Historias cortas de Inspirational Mafia y novelas ambientadas en Revenge

In my past life, I walked away from an invitation to the elite Academy just to take the fall for Luca. He held my hand, swearing he’d get me out. Swearing he’d keep me safe for the rest of my life. Instead, I rotted in a cell until I died. While I was bleeding out on the cold floor, Luca was marrying the Don’s daughter, living the high life. When I opened my eyes, I was back. Luca was sixteen again, face pale as a sheet, shoving a bloody gun into my hands. "Elena, you're a lifesaver." I slapped the piece away. "Dream on. I ain't taking the rap for you this time."

Donna Sofia Marino's birthday is held on Valentine's Day. When Francesco Rossi, the Underboss of the Costa family, announces the news on behalf of Don Enzo Costa, everyone in the family is very happy. Well, everyone but me. As expected, Francesco is quick to add, "Someone needs to guard the headquarters. Camilla, you'll be the one in charge of this task." "What the Underboss means is that you don't really carry out any missions in your daily life. Besides, you have tons of spare time anyway. This time, you are to guard the headquarters so that you can deal with any emergencies that might arise." I just smirk sarcastically. The truth is, I'm always the one dealing with the most dangerous matters concerning the Costa family. The transactions of the firearms worth hundreds of millions of dollars are successfully carried out thanks to the plan I've spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. When a crossfire breaks out, I'm always on the frontlines, fighting for the family's glory despite getting injured. While I'm given the title as the executive director, I'm never given any actual power. In truth, my standing is lower than that of a soldato. I'm always the one carrying out the hardest, the most menial, not to mention the most dangerous tasks. But every time credit is given, it's never given to me. I've been enduring this injustice for five long years. This time, I no longer want to keep enduring anymore. With a smile on my face, I stand up from my seat. "Alright then, Underboss Rossi. I shall guard the headquarters. But this will be the last time I ever do this. After this task is completed, I will officially leave the Costa family once and for all."

My father was the most feared Don in all of Sicelia. He ran every illicit arms deal and casino in the underworld, his name alone sent shivers through the Mafia world. He worried that, as his only heir, I might fall for the wrong man. So he ordered every family to send a representative, and I would choose my marriage partner by lot. I drew Bernardo Vito, heir of the Vito family. It was an arranged marriage, but I still wanted to meet him in person. To keep up appearances before the evening banquet, I stopped by a haute couture boutique. The moment I stepped inside, my eyes landed on a deep crimson velvet gown. Just as I reached for it, a sharp voice pierced the air. "I want that dress she's holding. Wrap it up for me." Before I could even react, a clerk snatched it from my hands. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. "I saw this dress first, and I was ready to pay. Is this how you treat your customers?" The woman laughed, as if I had just told the world's funniest joke. Her gaze roamed me with contempt, and she sneered: "This dress is worth five million dollars. A country bumpkin like you can only look. "Me? I am Bernardo Vito's favorite assistant. In this city, nothing I want is ever taken from me!" I could not help but laugh. Bernardo Vito? The very man I had drawn in the marriage lot? I pulled out my phone and dialed. "Bernardo, your favorite assistant just stole the dress I had my eye on. What are you going to do about it?"

I’m the princess of the Moretti family, the Chicago Outfit. But all I ever cared about was sculpting. The day before Thanksgiving, my car died on me. I had to drive home in some beat-up, mud-caked Jeep. The second I walked into the penthouse, some strange woman shoved a pile of silver polish into my arms. She jutted her chin at me. “Get these polished before the dinner party,” she sneered. I looked at her. She was wearing my late mother’s favorite silk robe. This is my house. Who the hell was this woman? And who was supposed to polish this junk? Me? The only princess of the Moretti family? I pulled out my phone. Opened the family's encrypted app. I sent a message to my father, Vincenzo. “Your new pet wants me to polish the silver.”