Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Tragic Love Mafia

To protect my boyfriend, Nico, the illegitimate son of our allies, the Moretti family, from their internal power struggles, I agreed to leave New York with him. But on the eve of my adoptive father, the Don of the Falcone family, signing our transfer orders, he backed out. Through the hidden door of the cigar lounge, I heard his right-hand man tease him: "So you really kept up that act for three months just to get rid of the princess?" "But she's your childhood sweetheart. You really have the heart to some miserable fishing village in the Baltics all by herself?" Nico's voice was nonchalant. "It's just an outpost across the pond. How far can it be?" "Scarlett is too controlling. If I don't get her out of the picture, how am I supposed to get any breathing room? Besides, I need to put Chloe at ease." I stood behind that hidden door for a long time that night, my grip on the doorknob tightening until my knuckles were white, before I finally let go. I turned and walked away, pulling out my tablet to change my flight plan. I changed the destination from the official plan of that desolate Baltic outpost to a seat at the High Table in Sicily, which is the absolute center of old-world Mafia power. Everyone seemed to have forgotten. I am the princess of the Falcone family. And he is nothing but filth from the gutter. We were never a match.

I’m the Chief Counsel for Donatello Vexille, the Godfather of the Vexille family. I’m also his secret wife. At night, he’d pull me close, take me with a ragged violence, leaving his marks on me, a brutal claim I couldn’t refuse. But by day, I was just his lawyer. All he had for me were cold commands. We lived like that for three years. I decided I was done. But he couldn’t know. When I handed him the divorce papers, disguised as a bill of lading, and he signed his name, a breath I didn’t know I was holding finally escaped me. I chased him for seven years and was married to him for three. Whatever was left of my heart finally flatlined. I knew I could never have his. Because it already belonged to someone else: Angelina, his underboss’s sister. He remembered her favorite restaurant. He got blind drunk with joy when she filed for divorce. He even posted his personal guards outside her door. Those were honors I never had. So I tricked him into signing the papers, packed my things, and vanished. What I didn't expect was what he did after I left. He put a king's ransom on my location, and even announced to the whole world that I was his wife.

An explosion rocked the hallway of the estate during my engagement party. Smoke filled the air. Guests coughed and stumbled as security guards shouted that we were under attack. There weren't enough protective masks. Only one remained. My younger sister, Valentina, collapsed clutching her chest. She sobbed that her asthma was acting up. I'd barely gotten hold of the mask when my mother dropped to her knees and begged me to hand it over. "A little smoke won't kill you! But if your sister has a serious attack, she could die right here!" My fiancé, Matteo Rinaldi, was the Don of the Rinaldi family. He didn't bother giving me a choice. He ripped the mask out of my hands, pulled it over Valentina's head, and carried her toward the emergency exit. I ran after him and caught his jacket, but he shoved me away hard. "People could die! Stop acting jealous at a time like this!" I lost my footing and fell down the stairs, slamming my stomach against the steps. And then the alarms stopped. The panic vanished. Laughter erupted from the ballroom. Valentina peeled off the mask and held up the tiny camera hidden inside her collar. "Surprise, Elena! It's a pre-wedding loyalty test I planned just for you! We told everyone one of Matteo's enemies had planted a bomb. I wanted to see whether getting married would make you stop caring about your family!" My mother laughed, too, and reached down to pull me up. "Come on, stop lying there. It's all fake. There was never any bomb." I didn't move. I could only stare at the blood spreading beneath me. The attack had been fake. But my baby was really gone.

I disappeared in the year Sebastian Ferraro loved me most. For thirteen years, he never got an explanation. And for thirteen years, I punished myself by never watching his games, never saying his name, and never thinking about the promise we made in that old hockey rink. Until I returned to this city and saw a faded poster outside the abandoned arena. Sebastian was only seventeen in the photo. He stood at the center of the ice, bright-eyed and fearless, with one sentence printed beneath him: Wait for me past the blue line. That was his promise to me. And I had missed it for thirteen years. Later, I collapsed inside his arena. When I woke up, the boy I had once failed was standing beside my hospital bed. Only he was no longer a boy. He was a professional hockey star. The heir to the Ferraro crime family. And a man whose fiancée was about to marry him. I wanted to tell him why I had left all those years ago. But he looked at me and said coldly, “The past is over. Don’t cause any misunderstandings.” That was when I finally understood. I no longer had the right to disturb his life. So I smiled, swallowed every truth I had kept buried, and booked a flight to New Zealand. I thought leaving was the last thing I could do for him. Until that plane disappeared from radar. The news spread through the whole city. Everyone said Sebastian Ferraro lost control at the airport. He went through the passenger list again and again, screaming my name like a man who had already lost everything.

The news came that Raymond had been shot. I was seven months pregnant, but I flew straight across the country to the family's East Coast compound—and got detained the moment I stepped inside. “Never heard of the Don having a fiancée, and pregnant no less. You've got some nerve running a con on Carraso turf.” The barrel of a gun pressed cold against my temple. My heart was clawing its way up my throat when I caught sight of a familiar figure across the room. “Raffina,” I shouted, “tell them I'm your brother-in-law's fiancée.” Raffina gave a small wave of her hand, and the man holding the gun immediately bent at the waist. “Donna, I didn't know she was a friend of yours. My mistake.” I stared with wide eyes, unable to make sense of what I was seeing. Inside the compound, the same man crossed to where Raymond sat on the couch without a scratch on him, and gave a formal nod. “Don, she claims she's your fiancée.” Raymond took a slow sip of his whiskey and shook his head, just barely. They dragged me out, and on the way the man slapped me across the face, warning me not to try my con act anywhere near the family again. I pulled the engagement ring off my finger and went straight to International Financial Tower.

My husband's childhood sweetheart was diagnosed with a terminal illness. To fulfill her last wishes and let her experience the warmth of family, my husband, Aaron Turner, gave her my necklace. He even let her claim my birthday. Even our son started calling her "Mom" in private. He told me, "Chrishell, Sylvia is dying. Just give in to her, will you?" Whenever I asked him to spare even a little time and affection for me, our son, Lucas, would rush to speak on their behalf. "Mom, didn't you always teach me to be generous? Sylvia is dying. Why do you always make things difficult for her?" Over time, I stopped asking for anything at all. Then one night, I overheard my son speaking to his father after returning from the hospital. "Sylvia is so gentle and graceful. I wish Mom could be more like her." Aaron chuckled and affectionately brushed his hand over our son's hair. "Your mom may be a little strict, but it's all for your own good. Since you like Sylvia so much, how about we let her be your godmother?" So even the child I risked my life to bring into this world didn't like me. I lowered my gaze, quietly closed the bedroom door, and pretended none of it had happened. Since they were both filled with such regret, I'd leave quietly and give them what they wanted.

Charles Romano and I had applied together to take over the Caruso family's arms route in Boston. I'd just closed the family's transfer portal. Then a video from an unknown sender popped up on my phone. I opened it, and my stomach dropped. It was me, ten years in the future. My face was streaked with tears, and I sounded frantic as I spoke into the camera. "Charles changed your request! He switched it to the local docks! You'll be stuck on the docks for life. You'll never get ahead. "He's doing it because he and Susie have been together for a long time. Susie doesn't want you in the inner circle, and she doesn't want you hanging around him! "No matter how hard you fight to move up, you'll never get anywhere. You'll even take the fall for a problem with the books, and in the end you'll die a horrible death in the council hall!" My heart was pounding. Chills kept running down my spine. The second the video cut off, my head snapped up. My hands were shaking as I opened my laptop. Sure enough, my request had been changed to the local docks. I clenched my fists. My palms were slick with sweat. It took me a while to pull myself together. When I did, I withdrew my request and accepted the Turner family's offer. They wanted me in Miami as their underboss.

On the day I'm supposed to try on my wedding dress, Don Aldo Vitale gets the time wrong again. By the time he finally gets to the bridal boutique, I have already chosen my dress. Just like always, Aldo apologizes without thinking. "I've been really busy lately. I hope you understand." But over the past few years, Aldo's taken his childhood sweetheart and assistant, Isabella Berardi, to more than 100 cities for business. He's never forgotten a single flight, meeting, or business dinner. In contrast, Aldo's always forgetting things when it comes to me. I calmly hand the wedding dress back to the sales associate. "It's fine. My friend already helped me pick out a dress. No point in coming here for nothing." Aldo lets out a sigh of relief, but he still looks a little uneasy. After all, everyone knows me as his clingy girlfriend who can't live without him. In the past, I would have been clinging to him, sobbing and throwing a fit out of jealousy. Aldo holds me in his arms. "Babe, you're really starting to act like the perfect wife. I heard from the butler that you went on a trip. Where did you go?" "I went to Sirdon." I calmly pull away from him. "I went there while you were on the flight to Dubmont." Aldo freezes. One of the things Aldo promises is to take me to the City of Light when he first tells me he loves me. He's always saying he'll take me there when he gets the chance. Three years go by. Then four. Even after getting engaged, he keeps putting it off, always using work as an excuse. Then, Aldo takes Isabella to a new city for another business trip. I've been with Aldo for five years. I suddenly grow tired of waiting for him. If he can't keep the promises he's made to me, I'll fulfill them myself.

Vincenzo Costa and I have been in love with each other for eight years. Everyone knows that the heir of the Costa family loves me more than life itself. In order to marry me—an orphan—Vincenzo has knelt outside Costa Estate for three days and three nights. At the same time, he has received 99 whips from his father, the Don of the Costa family, which almost kills him. In the end, Don Edmondo Costa finally agrees to let Vincenzo marry me. But the catch is, Vincenzo must date Sofia Camorra, the Principessa of the Camorra family, and have an heir with her. So, Vincenzo tells me to wait for him for a little longer. I end up waiting for a very long time while watching him traveling to Sofia's villa time and again. At first, Vincenzo still takes three showers and scrubs his skin so much that it turns red. He tells me that once Sofia has given birth to the child, which allows him to fulfill the promise he has made to the Costa family, he'll whisk me far away from the violence and spend the rest of his life with me. Alas, everything has changed. Vincenzo no longer showers frequently. He constantly smells like Sofia's perfume now. He doesn't inform in advance whenever he goes on dates with Sofia. To make things worse, there's nothing but affection in his eyes whenever he looks at her. When Sofia burns up from a fever during her pregnancy, Vincenzo doesn't leave her side at all. She pretends to be gracious by telling him about how understanding she is about his situation. Because of that, Vincenzo wastes no time in admonishing me for being spoiled and pampered. Through the gap in the ward door, I can hear how close and intimate Vincenzo and Sofia are. At the same time, I notice the flash of provocation in Sofia's eyes. Vincenzo has made me wait year after year, not knowing that my biological parents have already found me. They want me to go home with them so that they can give me a real home. That's why this time, I won't be waiting for Vincenzo anymore.

After three days of the silent treatment, my fiancé, Matteo Vitale, decided I had finally learned my place. I no longer asked where he was or called to make sure he was safe. He kissed my forehead, pleased. "Now you're finally acting like the future Donna of this family." Later, he boasted to his friends. "You can't let a woman get too clingy. Ignore her for a while, and she'll learn to be independent." I said nothing. I booked a flight to New York for three days later. A year earlier, his convoy had been ambushed. He disappeared for thirteen hours and came home bleeding. Afterward, he promised to call whenever he was safe. But in less than six months, he grew tired of the promise he had made himself. Then he started using that promise to train me—to stop being so "clingy." The last time I couldn't reach him, I called all night and caught the first flight home. I found him drinking champagne. His assistant, Nora, was bragging that she had received her call before eleven. "It was a bet," his friend laughed. "He told us to ignore you. Behave today, and he'll announce the wedding date." I hadn't argued. That was what he mistook for progress. When he saw my packed boxes, he assumed I was moving into his estate. "That's my good girl." I let him believe it. If he thought my love was a cage, I would set him free. This time, he would be the one waiting for a call that never came.

Everyone in the Rossi family knows that their Don, Giovanni Rossi, loves me, Rebecca Costa, more than anyone else. Ever since we got together, he has stopped attending any social events that involve other women. We promised to marry once he returns from negotiating a dangerous arms deal in Aelfana. He was supposed to come back a week before the wedding, but instead, he returned on the eve of the wedding with Rosa Bianchi, his stepsister, in his arms. Rosa was unconscious, and traces of intimacy were visible on her skin. Giovanni kneeled before me, his expression remorseful. "Rebecca… I was drugged. I never meant to betray you. When Rosa threw herself at me, I thought she was you." And I believed him. At least, I did until I overheard a conversation in the changing room backstage at our wedding. One of his men asks, in disbelief, "Did you really mistake her for Rebecca?" "I did for the first night. But for the rest of the week… well, a man ought to have his bit of freedom before getting married." My fingers clench around my phone. In my inbox sits an unopened message—a marriage invitation from Angelo Calavaro, the most enigmatic Don in southern Ilya's underworld. I know what I have to do.

To marry me, Don Vincenzo Ricci defies the entire Elders' Council and stands against his own Famiglia, pushing through the wedding despite their fierce opposition. In our seven years of marriage, he gives me all the wealth and glory befitting of a Donna, but never truly takes my wishes to heart. I hope he will give me a meaningful keepsake on my birthday, but even though the gifts pile up in the collection room, not a single one is something he chose himself. Vincenzo says, "I had my men prepare these things. How is that any different from choosing them myself?" I hire a painter, wanting to create a portrait of the two of us, but Vincenzo gets his men to place his old solo portrait beside me. Vincenzo leans down and kisses my cheek, asking matter-of-factly, "Can't the painter just use this portrait as a reference to paint me?" I've never blamed him. He's the Don, and I understand that he spends all of his time and energy on handling Famiglia matters. Until one day, I'm on my way back from the villa on the outskirts of the city when a rival famiglia ambushes me, shattering the car windows with shotgun blasts. I only barely escape thanks to my bodyguards. Vincenzo rushes home when he hears what happened, but after seeing that I'm fine, he leaves again after barely exchanging a few words with me. "The recoil on this latest batch of guns is a little too strong, and it's been hurting Siena's wrists. I need to check on Luca and make sure he adjusts the balance for her." I watch him and suddenly realize that he does have time to remember something someone casually mentions after all. It's just that all these years, he's been giving me nothing but halfhearted attention. In that case, I'll pursue a life where people no longer treat me halfheartedly. When I get back to my room, I book a flight out of Sicilia in five days.

When Michele Barone, the Underboss of the Moretti family, proposes to me, I receive a video call from another version of myself, who's five years in the future. In the video call, my older self is already shaved bald. She's also trapped in the Moretti family's basement. "Don't marry him! You have to get rid of the unborn baby in your belly and get out of here right now!" I throw the ring to the table on the spot before going through an abortion right away. When Michele finds out the truth, he breaks down and cries his heart out. At the same time, he keeps demanding answers from me. All of my family and friends keep blaming and accusing me. They even claim that I've gone nuts. Meanwhile, Michele's childhood friend, Gianna Grasso, hides outside the room with a hand clamped over her mouth as she giggles secretly to herself. "AI nowadays sure is powerful! I can't believe she actually believes that the woman in the video call is actually her future self five years from now!" My lips curl into a small smile. Honestly speaking, I can tell right away that it's just a fake AI video, based on how shabbily it's made. It's quite simple as to why I've done those things, though—I've received an actual video call from my future self for real.

On our wedding day, Dante Moretti gave me one rule: spend five million dollars a year. Every last cent. I had already spent too many years being poor for him. We had lived in a basement we couldn’t afford to heat. I had worked three jobs just to buy him a suit that didn’t come from a thrift store. When he reclaimed his family’s empire and became the most feared don in New York, he wanted to give me everything. Then his childhood friend came home. Vivienne Russo called herself a marriage counselor. She gave our marriage a score of zero. “There’s no equality here. You can’t buy a healthy relationship.” Dante canceled my black card, our honeymoon, and even the private prenatal care he had arranged for me. Five months pregnant, I started looking for work again. Then I slipped in the rain. At the hospital, the doctor said my baby was at risk and wanted to keep me under observation. Dante rushed in and held me as if he could keep anything from hurting us. Beside him, Vivienne opened her notebook. “Don’t abandon your boundaries because she cries, Dante. She needs to learn independence. Pay half.” His arms fell away. “You heard her, Elena. Tears won’t work this time. You’re responsible for the other half.” I wiped my face and checked my balance. The money he had left me was just enough for a one-way ticket out.

On the night before the Moretti succession ceremony, I found a post in the Confessional of the Dead that had been sent from ten years in the future. “If you could rewrite your blood oath, whom would you erase from the family tree?” The anonymous reply read: “Leon Vita.” “If not for that adopted son who used a life-debt to secure his place—a man destined to become my husband and consigliere—I could have had Matteo at my side years ago.” The poster’s icon was a black iris. Viola Moretti had used it as her private seal for seventeen years. I stared at the profile of a Viola ten years older than the woman I knew, and all warmth slowly drained from my fingers. Every time she had laced her fingers through mine in front of the elders, she had been thinking about how to break free of me. Every time she had said, “The family needs you,” she had never meant, “I need you.” I removed the obsidian ring from my right hand and placed it beside the succession contract. Then I signed the departure agreement offered by the North Sea Mercantile Association. If she saw me as a blood debt she could never repay— then I would grant her one last freedom and settle that debt for good.

The ninth time I tried to divorce my husband, Don Louis Romano, my best friend Jenny Parker, who had always talked me out of it, handed me the papers herself. Every time before, she'd done everything in her power to stop me. She'd even taken over the Family's day-to-day affairs just to create chances for us to see each other and reconcile. I took the papers and couldn't help but ask. Years of pent-up exhaustion showed in Jenny's eyes, and to my shock, her voice was edged with resentment. "You got Vivian shot this time. She nearly didn't make it. How long are you going to keep this up?!" Vivian Hale was the woman Louis had been seeing. I stared at her in disbelief. "Vivian's had a hard life. I'm the one who introduced her to Louis. "I know it's not fair to you, so I've been trying to make it up to you. But you've been at this long enough. It's time to stop." Jenny sighed. "Back during the arms shipment ambush, Louis and I risked our lives to pull you out of that firefight. "If our saving your life means anything, stop using divorce as a way to get Louis's attention." I couldn't speak. My fingers clenched. The love and friendship I'd treasured for years had only ever been real to me. The last ember of loyalty in my heart burned out completely. The moment Jenny looked away, I picked up the pen and signed my name without hesitation. Sherry Bennett. This time, I was really getting a divorce.

Whispers in the underworld mentioned that Jason Marino, heir to the Family with its hands in the cross-continental arms trade, supposedly loved women with slim waists. Since his recent return to the country, his eyes had landed on Sonia Stewart—sworn sister to my fiancé, Andy Black. When Andy found out, he disappeared for three whole days. I finally tracked him down in the Family's club, only to overhear a conversation that shattered my world. "I'm not just going to stand by and watch Sonia marry that playboy Jason," Andy was telling his lieutenant. "On the wedding day, you need to swap Sonia's wedding car with Leona's. No one must find out!" His lieutenant thumped his chest, swearing, "No problem, boss! I'll get it done. But... What about your fiancee, Leona?" Andy let out a confident laugh, as if he were in control of everything. "I'm the Don's hand-picked Consigliere. Jason knows Leona belongs to me, so he won't lay a finger on her. Once I've slept with Sonia, he'll have to give up on her. After that, we'll just send someone to pick Leona up. She won't suspect a thing. Instead, she'll be scared and trembling… Pathetic but adorable nonetheless. She'll come running right back to my arms!" Every word was like a bullet leaving holes in my heart, every tone tearing it apart. I stumbled away as fast as I could, praying they wouldn't hear the sound of my heart breaking. When Andy tried to pick me up according to his plan later on, he broke down.

The operation had just gone dark when the chatter started in the comms. “Easy, Zane. Don’t burn through another mattress.” A low laugh came through the headset. Relaxed. Careless. “I’ve been deployed for six months. I needed the release. And don’t let my wife hear that.” More laughter. “Right. Take care of the little mistress first, then call home and play devoted husband?” My phone rang. His voice when I answered was warm. Intimate. Soft in a way it never was on the field. He said he missed me. Said he counted the days until he could come home. I watched the live drone feed while he said it. What he didn’t know was that three months ago, I had quietly transferred into the family’s Strategic Intelligence division. Every operation his crew ran, I was the one behind the monitors—tracking shipments, rerouting safehouses, intercepting rival signals, listening to every word spoken over secured lines. The first night he slept with her, I logged the timestamp. 00:43 hours. When the call ended, I dialed another number—encrypted, family internal. “I’ll accept your offer,” I said calmly. “After this job, I’m stepping away.” The voice on the other end was steady. Controlled. Powerful. “You’ll leave after the Palermo Capture,” he replied. “I’ll personally see to your relocation.” A pause. “Three days.”

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.”

Everyone said my good looks were what saved me from my family's downfall. It was how I managed to become a Donna. I was the only one who knew why he had to compromise to marry me. Xavier Whitmore, the tall and handsome Don, was unable to have physical relationships with a woman. When I shyly took off the gown on our wedding night, he sat in his chair and lit a cigarette before remarking in an icy voice, "I'm allergic to women. That said, you have my word that you will be the only woman in my life." He kept his promise. Though he never so much as touched me in the five years of our marriage, he provided me with a life of luxury and wealth. Although it was merely a title, being his only woman brought me happiness. Everything changed on the day my men and I were ambushed by a rival mafia family. We barely made it out alive. When I returned home, I found him locked in a tight embrace with his widowed sister-in-law, Alice Ortega. "Alice, I won't let you remarry. If you do, I'll make sure that man dies a thousand deaths." I scoffed. It wasn't so much that he couldn't handle being physical with a woman. It was simply that he could not be physical with anyone but her. In that case, she could have the pleasure of being the Donna.