Mafia Countdown 단편 소설 & 소설

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

“System, I want out.” The dressing-room door stood slightly open. Through the gap, I could see my husband holding the foundation’s young assistant against a wardrobe. Her coat lay on the rug we’d chosen together. “Matteo, stop.” She caught his hand, lowering her voice. “The doctor confirmed it. I’m pregnant.” His smile vanished. “You told me birth control wouldn’t be a problem.” “I thought that one time would be okay. I’ll take care of it. Please don’t be angry. Elena won’t find out.” He stepped back and buttoned his shirt, his tone as cold as if she’d botched a business deal. “You think this makes you the next Mrs. Moretti? Violet, you know who that title belongs to.” She fell silent. The System spoke in my ear. [Assessment complete. He still loves you and has no intention of replacing you as his wife.] [Leaving will cause your body in this world to die. It cannot be restored. Do you still wish to proceed?] I watched Matteo reach for her again. “Yes.” [Request accepted. Departure scheduled in twenty-four hours.]

When I surprised my husband, Carlo, the Don of a Mafia family, with a positive pregnancy test, he threw an azoospermia report in my face instead. "Who seduced you?" I thought he was joking. Then his childhood friend Mia called. "Don Moretti, you've seen the report. Madison's trying to pass off another man's bastard as yours!" That was when I realized one piece of paper had convinced everyone I'd betrayed the Mafia Don I'd married. Carlo didn't ask for a divorce. He didn't even pursue the accusation any further. He still drove me to my law firm and canceled family meetings to accompany me to prenatal appointments. But every time we came home from the hospital, he'd stare at my belly and ask, "You still won't tell me the truth?" Over and over, I told him the baby was his. He would stroke my cheek and shake his head. "Give me your lover's name, Madison. Once he's dead, I'll accept the child." It was insane. There was no other man. A month later, I suddenly miscarried. Carlo stood beside my hospital bed, white as a sheet. I thought he might finally believe me. Instead, he immediately ordered the doctor, "Preserve the embryonic tissue. Run a paternity test against my DNA. I want to know if the baby was mine." I couldn't take another second of it. I pulled off my wedding ring and looked him in the eye. "I want a divorce." I didn't care what the test found anymore. Our marriage had been doomed from the moment he chose suspicion over me.

Everyone knew Andre Marino as the Don who kept business separate from his personal life. I couldn't call him unless it was business. If someone wronged me, I couldn't ask him to step in. We'd been together for five years. He'd taken a bullet for me. When we were trapped with no way out, he'd given up his chance at rescue so I could get out. He'd done everything a man could do for someone he trusted with his life. But I couldn't walk in and out of his study as I pleased. Every time I needed him, I had to wait outside the door for a long time. Andre said the study was his private space, and he had to keep things above board. I had to wait at the door for a full hour so everyone could see he wasn't playing favorites. Only then could I knock and go in. Then one day, I came back from picking up a shipment and stood outside his study, waiting to report in. The wind had turned my nose bright red. His second-in-command, Nora Russo, walked straight in, wearing his trench coat. She glanced back at me and said casually, "Annie, don't blame the Don for not letting you come and go as you please. He's big on rules. Business is business. Personal matters stay out of it." "Then why can you come and go?" I demanded. Nora twisted her family signet ring on her ring finger, a knowing look in her eyes. "Our families go way back. We've always been allies, always fought side by side. He's even got my last name tattooed on his chest." One of the men behind me gave a fake cough. She scoffed. "What? Am I wrong? She has no say in the business, and on the personal side, she can't even get through his door. Other than taking care of Andre's needs in bed, what good is she?" The door opened. It was obvious Nora had made herself at home. Pink, the color he hated most, now covered every wall. I stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, I let the question drop. If he couldn't give me the love I wanted, I knew what to do. I'd go to the man who was willing to make an exception for me.

After I rejected my ex-boyfriend’s proposal, he left New York in a rage and went to Sicily. Seven years later, Santino Moretti returned as the most feared Don of the Moretti family, with a new woman at his side and plans to marry her in the very church we had once chosen for our own wedding. That same day, my doctor told me my cancer was completely out of control. I had less than a month left. When Santino came to my mother’s house with his fiancée, he saw me sitting in a wheelchair. Something in his eyes changed for a split second before he looked away. “Seven years, Elena. What happened? Did you forget how to walk?” I tugged my sleeve lower, hiding the needle marks covering the back of my hand. “I fell. That’s all.” He believed me. Then Sofia smiled and asked if I would help them prepare for the wedding, including the church we had once chosen together. Everyone expected me to refuse. Instead, I agreed. Santino thought I had finally moved on enough to watch him marry another woman. He didn’t know I had already signed my discharge papers after my doctors told me there was nothing more they could do. I had come home because I wanted to see him one last time. I probably would not live long enough to see him stand at the altar.

I was eighteen when I left Italy for Chicago. My brother Leo handed me over to his most powerful ally for “protection.” Don Damien Volkov. His eyes locked on me the first time we met. They never looked away. By day, I was his private doctor. By night, I was the only thing in his bed. His seduction was a slow, deliberate hunt. The way his body brushed against mine during an exam. A stray kiss that landed behind my ear. The weight of his hand resting on the small of my back. I fell fast and hard for his dark charm. I gave myself to him, letting him claim me, again and again. For four years, our affair was a secret hidden in the shadows. In that time, he sculpted my body, teaching it to crave his touch, molding me into his perfect obsession. Then she came back. Isabella, his exiled ex-fiancée. He sent his private jet for her. I swallowed my pride and crashed his reunion. An hour ago, his hands, still smelling of blood, gripped my chin. He forced his kiss on me. But now, right in front of me, he was stroking another woman's hair. "Elara, you're the one who climbed into my bed four years ago." "You act like a whore, but you expect me to treat you like a Donna?" The way he looked at Isabella was so tender. The way he looked at me was pure scorn. Shame burned through me. Head down, I sent my brother a coded text. Accept the Moretti proposal. I looked up. A smile bloomed on my face. "Fine. Then this is goodbye, Damien."

My husband, Dante, the Consigliere of the Falcone family, and I hated each other more than any two people on earth. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. I hated him because his heart had never been mine. We shared a bed for seven years, but the words we exchanged most were not of love, but of venomous curses. But on the night a rival family's motorcade stormed the estate, everything changed. I remember the firefight lighting up half the city. Dante threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. "Survive," he said, his voice as steady as ever. He drew his gun. As he turned to face them, a hailstorm of bullets erupted. As armor-piercing rounds tore through his vest and slammed into his body, he turned to look at me. It was the only time in seven years he had ever looked me in the eye. His large frame barred the doorway, stopping any gunman from crossing the threshold. "If there's a next life, promise me this, Principessa. Let me protect the one I was always meant to." That night, the glory of our family turned to ash, and the streets ran red with blood. As our enemies closed in, I triggered the explosives in the car. The flames consumed everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was walking into my father's study. "The family in Ashpoint needs a bride to seal a truce," I said, meeting the gaze of my father, the Don of the Falcone family. "I'll go." In my past life, he died believing he had failed my half-sister, Sofia. This time, I wouldn't let that regret haunt him. I would take Sofia's place and board the flight north. Let Sofia stay. Let Dante protect the woman he was meant to protect. But why, when he lifted the white veil of the woman he loved in this life, did he regret it?

After I was kidnapped by my Family’s enemies, I was left with severe PTSD. I couldn’t stand the noise of intense sound. On our wedding day, my husband, the Mafia Don Andre, swore before God that he would create a world of silence for me. For five years, he never wore any device that made a sound. He even ordered that no gunshots were to be heard anywhere in Sicily, losing several major deals because of it. Until my best friend Alice returned to Sicily and openly played rock music inside the estate. The terror of being kidnapped came rushing back. I crawled onto the floor, begging and apologizing over and over. Tears mixed with the blood running down my face as I kept hitting my head against the ground. Half an hour later, the music stopped. Alice held up her phone, laughing so hard she could barely stand. “Oh my God. She actually thought she was being kidnapped again.” Andre recorded my humiliation with a phone in his hand while laughing and comforting me. “Alice said this is exposure therapy. After a few more times, you won’t be afraid anymore.” My brother stared at me through the screen and scolded me from the other side. “Monica, look at yourself. How can you possibly be worthy of being a Donna?” My entire body was drenched in sweat. My hair was covered in blood, and I couldn’t even stand. I stared at the note in Andre’s hand, and realized. Last month, he was the one who replaced my noise-canceling headphones with headphones that played nothing but loud noises. Last week, he was the one who took me to that noisy bar. The silence he once built for me was now being destroyed by his own hands. Slowly, I pushed myself up from the floor. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I simply looked at him.I no longer wanted to remain in his world.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I made a phone call. "Help me erase every record of who I am. I want to disappear so no one can ever find me." My friend on the other end of the line was stunned. "Vivian, are you sure? You nearly died at your wedding to the Don. And your parents, in that fire... "And all of Chicago knows how much the Don adores you. You've been married for seven years. You're really just going to walk away?" I clenched my fist and took a deep breath. "Yes." "Why?" I looked down. A small bottle of massage oil sat on the desk. For seven years, Vincenzo had Bulgarian white-rose oil flown in every day to soften the burn scars on my body. Every night, he massaged it into my skin himself. But a month ago, the oil that arrived had quietly changed. Now it smelled of daisies. It was another woman's scent. "Because something changed."

My fiancé had spent the past two weeks planning an extravagant birthday party for me. But when I finally arrived at the ballroom, I discovered that everything had been decorated to suit my younger sister’s taste. Even the three-tier birthday cake was made with mangoes, which I was allergic to. When the servers wheeled out the cake, I had barely closed my eyes to make a wish when my sister took it upon herself to blow out the candles. “Claire, you’re always so unlucky. Let me make a wish for you instead. I guarantee it’ll come true!” Julian smiled indulgently as he helped her remove the candles. “Mia’s just a kid at heart. Why hold it against her?” When it was time to cut the cake, my sister once again stepped in ahead of me, taking Julian’s hand and guiding it to make the first cut. Our friends started teasing them. “You two are the real stars of this birthday party, aren’t you?” Mia ducked shyly behind Julian, who immediately came to her defense with a laugh. “Eat your cake and leave her alone. Mia’s shy. Stop teasing her.” Everyone crowded around Julian and Mia, while I was reduced to little more than a background prop. I turned to leave, but just before I reached the door, I heard my sister call out in alarm. “Where’s Claire going? Is she upset?” Julian paused for a moment before answering casually, “It’s nothing. She’s always been the jealous type.” With that, the last shred of hope I had left finally died. I accepted an offer from VELMONT, one of Milan’s leading fashion houses, and booked a flight to Milan for three days later. My engagement party with Julian was supposed to take place that day, but I had no intention of showing up.

"Mrs. Blackwood, everything has been arranged for the identity-erasure operation you commissioned. This is the final agreement. Please sign here." I lowered my eyes to the document that had been placed in front of me. Client: Elena Blackwood Execution Plan: Explosion at a harbor warehouse. Vehicle destroyed by fire. Death confirmed through DNA identification. Execution Date: One week from today. One week later would be the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Damian Blackwood. It would also be the day I disappeared from the Blackwood family forever. Our story began on that date. And it would end on that date as well.

The old Don was killed in an ambush by a rival crew. At the mass, Vito, the new Don, stood at the very front of the church. I'd rushed back from a job and barely made it. There were only two spots left in the church. One was right next to the new Don. The seat for his wife. The other was at the very end of the guest line. I figured, without even thinking about it, that the spot beside him was mine. So I walked straight toward Vito. But he looked right past me. "Sofia." He lifted his chin, just slightly. "Come up." Around me, the family elders and the heads of the different crews started whispering. "The next Don's wife is a beautiful woman." "Look at those two. They just fit." Vito took the gilded crest plate from the altar and placed it in Sofia's hands. I turned around and walked to the very end of the line. Stood there. Didn't say a word. The entire service, he never once looked back at me. Even the small life growing inside me felt like a cruel joke right now. Maybe it was time to leave. Me and my unborn child.

Ten days before I was supposed to marry my mafia fiancé, Edoardo Marino, my best friend Ambra Costa suddenly called me. "Valentina, which church are you getting married at, the one in Sicily or the one by Lake Como?" I frowned. "You already knew that. The one in Sicily. Why?" The moment the words left my mouth, Ambra burst into laughter. "I knew it! I told you she still hadn't found out! Victory is mine, Edoardo!" Before I could process what she meant, a man's low laugh came through the speaker. "You really are clueless, Valentina! How could you not even know where your wedding is when you're about to be my bride?" Edoardo's voice was teasing, almost affectionate."If you still want our wedding to happen, you'd better fix your flight now." I stood frozen, a chill crawling up my spine. It wasn't the first time Edoardo and Ambra had turned my wedding into a game. They had been doing it ever since I started planning every detail of my wedding. Three months ago, they bet on whether I'd notice that the handwritten wedding vows I had spent weeks writing for Edoardo had been replaced with a different set of vows Ambra had written. Two months ago, they bet on how long it would take me to notice that my wedding dress had been changed from the vintage style I chose to the haute couture style Ambra preferred. Now, even the church where I was supposed to marry Edoardo had become another bet in their silly little game. This time, I didn't ask them why they had done this to me. I opened a contact I hadn't touched in years and typed out a message. "My wedding is in Sicily in ten days. Will you be there?" I stared at the screen, a slow smile curving my lips. It was my turn to play a bet. Let's see how long it takes them to realize that the groom has changed.

For our fifth anniversary, my boyfriend, Caelen Blackwell, flew me—and his mother—to Miami. I thought he was going to propose. Instead, he checked me into the cheapest room of a luxury villa and disappeared. Two days later, I found out he was staying in the private suite with another woman—his mistress, Samatha, the same woman he had just proposed to. When I confronted him, all he said was, “I’d never marry a crippled woman. Look at you, you’ll never be rich, powerful, or beautiful like her.” So I just made one phone call to my father—the most feared mafia boss in Spain—and told him to cut off everything Caelen had been using to build his empire. It’s not like I didn’t know how men like him worked—use a woman up, then toss her aside. I just never thought he would be stupid enough to believe I was the kind of people who could be disrespected or discarded like this.

Five years ago, my older twin sister, Victoria Hayes, disappeared in an accident shortly after giving birth to Lily. The Moretti family's men searched the wreckage. They found her belongings, but no body. Adrian Moretti, head of the Moretti crime family, needed another Hayes bride to preserve our families' alliance. He arrived at my parents' house with his crying, premature daughter in his arms and asked to marry me in Victoria's place. I married Adrian in my sister's place and entered the guarded Moretti estate as his lawful wife. Adrian placed the Moretti family ring on my finger, and every night, I fell asleep in his arms. When Lily fell ill, we stayed beside her until dawn. After my final architecture licensing exam, he was waiting outside with Lily in his arms and pulled me close for a kiss. In our fourth year together, Lily wrote three words on the back of a family photograph: Daddy loves Mommy. I framed it and hung it in the living room. Adrian never corrected her. Yesterday, Victoria came back. She swept past the guards in a red dress, stopped in front of Lily, and laughed. “I couldn't stand being stuck here with a baby, so I faked my death. Look how big she is now!” Adrian watched her, his expression unreadable. That night, he held me close. “You don't have to worry, Evelyn. You're the only woman I love.” Today, he dug out Lily's old videos and played them for Victoria, explaining each one. I thought he was catching her up on the years she'd missed. Then I came home from the architecture firm with Lily and saw our family photograph. Someone had added a small beauty mark beneath my eye. Victoria's beauty mark. They had kept the family I helped build and replaced me in it. I opened my calendar and marked a date three days away. Enough time to put my affairs in order. Then I would leave.

I was dying from my fear of heights, but my husband, Don Vincent, was busy with his assistant, savoring the latest coffee flown in from Hawaii that morning. "You're a grown woman, Bella. What's the big deal? You're stuck on a roof, figure it out." Then he hung up on me. I collapsed onto the hot tar of the roof, my body shaking uncontrollably before everything went black. It was two hours before building security found me. When I got home, I asked Vincent for a divorce. He rubbed his temples, his patience worn thin, looking at me as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "Over a cup of coffee? I told you, the heights are all in your head. You’re perfectly safe now. Stop making a scene alright? What's this nonsense about a divorce? I have more important things to deal with. Calm yourself down." I stared at his back as he left, tears already streaming down my face. Something important? Did he really think I couldn't hear his assistant, Sophia, murmuring in the background? Did he think I didn't know he took her to the last family gathering? I had loved Vincent for three years. Everyone knew he was the center of my world. They all thought an orphan like me could never leave him. But now, all the love I had was eclipsed by a profound, soul-crushing exhaustion. I was done. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't touched in three long years. "Uncle, book me a flight to Seattle. I'm ready to leave Vincent."

I was with Don Silas for seven years. From when he had nothing to when he ruled Chicago's entire underworld. To everyone else, I was just his dirty little secret. His men humiliated me in public. His Commission members spat insults at my face. The few friends who knew the truth couldn't stand it. They confronted him. "Are you really going to let Alessia be your shadow forever? You won't even give her a proper title?" Silas was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was like ice. "Carina's husband was my most loyal underboss. He took a bullet meant for me. The Outfit demands I honor his sacrifice. I have to pay it." "Alessia loves me. A title is just a title. She'll accept it." My friend felt a chill run down his spine. "But I heard your engagement party with Carina is next week. Alessia is pregnant with your heir. What if she finds out..." Silas's voice was sharp. Final. "Alessia will endure it. For me." I stood in front of my apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at a picture of the "Heart of Sicily" on my phone. I felt like a fool. The man who whispered in my ear, promising to place this ring—the symbol of the Family's true Donna—on my finger, was Silas. And the man now preparing to give it to another woman in front of all of Chicago was also Silas. The glittering diamond in the photo felt like it was laughing at me. I think Silas was wrong. I won't bet my life, or our child's future, on a man who always expects me to be the one to step aside.

The plane touched down in Tripoli at dusk. Behind me, the sky was on fire. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my husband, Don Vito Hart. [I'm here. I came to bring you home.] No reply. I called his underboss, Enzo Stark. His voice was hesitant. "You… you really went to Libya?" An explosion rattled the terminal windows. My heart slammed against my ribs. "Which district is he in?" A long pause. Then, quieter: "He never left the country." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The business trip… it was a lie." The line went dead. A photo appeared on my screen. Time-stamped today. Vito was smiling. Bright, but something behind his eyes looked tired. His arm was wrapped around a woman. They were blowing out candles on a birthday cake. I recognized her instantly. Rosa Quinn. The woman he'd knelt and sworn on his mother's grave never to see again. Three years ago. I still had the scar on my own palm where I'd made him swear. Vito had forgotten. Today was my birthday too. My phone buzzed again. "Sera, the truth is—the Don never ended things with Rosa. We all knew. But you two seemed so happy… no one dared tell you." I read the message twice. Then I slipped the phone into my pocket. There was no need to pretend anymore.

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.

I hadn't seen my mafia husband, Luca Moretti, and our daughter Dora in three whole months. Why? Because his mother, Fiona, said Dora should stay with her "for a while." And Luca? He was "too busy with business," as always. So when Luca finally called and said he was going to pick me up for a family reunion at the villa, I was overjoyed. I thought maybe, just maybe, I'd finally get to hold my little girl again. I spent the whole damn day running around the city, buying her favorite dolls, snacks, a new pink dress, anything I thought would make her smile at me again. But when the car arrived, it wasn't what I imagined. Before I could even say Hi, Dora turned her head, took one look at me… and then wrapped her arms even tighter around Maria, the maid. She buried her face in Maria's neck like I wasn't even there. Like Maria was her mom. I tried to approach her, but Dora straight-up told me she didn't want to ride in the same car as me. And Maria, wearing that fake, polite smile, kept trying to gently talk me into giving Dora "a little more time." I looked over at Luca, hoping he'd step in. Instead, he just looked annoyed, like he couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to help fix things between me and our daughter. Clearly, they didn't want me there. So what was the point of trying to join the ride? I stepped back from the SUV. Then Luca just turned to me and said, "Just wait here. I won't be long." What he'll never understand is… I'm done waiting for him.