Unattainable Love Mafia Short Stories & Awakening Novels

I developed earlier than other girls my age, and my father worried that men would take advantage of me. When I turned eighteen, he sent me to Chicago under the protection of his most trusted ally, Ronan Whitlock. One night, after he’d had too much to drink, Ronan pulled me into his bed. By day, he was the Whitlock heir who controlled every part of my life. By night, I was the secret lover he kept hidden in a safe house. I thought I would get a ring. After all, every night he was in the city, he buried himself inside me and took his pleasure. He would whisper that I was his, that no one else felt as good. But this time, the moment he was finished, he told me his former fiancée had returned to Chicago. Zoya Sokolova, the princess of a Russian crime family. He was going to pick her up at the airport himself. That was when I understood. I wasn’t his woman. I was a toy he kept for his amusement. He had never intended to marry me. So I destroyed everything he had given me. I called my father. Then I disappeared. But when the Don who owned Chicago couldn’t find his favorite toy… He lost his mind.

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point. Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli. “Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?” I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass. Dante did not answer right away. His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention. “I wanted her.” Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?” The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked. He frowned. “Your key card? Was that not for Enzo Ricci?” “How could it have been for Enzo?” Viviana’s eyes reddened. “He is my first cousin.” One question led to another and the truth emerged. That hotel key card had been handed to the wrong person by a Soldato. Because of that mistake, they had missed each other. Viviana burst into tears on the spot. Regret shadowed Dante’s expression. Just then, someone laughed softly. “What a coincidence. Was the key card really delivered to the wrong person, or did someone make sure it ended up in the wrong hands?” In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. Everyone remembered me. I was the woman who used to trail after Dante Fumagalli like a lovesick fool. I turned to look at Dante and hoped he would say something for me. I hoped he would tell them we had been secretly married for five years and that he had been the one who pursued me back then. He said nothing. He did not defend me. He did not deny anything. He stared ahead in silence as if none of this had anything to do with him. In that moment, I pulled off the wedding ring I had worn for five years.

The ninth time Raphael Bellandi postponed our wedding for his adopted sister, Cosima, I finally understood. I was the villainess in a mafia novel. The first time, Raphael's mother claimed she'd suddenly come down with the flu. Cosima was delicate and might catch it at the wedding. Canceled. The second time, Raphael's best friend claimed he'd been in a car accident and couldn't carry Cosima on his back during the bouquet toss. Canceled. The third time, the fourth time... A different person, a different excuse. The ninth time, the one making excuses for Raphael was my best friend, Sofia, of all people. She said a blizzard had grounded her flight, so the new designer bag she was bringing Cosima wouldn't arrive in time. Apparently, we had to postpone the wedding again. Cosima Bellandi is the heroine of this book. She's also Raphael's adopted sister, the woman he loves but can never have. Everyone wants them together. They've ruined my wedding again and again to make it happen. In the original plot, I ignore my family's objections, chase Raphael like a lovesick fool, and use my power as a mafia princess to force him to marry me at once. Then, on our wedding day, he leaves me at the church and flies to New York to give Cosima a seashell necklace he made himself. I pull my Browning on him, only to fall into his trap and get shot dead. The book calls that their "happily ever after." The grass over my grave grows ten feet tall, and no one ever visits. This time, he brushed it off as if it meant nothing. "We'll just pick another date." My stomach turned. I didn't beg or scream. I calmly tore up the wedding invitation he'd handed me, one strip at a time. "Raphael, the wedding's off. We're done." Raphael frowned. "Vera, throwing a tantrum won't get you anywhere. Where would you even go without me?" Instead of answering, I called a number I hadn't dialed in years. Someone picked up after one ring. "Dad, I'm ready to come home. "And while you're at it, pull every resource we've used to prop up the Bellandi family."

I loved Dante Moretti for seven years. At eighteen, one night at a family gala changed everything. Soon after, I became his fiancee, and not long after that, he was sent to run the Chicago branch for four years. I gave birth alone, raised our son alone, and waited for him in the house that was supposed to be ours. What came back to New York was not a family. He brought Claire and her son with him, and before long, that boy was sitting in Dante's car, taking my son's place in the training program, and showing up in every space that should have belonged to family. Then, on my son's birthday, I saw a video from Chicago. Someone asked, "Dante, when did you feel most at home?" He lifted his glass and said, "One winter night during a blackout. Claire was in the kitchen by candlelight, and Leo grabbed my sleeve and asked me not to leave." I didn't cry. I ended the engagement, erased my son and myself from every Moretti family record, and left New York without looking back.