Tragic Love Mafia-Kurzgeschichten & Regret-Kurzromane

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?”

My husband is a man with powerful emotions. To keep his adopted sister content, he allocates millions annually for her to spend lavishly. He's concerned about her well-being. Each night, he sits by her, ensuring she settles down. Later, when I was shot and bleeding heavily, requiring immediate aid, he remained utterly indifferent.He directed the entire medical team to his distraught adopted sister instead. I used my remaining strength to call my husband. The phone connected. His voice, tinged with irritation, answered: "What is it now? You're fine, perfectly healthy. Why would you need a doctor?" "Listen, Sofia needs me. Our family's medical resources are spread thin. For minor issues, just bear with it." My heart sank, feeling as if it had turned to ice. He truly is a man with powerful emotions. It's just that the one he truly cares about has never been me.

I have been able to smell people's emotions since I was a child. Love is sweet, and sadness is bitter. After being with Dante for ten years, the scent on him had always been sweet. Until last month, when my sister Sofia agreed to the arranged marriage with the Colombo family. In that very moment, the scent on him abruptly turned bitter. That night, I heard their suppressed voices: "Sofia, you clearly love me too, so why are you marrying that useless man?" My sister cried back at him: "You are Gia's fiancé, and she is my sister. We cannot continue this mistake." Only then did I realize the truth. My fiancé had been in love with my sister all along. I canceled the engagement party and booked a flight to Sicily in three days. But why was it that only after I left did they both go mad with regret?

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.

Adrian Vale was the Don the whole city feared, and yet he spent three years chasing me, a girl who waited tables. Then, the night before our wedding, my best friend Nina Ashford and I were taken at the same time. With the cold muzzle of a gun against my forehead, I cried out, my voice shaking, “Let Nina go! She’s innocent!” The kidnapper laughed like I’d told a joke. “Innocent? She’s worth a hell of a lot more than you.” My whole body went rigid. The next second he leaned down to my ear, his smile pure malice. “You really think Adrian’s marrying you because he loves you?” “The day you tried on your wedding dress, he was fucking Nina on your bed.” “And that black ring, the one that stands for the Don’s power? He put it on Nina’s finger a long time ago.” I shook my head, over and over, refusing to believe it. But the kidnapper had already stopped looking at me. He dialed Adrian’s number. “Mr. Vale, you need to make a choice. Your bride, or Miss Ashford. Only one of them walks out of here alive.” “Which one do you choose?” In that instant, I forgot how to breathe. On the other end, Adrian was quiet for only a few seconds. Then he said it, perfectly calm. “Let Nina go.”

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."

My parents were branded as "traitors" within the Lucchese family. To show the family's mercy, I was taken in as their "sacrificial lamb" to atone for my parents' sins, and I lived with them for 12 years. Those 12 brutal years would have been unbearable if not for one thing: the Don, Antonio Lucchese, had twin heirs who became my only protection. Until that night, when they believed Martina Browne's lies about me and handed me the execution poison known as "The Vow of Silence." "Drink it, Chiara Colombo." Dante Lucchese's voice was cold, his eyes fixed on me. "Prove your loyalty to the Lucchese family." I drank the poison, and it burned through my throat like acid. Through my blurred vision, I watched as his twin brother, Enzo Lucchese, pulled the real traitor close to him. He said coldly, "Take Chiara to the infirmary. Don't let her die in the banquet hall." The day I was released from the hospital, I made a phone call to the Lucchese family's deadliest rival. My voice was hoarse as I spoke each word slowly. "I have evidence that could bury the entire Lucchese family. Marry me, and I'll help you destroy them."

When Matteo Morandi divided up the territories, he let my cousin, Chloe Serra, choose first. As always. One was the deep-water port, a gold mine and our safest territory. The other was a stretch of abandoned, crumbling docks in the slums, where rival crews often traded gunfire. For the first time, I stepped forward before Chloe could choose. I pointed to the deep-water port on the map. "I want this one." Matteo rested a warm hand on my shoulder. His voice was gentle, but his words were cruel. "Chloe can't handle the slums. She needs to be in the safest place we've got. "Celia, the slums are more your speed." I was so angry I laughed out loud, but I didn't argue. Instead, my clenched fists slowly loosened. My uncle, Enzo Serra, liked to say Chloe was the Serra family's precious white dove, while I was the vicious dog born to fight in the mud. In his eyes, it was the perfect arrangement. The marriage alliance worked the same way. Matteo needed a respectable woman at his side to clean up his brutal reputation, so Chloe was the obvious choice. But Chloe cried and refused. She dreamed of an artist and a life in the sunshine. She would never marry a Sicilian butcher. So Uncle Enzo picked me. I'd taken a bullet for Matteo and known him for 12 years, yet I was still only ever his second choice. "Then give it all to Chloe. I'm done."

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.

Three days ago, my husband left halfway through our baby's checkup because Bianca needed him. When Adrian finally came home, he brought a small beaded charm for the nursery and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Still angry? I made this for the baby. Bianca helped me yesterday.” He placed it in my hand. “Her father died protecting my family, Elena. I can't turn my back on her.” I nodded calmly and set the charm beside the folded baby clothes. His arms loosened in surprise. Usually, I would have asked why his promise to Bianca mattered more than the ones he had made to me. Another argument would have followed. After our last argument, he had muted my messages and set up an automatic reply until I “calmed down.” Yesterday, I suffered a placental abruption. I sent him ninety-nine messages. His phone answered every one with the same preset response. After the surgery, I wrote, “The baby is gone.” His reply arrived immediately. “Got it.” Beneath the words, a cartoon cat waved cheerfully. I had watched that cat wave while I waited for my husband to come to the hospital. By the time he came home, I had stopped expecting him. I handed him a folder with our divorce agreement inside. “Something from the jeweler?” he asked, already reaching for his ringing phone. “It needs your signature.” He signed without opening the folder to the first page, then left to see Bianca again. I confirmed my transfer to Boston and booked a flight. By the time he finally opened the conversation he had ignored, I had already left New York and removed myself from his life.

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.

I married Don Caspian Serrano. The King of the New York Underworld. But I didn't know his ex-wife took more than just full custody of their daughter. She extracted an ironclad vow from him. Every quarter, he had to take them on a two-week vacation. All over the world. Right under the eyes of the Five Families. She called the shots. She wanted to prove one thing: the alliance between Serrano and her family was bulletproof. So on my wedding night? I slept alone. For three years, he missed every single anniversary. Until this year. His daughter sent me a prank gift. I tripped. I rolled down the stairs. Blood soaked the rug. I was hemorrhaging. Miscarrying. The doctors wouldn't operate without Caspian's approval. I called his encrypted line over a dozen times. He finally answered. His voice was exhausted. Annoyed. "Aria. Are you really making up this sick lie for attention? Framing my daughter?" "I just landed in Vegas. Tonight decides the survival of the West Coast syndicate. I am not ditching them for your petty games." "And another thing. Schedule your surgery tomorrow. Make sure you can't get pregnant. I swore a blood oath to her family. The only heir to the Serrano empire will ever be Nora." So that was it. Even if I wasn't bleeding out. He never wanted my baby. I hung up. Calmly. I touched my empty stomach. I signed the surgery consent form myself. He was loyal to his vow. Loyal to that woman. Fine. I didn't want to be his Donna anymore.

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.

After being dumped for the 99th time for being a “chatterbox,” I finally met my soulmate, Lysander Thorne. As the Mafia godfather, he was a man of few words, but listened to every single word I said with rapt attention. His proposal shattered the curse that had doomed me to a hundred rejections. But, I discovered a fatal flaw in Lysander after we got married. Whatever he spoke to me, he never exceeded ten words. I thought it was his stoic personality until I gave a hand to a girl being harassed by a thug at the bar. At the police station, the girl asked, “Has your husband not arrived yet? My friend will pick me up and you can leave with us.” The next second, I saw Lysander rushing in, looking utterly disheveled. “Elara Thorne! Why do you stir up trouble on your very first day back home? You've got wings of your own now, haven’t you? Did I ever tell you to stay safe firstly when something happened? Stop being so impulsive!” It turned out Lysander could get emotional. How ridiculous! When Lysander entered, his eyes were solely fixed on Elara. I looked at him with a blank expression, and wordlessly walked out of the police station.

My fiance, Luca Rossi, cuts off my finger with a cigar cutter to seize Ossuary Signet, my famiglia heirloom. Afterward, he parades it like a trophy and slips the ring onto the finger of Sofia Constanzo, the heiress of the Constanzo famiglia. He mocks me openly. "An orphan like you has no right to wear the ring meant for the future Donna of the Rossi famiglia." Sofia lifts her hand to flaunt the ring, feigning concern as she says, "Alessia, don't be angry. At worst, I will have Luca compensate you with a golden finger later." Everyone present watches me as a joke, yet I laugh out loud. I wipe away my tears and start to applaud. "Congratulations, Luca. You traded one of my fingers for the Rossi famiglia's one and only lifeline." I look at his stunned expression and smile cruelly. "Do you think it's just a ring? No. It is the sole key to unlock the billions in assets under my name. The moment it leaves my hand, the Rossi famiglia begins its countdown to bankruptcy and liquidation."

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

The Consigliere—my husband, Sal Barzini—who'd always despised anything soft or weak—suddenly started sleeping with a teddy bear. One button eye missing, filthy as a stray dog, yet he cuddled that beast every night, curled up in silk sheets like a baby returning to the womb. And left me freezing on the edge of the master bedroom. I couldn't stand it anymore. At our son Luca's first-year baptism, I announced I wanted out. Everyone went numb with shock. Sal grabbed a glass of red wine and threw it in my face. "You're jealous of a stuffed animal? Have you lost your fucking mind?" I wiped the wine from my cheek, cold as ice. "You say you want to spend your life with that beast. I'm giving you my blessing."

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

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."