Feel-Good Story Mafia Short Stories & Substitute Novels

I'm the De Luca family's dirty little secret, their bastard daughter. And I was stupid enough to fall for Marco Moretti, the heir to our rivals. On our wedding day, my sister, Isabella, drugged me. When I woke up, she was wearing my dress. Standing at the altar. Becoming his wife. Heartbroken, I ran to a bar to drown my sorrow. And that’s where I discovered I was pregnant. Marco held me, crying. He swore he loved me, only me. He promised he’d divorce Isabella as soon as our child was born. But on the day I gave birth, Isabella murdered us both. Me and my baby. That’s when I finally understood. Marco would always choose a true-blooded princess of the Cosa Nostra. And me? The bastard? I was just a loose end. A problem to be erased. Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back on the day she drugged me. Their wedding day. This time, I'm not marrying the heir. I'm marrying the Don. But first... I'm going to ruin this wedding.

To protect his biological child, the mafia Don deliberately announces to the world that my fiance is his long-lost son. A Rolls-Royce pulls up outside my house. My fiance stares at his custom-tailored suit, his entire body trembling with excitement. I'm about to tell him it's all a lie when he shoves me aside and brushes off his sleeves with disgust, like he's touching something filthy. "Stay away from me. I can smell the poverty on you from here!" "Since I'm the Don's son, our engagement is over. An unwanted nobody like you isn't even fit to lick my boots." I try to explain, but he pulls out a check and slams it against my face—the sharp paper edge slices across my cheek. "Here's a million dollars. Consider it a breakup fee, and don't bother me again. We're not from the same world anymore." Watching the check flutter down into the mud, I quietly dim my phone screen. On it is a text from my father, the mafia Don. "Mia cara figlia, bear with it a little longer. Papa will bring you home soon to take over the family." Since he wants to burn every bridge between us, fine. He can have all this fortune on a silver platter. Whether he'll live long enough to enjoy it is another question entirely.

On the day my sister fled her wedding, the mafia Don, Dominic Cross, slaughtered everyone at the harbor. Even the stray dogs passing by were torn to pieces. Terrified of his wrath, the Vance family forced me into the wedding dress and sent me straight into Dominic’s estate as his substitute bride. For seven years after marrying into the Cross family, I took bullets for him, laundered his dirty money, and even tasted his food for poison. The entire mafia family came to revere me as their Donna. But in the eighth year, my sister, Elena, suddenly returned. Clad in a scarlet dress, she strode right into the family banquet hall and tasted Dominic’s red wine for poison right in front of everyone. Dominic’s grip on my hand tightened. As she collapsed from the poison, she leaned into my ear and whispered, “Sienna, thank you for keeping my seat warm all these years. Now, it’s time to give it back.” I stood frozen in place, watching Dominic’s face. The horrors of that night eight years ago flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder. Would this Don—this man who struck absolute terror into the hearts of the entire mafia underworld—lose his mind and burn the world down for her all over again?

My stepsister Victoria had fastened my sapphire cufflink to her bracelet and was about to become the Donna of the Corleone family when the most feared Don in Europe called a halt to the wedding. His voice was cold and low. "You're not the one I'm marrying. How could I ever fail to recognize the person who saved my life? The moment I first laid eyes on her, everything about her was burned into my memory." "Victoria, who are you really?" An uproar swept through the hall of European elites. Victoria tightened her grip on the sapphire cufflink, fighting to keep her trembling voice steady. "Caine, are you sure you haven't made a mistake?" Of course she hoped he was wrong. Ten years ago, in that suffocating cellar, the person who pulled him out of the grip of his claustrophobia and saved his life was me. The person who smashed the lock open until my hands were covered in blood was me. The person whose hand he'd pressed that sapphire cufflink into, the one he'd made the focus of his lifelong devotion, was me too. But just days ago, my stepmother Camilla had pinned me to the ground, ripped the cufflink away from me, and shoved it into Victoria's palm. She told me. "Elena, your sister is prettier and has a better personality. If she marries the Don, our Santini family can finally rise to power." In my last life, I believed their lies. I was locked in a cramped servant's room, watching Victoria take credit for what I had done and become the most glamorous Donna in all of Europe. Later, terrified the truth would come out, Victoria and my own father tied me up in the basement. Then she drove a knife straight through my heart. As I drew my last breath, the sapphire cufflink that should have been mine was still glittering from the bracelet on her wrist. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the exact moment they stole my keepsake. This time, I contacted that terrifying Mafia Don before anyone else could. I swore to take back everything that belonged to me.

To repay Victor for saving my life, I gave up a brilliant career as one of America's finest neurosurgeons and willingly became his trophy wife. For seven years, Victor lavished money on me and treated me with bone-deep tenderness. Yet his obsessive rules suffocated me. Every other week, I had to subject my scalp to agonizing bleach treatments to keep my hair icy platinum. I had to bathe in a discontinued Venetian white iris perfume. And I had to wear a fake beauty mark at the corner of my right eye. I once mistook it all for the obsessive devotion of a Mafia Don. Then, on the eve of our wedding of the century, I found a wall covered with portraits of another woman. The measurements of my gown, the carat weight of my ring, even the beauty mark Victor had tattooed beside my eye, all came from a dead woman's final wishes. After seven years of consuming passion, I was never his salvation. I was a living specimen, crafted to harbor the ghost of a dead woman.