Plot Twists Mafia Short Stories & Scumbag Regret Novels

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

I was engaged to Theodore Harrison, heir to the Harrison family. I wanted a perfect wedding, so I lost 22 pounds in three months. I cut out carbs completely and took five Pilates classes a week, all so I could look my very best in the Harrison heirloom gown. But when I went in for my fitting, the maid brought out a plain dress instead. Still in the dress, I demanded an explanation. Theodore, my fiancé, answered as if it were no big deal. "Layla's young, and she loves pretty clothes. So I had the heirloom gown sent to her." He looked at me like he'd only just noticed how much I'd changed. "That gown belongs on someone dazzling, like Layla. Right now, you look like a walking skeleton. "It doesn't matter what you wear to the wedding anyway. Just let Layla have the dress." I couldn't believe it. I was shaking so hard I couldn't get a word out. Theodore and I had been together for eight years, and he'd brought his childhood friend, Layla Brooks, along on every single date. When we went hunting, he gave Layla the rifle I shot best with. When we went shopping, he handed Layla the dress I'd ordered three months in advance. Whenever I objected, Theodore would give me an impatient look. "Hailey, if you can't even give up small things like this, how are you supposed to be my wife?" I'd thought he saw Layla as nothing more than a childhood friend. But now he'd even given her the wedding dress meant for me. Suddenly, I was tired. Maybe Theodore had forgotten one thing: whoever married me would be eligible to become the Harrison heir.

I was packing up to leave work when the shooting started in the neighborhood. The company sent out a mandatory evacuation notice: everyone had to be out of the building by six, no exceptions. Before leaving, one of my coworkers asked, "Chiara, want me to drive you home?" I waved it off. "Leo says he's five minutes out." At five that afternoon, I could hear scattered shots in the distance. I called my boyfriend, Leo Bianchi. The call didn't go through. The last message in our thread was from half an hour earlier. He'd said he was five minutes away. I figured the shooting and lockdown would slow traffic a little. At half past five, the perimeter outside the building was breached and the power was cut. I was the only one left in the office. I called Leo again. This time the call went through, but Lena Pisani, his coworker, answered. "Chiara? Is that you?" I hesitated, caught off guard. "Where's Leo?" "He's driving. He can't really pick up. We're on our way to my place. Leo said it wasn't safe for me to go back by myself. "Oh, and he said he messaged you half an hour ago, telling you to find somewhere safe. You made it home, right?" The gunfire outside was deafening, and I slowly went cold inside. For three years, every bit of Leo's attention had gone to his new coworker. And whatever feelings I still had for him finally burned out. "Yeah. I'm home." A home he would never be part of again.

On the flight to Arlencia, a post popped up: [What's it like to have sex in a wedding dress?] The pic showed a girl yanking some guy's purple tie while he hiked up her gown. His face was blurred, but hers? Straight-up blissed out. Everyone in the comments was swooning over how in love they looked. I didn't swoon. I froze. Because that purple tie? I gave it to Zeke Santoro, my fiancé, a few days ago. And that wedding dress? The exact custom one he had made for me. There was only one. I kept zooming in, heart racing, until I spotted a family photo in the background. My hands were shaking when I called him. "I wanna see the dress," I said. He hesitated. "It's at the studio getting final touches. Not with me right now. I'll show it to you later." I just smiled and hung up. That was all I needed. Zeke cheated—and the girl? His stepsister, Jella. Total circus. I reopened the post and shot her a DM: [Your wedding dress is stunning. I have the same one.]

Lucas Morandi and I ran the biggest arms-smuggling network in Sicily. During one deal, we rescued a kidnapped barista named Chloe Bennett. That naive girl fell hopelessly in love with Lucas. She'd wait outside our villa with Italian pastries she'd baked herself. She'd hang around outside the office with coffee she'd made just for him. Lucas always knocked the pastries and coffee into the mud, disgust written all over his face. "Enough with these cheap little gifts. This pathetic domestic fantasy makes me sick." Then, during a bloody raid by a rival family, Chloe's scream gave away our position. I took a sniper's bullet for Lucas and ended up in a deep coma. Lucas hated her for it. He chained her beside my ventilator and grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to beg for forgiveness. Desperate to atone, she grabbed a shard of broken glass and slit her wrist. At the sight, the cold-blooded Don's eyes instantly filled with tears. He gripped the sharp glass with his bare hand, his voice shaking so badly he could barely get the words out. "You think you can escape me by dying? In your dreams!" She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. The man who had sworn he would never marry anyone but me kissed away her tears. I could only lie in that hospital bed and watch helplessly as something inside me died.

I'd been spoiled and willful since I was a little girl. Whatever I wanted, I always got. When I was 17, I fell for a blue diamond at an auction. My father had the entire auction house shut down so I could take my time choosing. When I was 22, I fell for Marco Ferrante, the son nobody in the Ferrante family cared about. My father used every resource he had to secure Marco's place as heir to the Ferrante family. As agreed, Marco married me. But in two years of marriage, he never once touched me. Because there was always another woman in his heart. Three years earlier, she'd fallen seriously ill and gone abroad. She returned three years later, on the night of our wedding anniversary. I'd spent a month preparing my gown for our anniversary. I put it on, stepped in front of him, and spoke softly for the first time. "Could you please not go to her tonight?" He pried my fingers loose one by one. There was no warmth in his eyes. "Because of you, I made the wrong choice back then and lost her. "Now she's back. Are you still going to stand in my way?" To him, I was never his wife. Just a mistake he'd made to survive. I watched him walk away and suddenly laughed. "Fine. If our marriage is a mistake, then I'll end it myself."

On my eighteenth birthday, the boy I'd secretly loved for years kissed me first. After a night of passion, I traced the marks on my skin and thought it was all a dream. I was ready to make it official. But the next day, my nude photos were plastered across the entire school. When I confronted him, Damien Ashford laughed with bloodshot eyes: "Blame your mother. If she hadn't turned a blind eye while those girls destroyed Rosalie, Rosalie would never have killed herself." "Now let's see — when her own daughter becomes the school whore, will she still just sit back and watch?" That was the moment I understood. Every tender word from the night before had been a weapon. In the end, my mother slapped me hard across the face and dragged me away. Years later, we met again. He had become the Don — the most powerful man in the underworld. And I was a dealer in his brand-new casino. He offered me up like a chip for other men's amusement, then claimed me himself after the game — the winner taking his prize. I didn't resist. Didn't struggle. Obedient as a puppet. But he froze. His eyes locked onto the stretch mark across my stomach.

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."

Colton and I were the two most notorious good-for-nothings in the Sicilian mafia. My oldest brother, Dominic, was the Don of the Turner Family. My other brother, Luca, laundered money for the entire operation. That made me the Family princess who did nothing but max out my brothers' credit cards. Colton had been frail since birth. His hands shook whenever he held a gun. But his oldest sister, Serena, ran several arms routes in the south, and his other sister, Natalia, commanded one of the world's top assassin teams. One day at the racetrack, the four of them got to talking. "Since none of us can stop worrying about the little ones, why not put them together? Easier to keep an eye on both." Just like that, Colton and I got married. We were moved into the Family estate, and life was peaceful and easy. That peace lasted until it was time for me to go abroad with Colton for his long-term treatment. The night before we left, our brothers and sisters threw us a farewell banquet so we could make our formal debut before the Family. At the banquet, Beth, the daughter of the Garry Family, insisted I was the mistress her husband kept on the side. "I don't know your husband, and I'm definitely not his mistress. My husband is right over there." I pointed him out to her. Colton was stuffing cake into his mouth, his hands already starting to tremble. Beth burst out laughing. "You think pointing at some idiot will fool anyone? I've seen plenty of women like you!" She shoved me hard. I crashed into the champagne tower, knocking it over. Glass shattered across the floor, and the deafening noise drew a crowd. A jagged shard sliced a deep gash into my leg. Blood poured out. Colton panicked when he saw what happened. He rushed forward, shoved Beth aside, and was ready to fight. Beth was furious. "So he really is an idiot. Throw them both into the sea." I fought with everything I had and managed to dial Dominic. My voice shook. "Dominic, someone's trying to kill me." They had no idea wha

"I crossed a line. I fell for Ilaria." On our wedding day, the car had barely pulled away when Matteo Rossi turned to look at me. He pointed at the seat beneath me and said coldly, "Last night, she sat right there, wrapped her legs around my waist and kissed me. I couldn't hold back. We had sex in the car. "I guess I'm no different from any other man. I finally understand Luca. Ilaria really does have more fire in her than you." Luca was my ex-husband and Matteo's half-brother. Ilaria had been my only friend since childhood. Three years ago, I walked in on the two of them in my bedroom. The shock caused a late-term miscarriage. When I fell into the dark, Matteo was my light. And now he had betrayed me the same way.

I had been in love with Leo, the Don of a Mafia family. For seven years, I was there with him through the darkest nights, cleaned up after him more times than I could count, and convinced myself that he would give me the ending I deserved. When word got back to me that Leo was planning a proposal, I could barely contain the tremble in my fingers. However, the woman he was proposing to wasn’t me. My eyes burned, and my voice was barely a whisper. “Why?” Leo pulled me into his arms in assurance, his chest warm against my skin, but the words coming out of his mouth were anything but. “Nina has cancer. Her only wish is to know what it’s like to be proposed to. I couldn’t say no to her. “This is the one thing I can do for her.” As Leo slipped the ring onto Nina’s finger, his expression earnest, the past seven years I’d spent loving him felt like a joke. Nina got her happy ending. All I got was a rude awakening. Now that the dream was over, it was time for me to walk away.

The Vale family was the most powerful mafia syndicate in the New York City. And I—along with a few other carefully chosen girls—had been handpicked to join their ranks, trained from the ground up so that the next head of the family could choose his wife from among us. Wife. That was the kinder word for it. The truth was whoever got picked would become his shield, his weapon, his most loyal protector. Someone who would kill for him. Die for him. Years passed. One by one, the others fell away. In the end, only Elara Quinn and I remained. And then, Elara died—killed on a secret mission. After that, there were no more choices left. I became Adrian Vale’s wife by default. I had given everything to Adrian. And I loved him. I thought he loved me too until I took a bullet to the chest—meant for him. As I lay there, barely breathing, I heard Adrian talking to his assistant, “Don’t bury her in the Vale cemetery. My half is reserved for Elara.” That was it. Elara—who had never even lived long enough to marry him—still had a space carved beside him in death. I? I had taken the hit that should have ended him… and yet I wasn’t even good enough to be buried near him. I slowly closed my eyes. And when I opened them again, I was back on the day the Vale family formally announced Adrian as their new head. The day everything began.

My online boyfriend, Adrian Ferro, lost a bet at a private casino. And what he'd put up to cover it was me. He added me to a group chat with 100 heirs from New York's biggest mafia families. The group announcement was impossible to miss. "Luca De Santis has won a mystery girlfriend. Weight: 200 pounds." Right after that, someone posted a photo of me from high school, squeezed into a formal gown. In the photo, I was practically bursting out of it. The group chat blew up. "Adrian, did you just give Luca a sow?" "At the charity gala tomorrow night, Luca has to do the couples' challenges with her." Another betting pool opened almost immediately: would I dare show up at the gala? Adrian bet a hundred thousand dollars that I wouldn't show up. He even tagged Luca and wrote, "She's all yours now. How do you like her?" Luca, who'd won the bet, never said a word. Then Vivian Bellini, the reigning beauty of the Bellini family, tagged me. "Tomorrow night is such a big deal. You'll be there, won't you?" I stared at the screen and scoffed. In their eyes, I was still that 200-pound fat girl. But they had no idea I was down to 100 pounds now. Lately, I'd lost count of how many strangers had hit on me on the streets of New York. I didn't bother explaining. I just bet a hundred thousand dollars that I'd show up. Then I typed, "A bet's a bet."

My husband, Don Axel Thorne, died protecting me in a mob war. I was his widow for six years, until I turned thirty. The old guard of the Family told me it was time to move on. My friends told me to let him go. Even in my dreams, his bloody hands would cup my face, begging me to live again. So I agreed to an arranged marriage. But first, I went to his grave for one last goodbye. I’d just left the cemetery when a post appeared in my feed. [Thanks, hubby, for the six-year anniversary gift! A fifty-million-dollar penthouse in Miami!] My blood ran cold. My hands shook. The phone nearly slipped from my grip. In the photo, the man I buried six years ago was slipping a massive diamond onto another woman's finger. The background was a lavish penthouse. His style. I put my people on it. We had the location in minutes. Drove straight there. I knocked, the door opened, and I froze. The woman standing there was Seraphina. His adoptive sister. The one the Family exiled six years ago for her obsession with him.

Just days before our wedding, I was told that my fiancé, Matteo Ferrara, had died in a car crash. The car had been completely destroyed. The only thing his men recovered was a bloodstained diamond tiara. His father, the Don, pressed a pistol to my forehead and growled, “If Matteo hadn't been rushing to give you the tiara he designed himself, he would still be alive!” His adopted older sister, Isabella Ferrara, was at the Don's feet, playing a video of Matteo's last words as he sank into the sea. “Don! Matteo's last wish was for Layla to live! Please don't kill her. Let him rest in peace.” So I was locked in the Ferrara family's punishment room and made to kneel for 72 straight hours. They didn't let me out until the fourth night. But Matteo's funeral was already over. I never even got to see him one last time. Numb with grief, I slipped into my wedding dress, swallowed poison, and made my way to the dock where Matteo had supposedly died. I'd just climbed over the railing when applause and whistles erupted behind me. Isabella rushed over, practically jumping for joy. “I won, Matteo!” The crowd parted. Matteo stepped out of an armored car with a cashmere wrap. He ruffled Isabella's hair and gave a resigned sigh. “A bet's a bet. You wanted a dress just like Layla's, right? I'll have one made for you when we get back.” Only then did he look at me. He draped the wrap over my shoulders. “It's freezing out here, and you're soaked. You'll catch a cold.” Then he smiled. “Isabella was worried you only wanted to become the next Donna, that you didn't actually love me. So she came up with this little test. “Well, congratulations. You passed. Now let's go get married.” I stared at him, struggling to process what I'd just heard. None of it had been real. The fatal crash and the video of his last words as he sank into the sea were all part of Isabella's elaborate prank. Matteo had staked my life on their bet. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I struggled to steady my trembling body against the pain, then shook my head. “Call off the wedding. “I don't want to marry you anymore.”

I married Don Matteo in secret. Every time he fucked his childhood sweetheart, he promised me a real wedding，in front of the Five Families. For five years, Matteo promised me ninety-nine times. And ninety-nine times, he left me at the altar. The first time, Cecilia’s prize-winning show cat died. To comfort her, he postponed the wedding for three months. I stood at the altar alone, eyes red, trying to calm down the family elders. The second time, Cecilia threw a tantrum at a casino and shattered a hundred-million-dollar antique vase. He diverted the private jet meant for their wedding and rushed through the night to clean up her mess. And every time, right before our wedding, his childhood sweetheart would have some kind of emergency. I cried. I screamed. I even held a gun to his head. But Matteo would just pin me against the wall and shut me up with a cold, hard kiss. “She’s just a fuck. You are Mrs. Falcone. Have some goddamn class.” After the ninety-ninth time, I was finally done. I slid the papers across the table. The ink was still wet, the Falcone family seal stamped at the bottom. “Our marriage, our alliance—it’s over.”

My father was Enzo Moretti, the godfather of one of New York’s most powerful mafia families. And I was his princess—his most cherished treasure. He hid me from his world to protect me, but he didn’t want me left alone, so he arranged a marriage for me. The groom was Leon Scott—the son of New York’s richest man. Handsome, loaded, and a rising star in the business world. On paper, he was perfect. For our wedding, my father had a custom gown flown in from a designer in Milan. Today was my fitting appointment. When I walked into the bridal boutique, my heart stopped. Nicole Hill, Leon’s childhood sweetheart, was wearing my wedding dress. When she saw me, a smug little smile curled her lips. Then she grabbed a cheap white polyester bridesmaid’s dress from the table and shoved it into my arms. “Put this on,” she said, lifting her chin like she owned the place. “You can wear this for the ceremony.” I looked down at the flimsy fabric in my hands, then back up at her. My voice dropped low. “I’m the soon-to-be bride. And you’re telling me to wear this?” She let out a laugh, sharp and mean. “Just do what you’re told and don’t make this difficult. Leon already gave the word. I’m walking down the aisle in your place. And you? You just stand there like a good little bridesmaid and go through the motions.” For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed Leon’s number. It rang twice before he picked up. “Leon, about Nicole taking my place at the altar. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

I have been hopelessly in love with Don Lorenzo Greco since the first time I saw him ten years ago. As the only daughter of the long-established Messina mafia family, I have set aside my pride and chased after him for a decade. On my 25th birthday, the way Lorenzo looks at me finally changed. He's not seeing a child anymore. He's looking at a woman. Lorenzo says yes to me, and I finally kiss the mouth I've been dreaming of all this while. The next day, Lorenzo announces to the world that he will hold the wedding of the century. 9,999 roses, fireworks all night, and a spectacle so grand it will shock every family in Northern Darvent. I stand there with tears in my eyes as the fireworks spell out another woman's name. Elena Lagioia. The assistant who has always been at Lorenzo's side, the girl I have never once taken seriously. I plan to confront Lorenzo with a gun in my hand. However, I stop outside the door when I hear him speaking to his consigliere. "Elena's parents are gambling addicts and owe a large debt. If I don't marry her, she'll be sold to a brothel in Malicuria tomorrow. Let's keep Cinzia in the dark for now. After this is over, I'll divorce Elena and marry Cinzia. After all, she loves me so dearly." On Lorenzo's wedding day, I'm wearing a wedding dress and resting in the arms of a far more powerful Don of the Argento family from Southern Darvent. I look at Lorenzo and smile. It drives him crazy. He swears to do whatever it takes to win me back.

During a dinner party hosted by the Cassano crime family, a lace garter stained with dried fluid dropped out of Matthew's pocket. He was the Don's son-in-law. When questioned, Matthew insisted I had tried to seduce him, failed, and planted my own underwear on him as a setup. In my past life, I was just a maid for the Cassano family. Simply because I had a killer body and a pretty face, the hot-tempered mafia princess, Caroline, refused to listen to a word I said. She had me fed alive to a venomous snake. My parents came seeking justice, only to end up at the bottom of the river. In this life, I faced Matthew's setup once again. "She sneaked into my booth and threw herself at me! When I rejected her, she planted this on me to ruin my marriage with Caroline!" But I was no longer a lowly maid. I held a Ph.D. in Economics from Yale and served as the Chief Advisor for the Visconti family, a global mafia empire.

Luca Moretti was the heir to the Moretti family, and my childhood sweetheart, the boy I had loved for five years. He always said I would be his wife once he took over the family. Then one night, with his arms still around me, he asked for another woman’s number. “Bella, we’re going to get married sooner or later.” “But do you really expect me to spend the rest of my life with only one woman?” “I won’t let anyone touch the position of Mrs. Moretti. You’re smart enough not to make trouble over this.” That was when I finally understood. He wanted my loyalty, my patience, and my silence. But he had never planned to give me the same. The day I moved out of his house, Luca blocked the door. “We’re not over. I can have fun, and so can you. Why are you acting like this?” I picked up my suitcase. “No.” “I’m traditional.” Later, when he finally came back for me, his eyes bloodshot and his voice breaking as he begged me to give him one last chance, I looked at the ring on my finger and smiled. “Sorry.” “I don’t take back what someone else only remembers after letting go.”