Cerita Pendek & Novel Mafia Awakening

On the night Valen Varesi's dying first love went into labor, his parents stationed armed men outside my suite to make sure I stayed far away from the private maternity floor and the birth of the Varesi family's heir. I never gave them the scene they were expecting. Not when Sabina Orsini was taken into surgery, not when the baby's first cry carried through the corridor, and not when the whole family finally relaxed. His mother sat beside Sabina's bed, clutching her hand with relief. "As long as we're here," she said, "that barren wife of his won't get anywhere near you or the baby." Valen stood at Sabina's side, wiping the sweat from her forehead with a tenderness I had once believed was mine. "Don't worry," he said. "My father has men covering every exit. If Nerina tries anything, she'll be gone before the night is over." Only then did he finally let himself breathe. As far as Valen was concerned, he had done nothing unforgivable. He had granted a dying woman one final wish and secured the bloodline his family had demanded for years. I was the one refusing to be reasonable. He had even decided that if I came later, apologized to Sabina, and stopped fighting him, he might be generous enough to let me raise the boy in name and keep my place as Mrs. Varesi. What never crossed his mind was that I had already made my decision. By the time Valen finally opens the "gift" I left for his heir ceremony, I will already be gone. And the only thing waiting for him inside is a divorce notice, a twin pregnancy report— and the truth that the children carrying his real bloodline will never call him father.

The private jet touched down in Solverno well past midnight. Behind me, an explosion rattled the terminal windows hard enough to make the glass shudder. Three days earlier, my husband, Damiano Salvato, had flown to Solverno to negotiate a deal. The city was now caught in crossfire, and his phone did not connect no matter how many times I tried. I dialed his Underboss, Enzo Conti, with shaking hands. The line rang for a long time before he picked up. His voice sounded strained. "Y-You're really in Solverno right now?" Another explosion hit, and the panic in my chest tightened another notch. "Where is Damiano? Which zone is he in?" The line went quiet for a moment before Enzo answered, almost reluctantly. "He never left Havenport." A second later, a photo flashed across my screen. Damiano was underwater with a woman, the two of them tangled together, laughing. I recognized her immediately. It was Valeria Caine. Three years ago, Damiano had stood before every Capo in the family and sworn he would never see that woman again. He had probably forgotten that today was our third wedding anniversary. "Signora Salvato, the truth is... they never stopped seeing each other. But the Don has treated you so well all these years that no one dared say a word." On the other end of the line, Enzo's voice trailed off into nothing. I looked down at the unsent message still sitting in the text box, the six words I had typed out for him. "I'm coming to bring you home." The cursor kept blinking. If that was how things stood, then there was no reason to keep waiting for him.

On Christmas Eve, my parents and my fiancé, Ivano Dominici, finally agree to accompany me to Iberion to see the aurora. But when I arrive there, they never show up no matter how long I wait. I send messages to ask. They reply helplessly that something urgent has come up at the last minute and tell me to go to the observation point and wait. I stand alone on the icy field, turning back every few minutes to look at the road behind me. When my hands grow numb from the cold, I scroll my social media feed and see a recent post from my younger sister, Giada Soave. Holding gifts in her arms, she sits beneath a luxurious crystal Christmas tree with my parents embracing her from both sides. Ivano stands behind her with his hand resting lightly at her waist and his eyes full of tenderness. The caption reads, "Merry Christmas, I'm grateful to spend the holiday with those who love me most!" The comments section buzzes with blessings, praise, and envious messages. I stare at the screen for a long time without moving. This is not the first time they break their promise to me because of Giada. But this time, I do not argue or make a scene. I simply type and send one line calmly in the comments, "I wish your family of four a Merry Christmas." I finally let go of my obsession and stop waiting for people who will never come to me. But when I quietly step away, the ones who cannot let go turn out to be them.

We have a family group chat meant for the core members only. It's named "the Coppola family". The ones in the group are my father, my mother, my oldest brother, Fabio Coppola; my second brother, Luca Coppola, and my little sister, Francesca Coppola. Oh, that's not all. Fabio's bloodhound, Fido; Luca's ragdoll, Neve; and Francesca's fancy rat, Pico, are members of the group chat too. I'm the only one who's not included in that group. There's once when I ask Francesca, "Can you add me into the group?" She's in the middle of feeding Pico at that time. Without bothering to glance at me, she replies, "That group is meant for insiders only. Wouldn't you feel awkward if you were to join the group, Valentina?" I just look at Pico, who keeps screeching in Francesca's arms. It has a special nickname and the right to speak up in the family group. To think that I, the Coppolas' biological daughter, am nothing compared to a fancy rat.

Ricardo Tucci suffered from severe prosopagnosia, constantly mistaking me for my best friend, Ella Henderson. At an antique auction, he won the gem brooch I had coveted for years, only to hand the box to Ella. When I pointed out his mistake, he merely shrugged it off. "It's just a piece of jewelry. Since it suits her, she can keep it." At an exclusive gala, Ricardo walked down the red carpet with Ella on his arm, while I, his actual fiancée, was stopped at the doors, left to endure the humiliating stares of high society. Afterward, his excuse was as careless as ever. "My face blindness got in the way again. Sorry you had to deal with that." On my birthday, he promised to drive us to our dinner reservation. I waited three agonizing hours in a downpour, only to find out over the phone that he had picked up Ella instead. "Sorry, the rain was too heavy to see clearly." Time after time, I swallowed my disappointment, clinging to the hope that his condition might improve. Until a massive fire consumed the estate, trapping both Ella and me inside. Ricardo stormed through the flames with his men. In all the chaos, he scooped someone up into his arms and evacuated without a second thought. The person he carried to safety was Ella. Trapped in the blaze, I watched as his back disappeared into the thick smoke, tears of total desperation falling down my face. Ricardo, I'm done playing to your convenience.

What's the first thing you'd do if you were reborn? Me? I'd start by divorcing my husband, Finn Gallagher. Yeah, Finn Gallagher, the same man who runs half the underworld from behind closed doors. The Don. The richest man alive. The man women dream about; his face plastered on magazines, named "Sexiest Man Alive" five years in a row. In my last life, I tried everything to make him look at me like I mattered. I married him. I gave birth to his son. I swallowed every ounce of pride, trying to be the perfect wife. However, it didn't work. To him, I was no different than a waitress he might casually tip—forgettable, replaceable, invisible. So this time, I'm not begging. I'm not pretending. I'm handing Madeline Brooks the key to my place in his life, and walking away. She's Finn's first love, and also the shadow that haunted every day of my last life. Now Madeline was sitting opposite to me, blinked at me like she didn't hear me right. "You tried so hard to push me out," she said slowly, eyes narrowed. "Now you want me to be with Finn?" "Yes. That's all I'm asking. Just talk to Finn. Tell him to sign the divorce papers." I looked at her confused face and kept going. "Everyone knows I'm the last person who'd ever let Finn go. So if I say I want a divorce, he won't believe me for a second. But you? You're the one who can make that happen... aren't you?" She laughed, because she was finally getting her chance. I laughed too, because I was finally free.

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.

I'm getting married. But Ryder, my boyfriend of seven years, has no idea. He recently hired a new assistant, Blair, and has been swamped ever since. The two of them are the toast of the high-society circuit, a perfect power couple frequently seen at galas and parties together. To celebrate a major project Blair landed, Ryder booked an entire restaurant for a celebratory dinner. During the dinner, Blair intentionally swapped my lemonade for a strong cocktail. Unaware, I took a large sip. Ryder just watched, smiling playfully as he asked, “How is it, baby? How does it taste?” He forgot. He forgot that I have a deadly alcohol allergy. My throat swelled shut faster than I could have imagined. As I collapsed, the only sounds were my own gasps for air and a porcelain plate shattering on the floor. That night, I lay in the family's private medical wing. When I opened my eyes, the oxygen mask was still pressed to my face. I nodded at my mother. The arranged marriage. I agreed to it.

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.

When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign. He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera. So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead. In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first. I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine. Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed. This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me. I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

When I opened my eyes again, I was pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window of the skyscraper by my stepbrother, Rocco. The man I had been infatuated with for a decade. He panted, his hot lips and tongue trailing along my collarbone as he murmured, "Don't go." In my past life, on the night I received my acceptance letter from London Business School, Rocco got blind drunk. Late that night, I gave in to his pleas for me to stay. I willingly gave myself to him. After a debauched night, his cherished fiancée, Clara, caught me walking out of his room the next morning, my clothes in disarray. She ran out in tears, her parting words ringing in the air, "I'll let you have each other." A month after she disappeared, the family search party found her engagement ring at the edge of a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff lay mangled remains, battered by the waves until they were unrecognizable. Rocco clutched that ring and didn't sleep all night. On the surface, he acted as if nothing had happened, even arranging a trip for me to Sicily, telling me to go and relax. The night I landed, I was kidnapped by assassins from a rival family. I screamed for him to pay the ransom, only to hear him give the order himself over the phone: "Don't make her death a quick one. The Costello princess? She's nothing but a damn liability. Torture her. Break every bone in her body. " "This is what she owes Clara." You like playing games, Rocco. But in this life, I refuse to play along.

I packed the last of my things from the apartment into a box and sent my fiancé, William, a voice message. [Let's break up.] A second later, he replied, [OK.] Across from me, my cousin Mia almost spilled her martini on the tablecloth. "You two were together for seven years, about to get engaged, and it's over just like that? How is it that when I dump a guy, it turns into a whole dramatic saga?" "Still, I have to admire you. Giving up your life as the family’s Princess to build everything from scratch with him." I slowly stirred my coffee, the bitter taste flooding my mouth. "Because he never listens to my voice messages." I tossed my phone onto the table and pushed it toward her. Her eyes landed on the screen, on a long list of unplayed voice messages. For the past seven years, my conversations with William had been a one-way street. The rare 'Mm' from him was the most enthusiastic response I could hope for. I had grown used to his cold nature long ago. Until I saw a long voice message on his phone, played in its entirety. It was from his childhood friend, Tessa. In that moment, I finally let go of the sliver of hope I had been clutching for seven years. And now, it was time for me to return to the Miller family as its heiress.

When the family posted the assessment results and started handing out placements, everyone crowded around my twin sister. My brother, Alessandro, tapped the Manhattan headquarters on the list. "This one. Obviously. You stick with me, learn how the family works. " "Once I take over the Vittore family, you'll be the most spoiled little princess in New York." Matteo slid the Brooklyn branch file in front of her. "Don't listen to him. Come to Brooklyn. I'll train you myself. We'll run things together someday." My parents smiled and nodded along. "Staying in New York is perfect. With your brother and Matteo looking out for you, we won't have to worry." It took them a long time to remember that I had taken the assessment too. "Stella, your score's too low. Just pick any branch in New York and sit there for a while." My brother didn't even look up as he said it. "Yeah. We'll all be in New York anyway. Easy to keep an eye on you." Matteo nudged me along out of habit. "Confirmation closes in half an hour. Don't space out again. Nobody wants to clean up after you." Slowly, I tightened my grip on my score sheet. When we were little and played pretend, my sister was always the princess everyone fought to save. My brother was the loyal knight. Matteo was the prince who fought his way through the thorns. And me? I was always the wicked witch nobody liked. Turns out growing up didn't change a thing. If no one wanted me around, then I would put in for a transfer overseas, somewhere as far from them as I could get. Let there be oceans between us. I would not look back.

On my twentieth birthday, my father presented me with courtship gifts from the heirs of allied families. I had grown up with these men, and he told me to choose one to marry. I calmly shook my head and rejected them all. In my previous life, I chose Gabriel, the man I loved the most. Shortly after our wedding, I became pregnant with his child. But from then on, Gabriel became a completely different person. Whenever I handled family business, he publicly dismissed my decisions. Whenever I secured control of crucial West Coast ports, he outright overturned my agreements. Whenever I wanted to promote loyal members, he accused me of being too soft and a poor judge of character. Gradually, everyone began to see me as just a fragile trophy wife who depended on a man. Until one day, I walked in on him drinking and laughing with a few mafia heirs in an exclusive club. "Gabriel took the biggest hit for us. He pretended to like Kiara all these years and had to humor her every day." "It was worth it. Once she got pregnant, she had no energy left to run the family." "Once her sister Mila wins over the capos, the entire family will belong to her." Fueled by despair and anger, I went into premature labor and bled to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my engagement. My father placed those gifts representing power and marriage in front of me once again. "Have you made up your mind? Which one will you choose?" I looked at the diamond necklaces, custom gown catalogs, and limited-edition perfumes in the boxes, and smiled softly. "None of them." "I heard our business on the West Coast took a hit. I want to go there, expand our territory, and put our family back on top." This time, I will personally take back everything that belongs to me. I just did not expect that Gabriel had returned to the past too.

My boyfriend is the heir to Sicily's top mafia clan. To test my loyalty, he never spent a single dime on me during our five years together. Even when we bought condoms, he insisted we split the bill fifty-fifty. Last week, I was in a car accident. To save the baby in my womb, I urgently needed $1,000 for emergency surgery. I called him from the hospital, begging for the money, but he accused me of lying to extort cash from him and hung up. Desperate, I begged every friend and contact I knew. By the time I finally scraped the sum together, a unbearable pain tore through my abdomen—my baby's heart had already stopped beating. After burying my baby, I went back to pack my bags. That was when I accidentally found a birthday gift list he had prepared for his childhood neighbor, Nadia. A luxury yacht, a star named after her, and endless designer goods. Right then, his voice drifted in from the next room as he spoke on a phone call with his underbosses. "Hey Boss, is it true Elena begged you for a grand?" Dante Moretti scoffed arrogantly. "Yeah, and I stood my ground and refused. Nadia is right. Elena is just a helpless orphan who can't leave me. But to enter my family, she has to pass a strict test. It’s almost over. She’ll realize I did all this for her own good." So my five years of devotion, and my baby's life, were nothing more than a twisted test for a repulsive mafia title. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore. The moment the doctor announced my baby was dead, I had already decided to walk away from him forever.

On my thirtieth birthday, our car crashed on the way home from a charity gala. Damian Moretti stepped over me—his girlfriend of six years, lying there with a fractured ankle—and carried Sofia DeLuca away because the cut on her palm had made her panic. He knew I was hurt worse. He chose her anyway. It was punishment for asking whether the two of them were getting too close. That night, while I sat alone in the ER, Sofia posted a photo with her face pressed against his shoulder. [Thank you to the man who always catches me when I fall.] Damian expected me to call, cry, and demand that he come back. That was how our fights always ended: he hurt me until I panicked, then rewarded me with affection once I apologized. This time, I liked Sofia’s post. Then I accepted an eighteen-month transfer to Paris. My flight left in seven days—on our sixth anniversary. Damian mistook my silence for surrender. He thought he had finally taught me to stop questioning him. So on the night I once believed he would propose, he put Sofia in a wedding dress, held out the ring I had waited six years for, and gave me one last chance to behave. He expected me to beg. Instead, I left my key on the table and headed for the airport. By the time Damian realized I wasn’t testing him, my plane had already taken off.

For the past ten years, all of Boston society had been guessing whether I would end up marrying Alexander Grant, Nathan Cole, or Julian Vale. One of them took care of every problem that came my way. One remembered every allergy I had. One built me an observatory with a view of the whole city. I never once doubted that I was loved. I had always been the spoiled little princess everyone doted on. Then my mother found her older daughter, Vivian Ashford, who had been missing for twenty-two years. Vivian was the one expected to marry into Black Harbor for the Ashford family. To make up for the life she had lost, the three men started asking me to give up a little at a time. Alexander missed the fitting he had promised to come to, because Vivian needed the practice in front of the cameras more than I did. Nathan canceled the follow-up on my old injury because Vivian had a panic attack when she heard about the medical exam before the wedding. Julian booked the entire observatory to make up for my birthday, then, while I sat there alone until closing, sent me a text that read, "You're the sensible one. Go home by yourself tonight." When I got back to the estate, I asked them why none of them had told me beforehand. But Vivian cried and said she didn't want to be the reason they lost me. So Alexander stepped in front of her, Nathan told me to stop upsetting her, and Julian said I shouldn't be using one broken promise to test whether they loved me. As I turned to leave, I heard them making a pact in that room. "Until the engagement is settled, no more coddling Evelyn." "She'll be angry." "She'll sulk for a few days and get over it. She could never bring herself to leave us for real." They weren't wrong. Back then, I really couldn't bring myself to leave. What they didn't know was that I had already let go, and I was never coming back.

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.

In my last life, I loved my brother’s best friend longer than I loved myself. I was the princess of the De Luca family, a New York political dynasty. A good girl, through and through. He was Orion Corvo. The king of Chicago's underworld. A ruthless, brutal man. No one thought we belonged together. I never dared to confess. Not until I was kidnapped. That cold-blooded, savage Don took a bullet for me. He shielded me with his body as I bled out. We died together. Only then, seeing the desperation in his eyes, did I understand. He loved me too. Now, I'm back. 18 again. I ditched my life in Europe to stay by his side. For five years, I was his most trusted art appraiser. In private, he’d lose himself inside me. He fucked me like he wanted to own my soul. I became his favorite fuck. His biggest secret. But now, he’s getting married. And the bride isn't me.

On the day Tristan Spallone, the head of a mafia family, and I mark our fifth wedding anniversary, the manager of the Spallone family vault calls. Something that was stored away for a long time has finally come due, and Tristan is to retrieve it. He's so busy that he barely has a moment to breathe, so I go in his place. What I bring back is an old roll of film. The manager warned me that if it wasn’t developed soon, its age might cause it to be ruined beyond recovery. But when I have them developed, frame after frame is filled with Winnie Leigh, his first love. Her smile looks so sweet in those pictures that they nearly suffocate me. What about me, one may ask? I never once appeared on his albums. The office door slams open. Tristan bursts in, already out of breath. "Anna, is your life really so empty that you have to dig through mine?" I turn toward him, the man who's usually so composed. I neither question him nor break down. Instead, I speak slowly. "We're getting a divorce." Tristan frowns and thrusts the stack of photos into the shredder. He then looks back at me. "They're gone. Do you still want a divorce?" A bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Yes."