Mafia Marriage Short Stories & Novels

A fortune-teller once told me that my husband would betray me in the seventh year of our marriage. Looking at Mario Brasco—his eyes filled with nothing but me—I couldn't help but scoff at the fortune-teller's words. Everyone knew Mario loved me enough to give up everything. When I caught a simple cold, he abandoned a multimillion-dollar mafia deal and flew home just to be by my side. When I was kidnapped, he took three bullets rescuing me, yet never once thought of giving up. When my sister confessed her love to him, desperate enough to end her own life, he turned her down without hesitation and forced my father to send her overseas. But on the seventh anniversary of our marriage, I received an unexpected email from an unknown sender. After reading it, I asked Mario for a divorce.

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.

The night Luca Caruso became the most powerful Don, he slid a diamond ring onto my finger in front of the heads of the five major mafia families. "You'll be my only wife, Elena. No woman will ever take your place." I believed every word. I was the daughter of his strongest ally, and the woman who'd helped make him Don. For six years, I stood beside him through gunfights, betrayals, and assassination attempts. I even lost our first baby. The whole underworld envied me. They said Luca was cold to the rest of the world, but he would always give in to his wife. That lasted until the day before Luca's birthday, when I slipped away to Tuscany to surprise him. At the villa, I found Luca. He was supposed to be in a meeting with the heads of the other families. Instead, he was celebrating his birthday with another woman and a little boy. The woman was holding the cake, gazing tenderly at father and son. "Luca, what if Elena finds out? Is she going to make a scene?" Luca kissed her forehead. He sounded completely sure of himself. "She won't. Elena loves me. She'll put up with this for me." His next words crushed the last hope I had. "Besides, old man Moretti has known for ages. He'll keep his daughter in line. He needs his alliance with me too much." The woman leaned against his shoulder, her voice soft. "So who do you love more, Luca?" Luca didn't even hesitate. "When I put the wedding ring on Elena's finger, all I could think about was you."

For six years, Dante Romano kept our marriage hidden. In public, I was only the executive who managed his family’s legitimate businesses, and even our son had to call him Uncle. When his newly divorced childhood friend returned to New York, Dante missed Leo’s birthday to stay with her. That night, Dante signed the divorce settlement without reading it, and I took our son out of his world. The man who never lost control ordered every Romano contact to find us, then crossed the world to bring us back. This time, Leo and I would not turn back.

On the first day of my rebirth, I turn straight into the bedroom of Don Raffaele Caruso and begin undoing my clothes. In my previous life, I was in a marriage of convenience with his son, Matteo Caruso, but there was no love between us. We were notorious in Liberty City's mafia circle. Matteo believed I was the reason he lost his first love. He thought I had deliberately gone into his room the night he was drugged with an aphrodisiac, trapping him in a marriage. Hence, for eight years after our wedding, he stayed out drunk every night and refused to come home. Even when I went into obstructed labor and was on the brink of death, he never asked about me even once. Then, the hurricane came. A storm surge swallowed Liberty City. The harbor collapsed under the waves, and there was only one seat left on the evacuation boat. Everyone thought Matteo would keep it for himself. Instead, he shoved me hard onto the boat. "Go! I'm giving you my chance to live, Chiara. If there's a next life, don't come saving me again. I just want to be with Lucia." The next second, his body was dragged into the pitch-black sea. I survived, only to be hacked to death by a rival family afterward. What Matteo never knew was that he wasn't the only one who was drugged that night. His father was too. This time around, I step into the room just as the effects of the aphrodisiac take hold. Raffaele is currently forcing himself to endure it, his control stretched to the limit. I walk over and say softly, "Let me be your antidote, Don Caruso."

On the day I signed the divorce papers, I was ordered to leave with nothing. When I walked out of the Crane estate, I had twenty-six dollars in my wallet and nowhere safe to go. My phone was nearly dead when a message from an old classmate appeared on the screen, linking to a discreet placement notice. 【Seeking a live-in maternal figure for three children. Room, board, salary, and protection provided.】 I stopped at the word protection. A roof, a meal, and a place the Cranes could not reach me were already more than I had that night. The address led me to the iron gates of an old mansion on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Only after the butler opened the door did I learn who had placed the notice. Dante Bellandi. The Don of Chicago’s oldest Italian crime family. I had only wanted a place to stay. Somehow, I became the legal mother of the three Bellandi children and the contract wife of Dante Bellandi himself. Later, my ex-husband, Sebastian Crane, stood before me with the same careless arrogance and asked, “Do you realize you were wrong now?” Before I could answer, the triplets stepped in front of me. Little Livia clung to my leg, her eyes red. “My mom wasn’t wrong!” Her two brothers stood on either side of her, staring Sebastian down. Dante placed one hand at my waist, his voice calm enough to make the air turn cold. “Mr. Crane, my wife owes no explanation to a man who lost the right to speak to her.”

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn. I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution. He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead." The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat? As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet." Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead. "I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you. "I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed." Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right. So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker. Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire. When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses. He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant. Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. “She's pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She's a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats. “She’s sensitive and hates sleeping alone, so you’ll need to move your things into the guest room.” The room fell silent. I did not raise my voice, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply picked up my packed suitcase and walked to the door. The butler tried to stop me, but Damian did not even blink. “She’ll come back.” He lazily swirled the wine in his glass. “She’ll come back crying and begging within three days.” Our guests burst out laughing. They placed a million-dollar bet right in front of me. They were betting on whether I would be back before the night was over, begging Damian to let me back in like a pathetic stray dog with my tail between my legs. However, they did not know I had already received the family heirloom from my real father. I booked my flight to get far, far away from everyone I used to know. This time, I really left.

My fiancé, Luciano Marino, was the Don of the Marino family, and he was an extremely careful man. For the five years we'd known each other, he'd kept me on his estate outside the city. "Eleanor, you're my weak spot. I'll never let any of my enemies lay a finger on you." "The fewer people who know about you, the safer you are." So I'd never once appeared in public with him, let alone met his family. Three days before our wedding, I was outside the study when I overheard him talking to the butler. "Don, are you sure you want to schedule your wedding to Ms. Vanderhall for the same day, three days from now?" "That's right." "Then... what about Ms. Ashford?" He took a deep drag on his cigar. "Eleanor has always been understanding. She won't mind if I'm a little late." My hand froze before I could push the door open, and my mind went blank. Hands shaking, I opened Instagram on my phone and searched for Eileen Vanderhall's account. Her feed was filled with photos of the two of them. She came and went from Luciano's armory as she pleased, attended his family dinners, and even sat in on meetings with his crew. "He says that when you love someone, you share every part of your life with them." So it wasn't that he refused to let the woman he loved into his life. It was just that the woman wasn't me. Back in my room, I dialed a number. "Dad, I lost the bet. I'm ready to come home and marry the man you picked." ...

I gave him seven bullet casings once. Seven promises to forgive. I thought love could trump boundless favoritism. Then he changed the lock code on our home to the birthday of Lena, his long-lost savior and unrequited love. He let her tear apart the home I'd built. He let her steal the wedding gown I'd poured two years into. Six times I stepped back. When he held out the last casing, I threw it away myself. Dean. Seven was the end of it. Whatever the Don wants to lavish on someone else, I'm done fighting for it. I don't want it anymore.

The wedding had been postponed ninety-nine times. I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride's name to Ivy Sterling, Charles Hart's childhood sweetheart. "Donna, are you sure?" the planner asked cautiously. "This time, the Don didn't postpone again." I heard the surprise in his voice. My answer was calm. "Yes. Change it to Ivy Sterling." From the very beginning, Charles gave only one instruction for the wedding: "Adjust the decorations according to Ivy's taste." He explained that Ivy had good taste, that she would only serve as a reference for our wedding. But every choice, the flowers, the favors, the entrance music, was made by Ivy. Even my wedding dress. She had said lightly, "A mermaid silhouette suits her better." So I decided to give the entire wedding, steeped in her presence, to them. And I walked away from this farce completely. From now on, let him keep his old dreams. I will go and enjoy my own boundless sky.

I married Don Alessandro in secret. The Five Families of Chicago had ruled for generations. And I had married into the most powerful of them. For four years, Alessandro made me promises. One hundred and twelve times. And one hundred and twelve times, he left me standing alone. The first time, his ex‑girlfriend’s father had a heart attack. Alessandro canceled the wedding and stayed with her for three full weeks. The second time, she crashed her Maserati into a fountain in Monaco. Drunk. He flew there overnight and paid off the police chief personally. Every time, right before our wedding, she manufactured another crisis. I begged. I screamed. I put a knife to my own wrist. Alessandro just laughed, pulled the blade from my hand, and fucked me against the nearest wall. “She’s my ex‑girlfriend. You’re my wife. You don't need to be jealous of her.” After the one hundred and twelfth time, I stopped feeling anything. I pushed a piece of agreement in front of him.“Our marriage. Our alliance. Consider it terminated.”

On our third Valentine's Day since marrying the Don Arthur, he set the three places at the dining table. With the same hands he used to wield a gun, he carefully peeled shrimp. Shrimp was Lora's favorite, the first love he'd never gotten over. I was allergic to shellfish. He dismissed every hurt he'd caused me and sided with Lora every time. He was certain I loved him so deeply that I would swallow every insult and step aside forever. Everything changed when I discovered Lora's role in my father's murder and learned how completely Arthur's blind trust in her had buried the truth. That was when I finally saw him clearly. I was done with Arthur and the love he claimed to have for me.

I went through 100 hormone shots for him—just to finally get pregnant. Five years begging those shots to work—all for Rafe Morello. The Don with ice in his veins... but also the guy who used to wipe sweat off my forehead in the middle of the night. Everyone thought we were goals. Then I handed over my lab results, and the nurse paused, blinking up at me. "Sorry, what's your relationship to Rafe Morello? There's already a pregnancy under his wife's name." I froze. Carmela Vitale. His dead brother's wife. Spouse listed: Rafe Morello. Breathing? Suddenly optional. No tears. No drama. I just slid off my ring and tucked it into my bag. Then I called the number buried at the bottom of my drawer. My voice? Freakishly calm. "Yeah. Three days. Pick me up." It wasn't about revenge. I left because I finally got it—some people, you gotta cut loose if you ever wanna stop bleeding. Three days later, he walked into a silent bedroom. On the nightstand: my wedding ring, the signed divorce papers, and a copy of the ultrasound. He sat on the floor and just... kept rubbing that ring. Regret doesn't knock. It floods. And that night, it drowned every lie he thought he could get away with. That was when he finally figured it out—love could wreck a person worse than hate ever could.

After my ex-husband, Lucaro Ricci, has died, he turns into a ghost. Since then, he has stayed by my side as a shadow. Three years later, I walk into the church, hand-in-hand with Carlo Altieri, the oldest son of Lucaro's arch-nemesis. Everyone in the city chews me out for betraying Lucaro. Even Lucaro curses me out for being a scumbag. But I'm the only one who knows the actual reason. I've already made a wish to God in the church that I'll sacrifice my life in exchange for Lucaro's second chance in life.

Our last dinner before the marriage ends is a plate of cold lasagna Antonio Costa slides across the table. As I set my fork down, a shadow of blame crosses his eyes. "It's from the soup kitchen. Don't be picky with free food. The family funds are frozen, and we can barely cover the kids' medical bills. Drop the high-maintenance act from your spoiled past." Ever since the Costa family fell from grace, I have been standing in line outside the church at 4:00 am for hand-me-downs. One evening, I see him on Via Montevalerio, watching Sofia Bellini try on a dark red satin gown in a high-end boutique. That is a current-season couture piece, priced high enough to keep us afloat for an entire year. The two discounted kids' sweaters in my hands suddenly feel heavy. At the counter, Sofia reaches for her purse, but Antonio catches her wrist. "It's just a dress. I can afford plenty more." A wave of absurdity hits me as he pulls out a black card I've never seen before. It turns out the family accounts have been unlocked for a while. All those nights I've spent digging through trash cans and giving up my asthma inhaler so I can afford my child's fever medicine suddenly become a bitter joke. I wipe away tears I don't realize are falling and drop the neatly folded hand-me-downs back into the donation bin.

In order to protect me, Don Salvatore deliberately announces that my fiance, Simone Pozzi, is his long-lost son. Simone shakes with excitement when he sees the man in a bespoke suit stepping out of the Rolls-Royce that is parked outside my house. Just as I'm about to tell him it's all a lie, he shoves me aside. He even brushes his sleeves in disgust, as if he has touched something filthy. Simone says, "Stay away from me. Don't let your poverty rub off on me! Since I'm the Don's son, we'll call off our engagement. An illegitimate bastard like you isn't even fit to wipe my shoes!" When I try to explain, he cuts me off by writing out a check and flinging it hard into my face. The sharp edge of the paper slices across my cheek. "Take this one million dollars as our breakup fee and don't bother me again. We're no longer from the same world," Simone says. I watch the check flutter down into the mud and quietly turn off my phone screen. On the screen is a message Papa—Don Salvatore—has just sent me, "Just bear with it a little longer, Principessa. Papa will bring you home soon to take over the famiglia." Simone is so determined to cut himself off completely. He might have the luck to claim a fortune that big, but not the life to enjoy it.

"I'm scheduling the C-section for tomorrow. The doctor will extract her bone marrow during the procedure." Those were the words that shattered Selena's world. Her husband, Ellis Winston, the most ruthless Mafia Don in New York, was going to force her to deliver their baby at twenty-seven weeks. To him, her pregnant body was just a blood farm to cure Jennifer, the manipulative half-sister who supposedly saved his life. So, Selena ran. She left behind a pool of blood, a crushed ultrasound photo, and a destroyed wedding ring. The world thought she was dead. Six years later, Ellis is a walking corpse. He rules the global underworld, but he is tormented by the ghost of the wife he pushed to the grave. During his company's grand anniversary banquet, the heavy ballroom doors burst open. Selena is back. But she isn't the weak, obedient housewife in a cheap housewife anymore. She is the untouchable heiress of the Merrick billionaire empire. She strides down the red carpet, a signed divorce agreement in hand, ready to crush the man who ruined her. Ellis refuses to let her go. He is willing to go to war with Wall Street to drag her back. But what will the arrogant Don do when he comes face-to-face with a genius six-year-old boy who looks exactly like him? He will pay any price to win her back. Even if it costs him his empire, his organs, and his life.

My son asked me for something I couldn’t give. “Just three chances, Mom,” he whispered. “If he really doesn’t love us after that… we’ll leave forever.” He was talking about his father — Giovanni Romano. The heir to a Mafia empire. My husband in name only. He never called our son his own. He never once said he loved me. Chance one, Giovanni forgot. Chance two, he lied. Chance three… he broke something no apology could fix. So I packed our bags, held my son’s hand, and walked away. No tears. No goodbyes. Just quiet. The night our plane took off, my phone buzzed. “Wait,” his message read. “I’m coming home.” But home isn’t where he is anymore. It’s wherever my son finally sleeps without crying. Because some promises don’t break — they shatter. And some mothers never wait again.

I saved Marco Vitale from a trap. The night that followed made me the woman he hated most. After the doctor confirmed the drugs had worn off, I stayed with him. We slept together. His marriage to my cousin Bianca was supposed to secure our families’ port alliance. When word got out about us, my father proposed that I take her place. Marco agreed in front of the senior men from both families. Behind closed doors, he made his feelings clear. “Drug me, then get your father to force a wedding. Well played, Elena.” I’d loved him for ten years. I actually believed that, once we were married, I could make him see the truth. I hadn’t drugged him or arranged that fire. I’d just been the idiot who couldn’t bear to leave him there. On our wedding night, he left the vows we’d signed behind and went straight to my cousin. Three years later, Bianca returned from Palermo with a little boy who had Marco’s gray eyes. He picked up the child in front of me and promised to make her the real Mrs. Vitale. I handed him my ultrasound. He turned it facedown without looking. “Bianca and her son are moving in. I want you out by tomorrow.” The next morning, I fell on the stairs while his men were clearing out my things. I began to bleed. They took me to the family clinic, but Marco stayed with Bianca. When the doctor called, he said not to interrupt them again. A hospital transfer came too late. Neither my baby nor I left that clinic alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the guest suite at that engagement party, three years earlier. Marco’s hot hand was on my waist, pulling me toward him. Last time, I’d stayed after the doctor left and spent the night. This time, I got him somewhere safe and called my cousin. “Your fiancé needs a doctor. Come get him, sweetheart. He’s all yours.”