has spoiled me rotten. I've almost forgotten how much Marco and Penny hurt me. Then, today, I overhear his phone call with Penny. "Leon, thank you for giving my sister's kidney to my mother back then." My beloved husband just brushes it off. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after your sister. She won't ever know." He laughs quietly, and his voice is full of warmth. "You know I hate seeing you cry."

Drugged by my fiancé and my best friend. Dragged into the penthouse of New York’s most ruthless Mafia Don. But instead of panicking, my tight nerves finally let go. I'm finally home. My fiancé thought the drugs fried my brain. He grabbed my jaw roughly. "Listen up, bitch. Our gang's port smuggling route depends entirely on tonight!" "Word is Cassian's been looking for a woman with a specific butterfly birthmark. The one on your collarbone should fool him." "Serve him like the slut you are. Make him happy. Once the deal is done, I'll even toss you a few stacks of cash." My best friend stroked her red lips and giggled. "Yeah! Getting into the Don's bed is a blessing. Don't act like a prude. Once we get the smuggling route, you'll be our hero. Maybe I'll even let you serve drinks at our wedding." The drugs boiled in my blood. They shoved me roughly through the heavy doors. No one noticed the mocking smirk on my face as I leaned against the sofa. I knew exactly whose territory this was. The unpredictable, violent Mafia tyrant they were talking about? The one who treated women like toys? He's my blood brother. Today, out of pure greed, they hand-delivered me straight into his territory. Tomorrow, they’ll learn that staying alive can be far worse than going to hell.

It took Matteo De Luca ten years to rise from soldier to Don. I fought through all ten beside him. The year we hit rock bottom, I cast aside every shred of pride and knelt before my father, the man who had betrayed my family, just to borrow twenty rounds. Matteo looked at me, his eyes full of pain. I asked only one thing. "The day you become Don, will you let me stand beside you?" He promised me he would. After he finally took his place as Don, I reminded him of that promise. He kept cleaning his gun without looking up. "Things are tense right now. We'll talk about it later." So I never asked again. Then I stumbled across a video on a dark-web forum: Matteo being crowned Don at Manhattan's Round Table Hall. He'd said he was going to Chicago to handle trouble. Instead, he was standing under the lights with my half sister, Isabella Volkov, at his side. Isabella slid the Don's ring, the symbol of his power, onto his finger. Matteo pulled her into an ecstatic embrace. "Thank you for being here at the start of my reign. I'm so happy." Isabella rose on her toes and kissed the side of his neck. "So am I." I shut off the video, wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, and returned to cleaning my guns as if it were any other night. When I finished, I texted Matteo, "I want twenty rounds." He did not ask why. He had a whole case delivered. I counted out twenty and texted back two words, "Too many." I had those twenty rounds returned to my father, settling a ten-year-old debt. Ten years ago, I traded my pride and dignity for twenty rounds. Ten years later, Matteo used twenty rounds to break his promise to me. There was no place for me at his coronation banquet. And he had no place left in my Brooklyn underworld.

I have been with Leone Donato, the don to a Mafia family, for four years. During those four years, he lets me live in the family estate but rarely tells me anything about the family's affairs. I fool myself into believing it's simply his cold, guarded nature. As the don to a Mafia family, he has to be cautious. Many of his secrets aren't ones he can easily share with others. But then, on the very day we are supposed to apply for a marriage license, I receive a screenshot of a private Mafia family group chat. "Ladies, I hear Leone's childhood sweetheart, Camilla Conti, is back in the country. Do you think Leone will still apply for a marriage license with Isola Munari tomorrow?" "Hard to say. After all, the family trust reserves 15% of the family business's profits for Camilla. All Isola gets is the family agreeing to accept her as the Donna and let her attend family meetings." Someone asks, "Then why exactly does Leone want to marry Isola?" Someone replies in the screenshot, "Because she's obedient, I guess. After all, for Leone's sake, she turns down an offer from Bellamare's top research institute. She even drives herself to a private clinic while suffering from a high fever. "Leone's exact words are, 'Isola can't live without me, and she doesn't care about any of that anyway.'" Obedient… So, in the eyes of the family, I am nothing more than an obedient lover. As I stare at those words, I slip off my diamond ring and place it on the partially signed prenuptial agreement. Then, I open my email and type, "Professore Ferrante, I've changed my mind. If the position at the research institute is still available, I'll join it this time."

My mafia boyfriend, Finn, is always bickering with his childhood friend, Amanda. For my birthday, she brought me a bullet vibe. "Here. For round two, just in case. I know his stamina better than anyone." He tossed a bottle of pale foundation at her. "Slap some more on. Maybe then someone will actually want to touch you." They shoved each other on their way out, slamming the door behind them. The candles on the cake burned down to nothing while I sat alone at the dining table. The first time our families sat down for a formal dinner, she smiled and slipped him a small bottle of lube. "Take it. So you don't make the poor girl suffer." His face darkened. "Better than you crying at night, hugging a body pillow." This time, Finn had arranged a private island vacation. A mutual friend quietly gave me a heads-up, telling me he was planning to propose on a cliff at sunset. After a seven-year marathon, I told myself this was it. The finish line was finally in sight. I dressed meticulously, putting on my most expensive dress, and walked toward the helipad. I pulled open the helicopter door. Amanda was already in the co-pilot's seat. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Chloe, you're here? I'm claustrophobic, so you don't mind if I sit up front, right?" Finn, gripping the controls, turned to look me over. "Chloe, you sit in the back. I'm worried she'll have a meltdown and start scratching and biting. It'll ruin the mood." Before I could say a word, Amanda was already arguing with him. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm a burden?" "It's not the first time I've thought so. Why are you being so dramatic today?" Their back and forth was so practiced it felt like a script they had rehearsed a thousand times. In that moment, the exhaustion of the past seven years washed over me. And for the first time, I realized I didn't want to say yes to his proposal anymore.

The day of the gang shootout, while I was cleaning up the mess, I realized our marriage certificate was missing. My husband Victor Rosso tried to comfort me. Said the whole family only recognized me as their Donna. No need to bother replacing it. I mulled it over for a few days, then still brought my ID to city hall to get a duplicate. The clerk tapped at her keyboard for a minute, then looked up at me. "Ma'am, your marital status shows as single." I froze. Then I wrote down Victor's name and mine again and handed it back to her. She checked once more. Her expression turned strange. "The system says you're single, but your husband is listed as married..." She paused. "The spouse's name is Anna Martin. Do you know her?" My mind went blank. Victor and I were each other's first love. He'd always treated me like I was the moon, the stars, everything. And Anna—my sister, his savior, the woman he personally shipped off to Milan because she wouldn't stop chasing him. Turns out, while he was calling her reckless to my face, he'd already given her his legal name on paper. I pulled out my phone and called my mentor. "Mentor, I need to get back to my jewelry studio. What's the soonest you can get me in?" "Flora. Three days. Just give me three days."

At the auction, Victor raised his paddle and won the twenty-three-carat rough pink diamond. He waved a casual hand. "It's for Lillian." Sitting beside him, I went still, a tremor running through me so faint no one noticed. Only then did he seem to remember me. "Use the leftovers for a pair of earrings," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Give them to Claudia." Later, I followed the family's orders and married him. I became the Donna of the Medici Family. We spent a steady, loveless lifetime together. On my deathbed, Victor held my hand and asked if I had any last wishes. I looked at my jewelry box. The top tray was filled with pieces made from his scraps, the leftovers from every gift he'd ever given Lillian. I drew my last breath without answering. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment the two Families were competing for the Medici Donna's seat. In my previous life, I'd held the Smith & Wesson, fired ten shots, and hit ten bullseyes. The old Don had named me the future Donna of his Family on the spot. This time, I let out a slow breath and pulled the trigger. I missed on purpose.

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn. I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution. He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead." The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat? As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet." Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you. "I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed." Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right. So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker. Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire. When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.

At my engagement party, my fiance, Lorenzo Thorne, the Don, publicly took the hand of Layla Cline, the daughter of the woman who had once saved his life, and led her into the opening dance that symbolized their engagement. He declared publicly, "Layla, you are the only woman who matters tonight!" The engagement party I had looked forward to for years had been handed to someone else, right before my eyes. Just like before. At my birthday party, he had snatched the dress I'd spent weeks preparing and handed it to Layla, who hadn't brought one. "You already have me. Let Layla have the dress." I'd given up the passenger seat. I'd given up our anniversaries. Finally, I decided to give this man to her for good. I turned away and dialed the number I knew by heart. "Hi, Dad. I lost. I'll accept the arranged marriage."