Cerita Pendek & Novel Mafia Marriage

Within 30 days, Niccolò Romano and I registered for divorce 18 times. The first time, Niccolò's adopted sister stole my research results, but he hired a lawyer to fight for her. Afterwards, he held me and coaxed, "If something happens to Lia, no one will dare to hire her in the future. I'm just helping her." The second time, while my plane was in distress, he was traveling around the world with Lia. His tone was helpless: "Lia has depended on me since she was little. I only look after her like a younger sister." The last time, Lia was pregnant with a child no one would claim, and he took responsibility for it. Faced with my accusation, he just sighed, a bit tired: "Lia's career is just starting to take off. If someone blackmails her with the child, her life will be ruined." "You're a woman too. Can't you understand?" This time, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I calmly signed my name on the divorce agreement that he had signed in a fit of pique some time ago. Then I called my professor: "I've thought it over. I'm willing to go with you to Iceland to do research."

After being dumped for the 99th time for being a “chatterbox,” I finally met my soulmate, Lysander Thorne. As the Mafia godfather, he was a man of few words, but listened to every single word I said with rapt attention. His proposal shattered the curse that had doomed me to a hundred rejections. But, I discovered a fatal flaw in Lysander after we got married. Whatever he spoke to me, he never exceeded ten words. I thought it was his stoic personality until I gave a hand to a girl being harassed by a thug at the bar. At the police station, the girl asked, “Has your husband not arrived yet? My friend will pick me up and you can leave with us.” The next second, I saw Lysander rushing in, looking utterly disheveled. “Elara Thorne! Why do you stir up trouble on your very first day back home? You've got wings of your own now, haven’t you? Did I ever tell you to stay safe firstly when something happened? Stop being so impulsive!” It turned out Lysander could get emotional. How ridiculous! When Lysander entered, his eyes were solely fixed on Elara. I looked at him with a blank expression, and wordlessly walked out of the police station.

The Ivanovas and the Vitales are well-known aristocratic families who have maintained everlasting friendship through generations. My name is Anastasia Ivanova. I have been the daughter of the Ivanovas for twenty years, only to discover just now that I was switched at birth. When I was swept out of the Ivanova’s mansion like rubbish, Lorenzo, the youngest son of the Vitale family, firmly picked me up in spite of all objections. Lorenzo always acted cold and distant toward me. I didn’t know why he came to take me into his car at that time. He whispered in my ear again and again, ‌"I’ve wanted you for a long time."‌ He pinned me against the leather seat, making me cry until my voice was hoarse. At that moment, I finally understood his coldness over the years was not indifference but restraint. Soon after, Lorenzo overrode all objections to marry me. His parents were vehemently against me, but Lorenzo directly stripped them of power and became the youngest godfather. Scarlett Montgomery tried to stop us from getting married, but Lorenzo canceled all her credit cards and threatened to send her away. I thought we would have a happy life. Three days before our wedding ceremony, he planned to send me abroad, claiming enemies might retaliate. But, I accidentally overheard him talking to Scarlett in the hallway at night. "Thank goodness. You tricked her into leaving until after I give birth. You’re so good to me!"‌ He kissed her cheek, ‌"I don’t want Anastasia know our affair. You must keep it secret."‌ Their dialogue made me devastated. But I didn’t confront him immediately. Instead, I quietly completed my immigration paperwork as a way to make a clean break with him.

Don Vincent White and I were known as soulmates. Everyone in the city said so. But our wedding never happened. Every time we tried, something got in the way. Bad weather. Scheduling conflicts. Emergencies. Three years ago, Vincent had to leave overseas to handle urgent family business. Before he went, he kissed my forehead and said, "I promise this is the last time. Wait for me." I believed him. So I waited. One thousand, ninety-five days. Ten days ago, he finally came back. I thought the three-year wait was over. I thought we would finally have our wedding. Then last night, I overheard him talking to his underboss, Marco Blue, outside his study. "You're really going to marry Miss Black? What about Vivian and the boy? Luca is over two years old now. He's your own son. This won't stay hidden forever." "Back when Vivian was pregnant, you made up every excuse to delay the wedding. But if Miss Black ever finds out—" Vincent's eyes cut like a blade. "Sophia must never know. My wife will only ever be Sophia. Tell Vivian to watch her mouth and keep that child in line." Luca. Two years old. His own flesh and blood. So while I spent three years waiting for him to come home and marry me, he already had someone else. A child over two years old. I stumbled back to the bedroom. Hands shaking, I called my grandfather. "Grandfather, I'm ready. I'll take your place and become the Donna."

I once risked my life to save Jaxson Rourke on a rainy night. He remembered my face. Yet, when he came to propose, he mistook Elena for me simply because we shared a similar appearance. My stepmother forbade me from revealing the truth. Tragically, Elena was frail and passed away from illness before the wedding. My father couldn't bear to let such immense wealth and status slip away, so he decided to hand the marriage to me instead. He thought that I would surely win the Jaxson’s favor, thinking I closely resembled Elena, enough to replace her. But, my father was wrong. Jaxson only has hatred for me, "You two look so much alike.” He sneered, “Why did she have to be the one who died, and not you?" After the marriage, Jaxson remained indifferent towards me, never believing a word I said. Now, I have been reborn to the time when Jaxson had just gotten engaged…I knelt before my stepmother and pleaded, "To avoid any unexpected trouble, please arrange my marriage as soon as possible.

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.”

To the world, I’m the wife of Kael Voss. In truth, I’m the daughter of the Grim Reaper. I once defied death to save Kael Voss, the Mafia godfather. After ninety-nine proposals, his persistence melted my heart. I hid my divine heritage, abandoned the Underworld, and became his beloved Donna. After the marriage, he firmly kept his vows, turning our marriage into a fairytale. With our fifth wedding anniversary approaching, I wanted to get him a gift. Instead, I overheard a conversation between him and the maid, Luna. "Honey, your birthday is coming up soon. What gift do you want?" "I want you," Kael replied, his voice dripping with affection. "I want you by my side forever. I need to make sure Iris never finds out about us... and I want you to give me an heir." "Are you sure?" "Positive." Kael’s tone was unwavering. The grin slid off my face the moment I heard the answer and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The blood drained from my face. The hope I had cherished shattered into dust. The love he had sworn to me had rotted away in just five years, leaving nothing but a hollow shell. If he no longer wanted my heart, I would take it back. The full moon rose in two days. It is time for my return to the Underworld.

In my past life, Killian cut off all his mistresses and spoiled me rotten, doing everything to win my hand in marriage. But the day before our wedding, I overheard him boasting to his friends. "Killian, that orphan girl you supported is still clinging to you. She's younger and prettier than your fiancée. Are you really not tempted?" Killian curled his lip in disdain, "What is she even? She isn't even fit to lick my wife's toes. Tell her to get lost." His words sent a rush of euphoria through me. He had told me himself that financing Vivienne Moore was merely a strategic move to bolster my charity foundation. At that moment, I truly believed I had found my happily ever after. But on the wedding day, the orphan girl drove her car straight into me. She sobbed and pulled out a terminal diagnosis. "Killian, I don't have much time left. I beg you. Don't abandon me, please!" I got injured in a collision and pleaded with Killian to take me to the hospital first, but he scooped her up in his arms without a second glance. "Sierra, I need to take Vivienne abroad for medical treatment. If I were her husband, it would be way easier for me to get stuff done. We have to get a divorce first. I’m sorry.” I stared at him, my eyes widening in sheer shock. He kept going, his voice stead, “I promise I'll come back and marry you in five years. Just wait for me.” Five years turned into ten, and I waited for him in vain, nothing more than a fool. It wasn't until I was on my deathbed that I received his letter, "I'm sorry, Sierra. I'll marry you in the next life." I tore the letter to shreds and died of sheer rage. Yet, when I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day. I calmly gazed after Killian as they faded into the throng. Then, without hesitation, I turned around and boarded a plane to Switzerland.

The second day after I was transferred back to Los Angeles, I ran into someone I used to know on a street corner. She stepped right in front of me, eyes going wide. “Mia? Mia Rossi? Why would you come back now? Dante's marrying Camille at the cathedral in a week.” Dante was my first love, and also the youngest heir to a mafia dynasty on this side of the Atlantic. He'd made me a promise once: that he'd make the entire Moretti family kneel and welcome me in. We had a deal: the day he officially took over as Don would be the day he married me. But his family had other plans. They arranged a match for him: Camille, a princess from one of Sicily's five great families. Pure bloodline, the genuine article. At first, Dante swore up and down she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. Then I started noticing how he looked at her. Softer every time. Like he was falling. One night, riding home after a shift at the bar, Camille's car came out of nowhere and took me down. The gas tank caught, and half the block reeked of burning rubber and scorched metal. I was pinned under the wreckage, blood seeping from the back of my skull down my neck, warm at first, then cold. Dante was the first one there. He beat the ambulance. The first thing he did was walk past me. He crouched down, lifted Camille out of the passenger seat, and didn't look at me once, just dropped a few words over his shoulder: “I already called an ambulance. Hang tight. Camille's had too much to drink. I need to get her home.” That was the moment I was done with him. Completely, finally done. While he was gone, I discharged myself. I bought the farthest plane ticket I could find that same night and left without looking back. Five years passed. “Mia, you have no idea.” The woman grabbed my wrist, dropping her voice. “Dante spent years turning half of Europe upside down looking for you. You came back at the right time. He still keeps a seat for you every month on his birthday. Camille's too proud for a lot of things,

Leon Santoro's ex-wife and their daughter pushed me down the stairs. I lost the baby. Leon came to see me in the hospital. He sat beside the bed, his expression as composed as always, and said, "She's a child. She didn't know what she was doing. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I apologize for Rosalie." "That's it?" I asked. "Just an apology?" He turned to look at me. "What else do you want? Money? Stock?" "I can't exactly make Rosalie pay with her life for what happened to your child." Your child. Not our child. So he truly never cared about the baby I was carrying. He'd made a promise to his ex-wife Giselle: Rosalie would be his only child. When I told him I was pregnant, he'd barely reacted. Just a shrug and a flat "I know," like I'd told him the weather. Thinking about it now, I looked at him and asked quietly, "You're relieved, aren't you? Now that the baby's gone."

“Brother, I’ve decide to get a divorce.” There was only a moment’s dead silence on the line. Then, Gilbert Cross’s voice came through, “You just married Vittorio yesterday!” I pondered it in my mind, a bitter smile touching my lips. It wasn't yesterday. It had been exactly 6,209 days. In my previous life,for the seventeen years of my marriage to Vittorio Croft, we were indeed the picture of perfect harmony. However, our fragile illusion came into pieces the day my older sister passed away from a critical illness. Grief-stricken, Vittorio suddenly fell severely ill himself. When he finally woke up from his coma, his assistant asked, “Sir, what about Silvia Cross?” Vittorio hadn't even blinked. He replied in a flat, indifferent tone, “Don't bother with her. She was originally nothing but a burden. I married her so that I could stay by her sister's side forever — if not as a lover, then as family.” Standing right outside the door, clutching a tray of warm soup, I laughed until tears streamed down my face. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself reborn on the very first morning after our wedding. We had just held the lavish ceremony, but the official paperwork hadn't been registered yet. I knew exactly what I had to do. Without a second thought, I took a pen and crossed out my name on the application form. In its place, I quickly wrote down Silvia Croft. From this moment forward, my past was buried, and I would never cross paths with Vittorio again.

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.”

Our story started with a single, reckless night of sin while he was drugged. But I didn't regret it. After that night, I foolishly believed I had claimed his heart. For six years, we were inseparable and became a couple that made the entire underworld envious. However, everything was changed when I overheard him laughing with his capos outside the lounge. "Vincent, when will you put a ring on Lyra’s finger?" My footsteps froze. Then, his voice, still cold and utterly merciless, cut through the door. "She’s nothing but a fuck buddy. How could I marry her?" My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent warning. A suffocating, dead silence fell over the lounge. "When I broke up with my ex, she asked me to try dating other women. If we still have feelings for each other after six years, we’d reunite. We have a deal." His tone was chillingly calm. "My trial is over. It’s time for her to come back." "What about Lyra?" Another capo asked, sounding almost pitying. "I’ll throw her a fake wedding." Vincent replied, a cruel smirk audible in his voice. "Let her have little fantasy. It’s the least I can do before I discard her." A glacial chill seeped into my veins, making my fingertips tremble. Six years of affection…All those moments I thought were real were nothing but a twisted, calculated trial. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. I resolutely turned on my heel and walked away into the shadows. By dawn, I booked a one-way flight to Switzerland.

Three years as his fiancée, reduced to nothing more than a soulless trinket. No going out. No friends. No opinions. Every breath I took was measured against Leo's mood. For three years I obeyed him unconditionally, trying to warm the heart of this mafia tyrant. Then today, in the fitting room at the atelier, his adoptive sister Alice snatched my couture wedding gown right off the rack. She didn't even have the decency to do it behind my back; she walked straight into Leo's arms while I stood there watching. Leo barely glanced at me. Just patted her head and said, “It's just a dress. Let her have it.” Three years of patience, and that's what it came to. A joke. I looked at the two of them, that smug, triumphant, and I thought: Marciano, did you really think I wouldn't fight back?

"Your love makes me sick." Those were the final words my husband, Vittorio De Luca, left me in my past life. On our wedding day, Elara Hale had crashed my ceremony, begging Vittorio to run away with her. But he chose to stay by my side. Yet, when Elara died of an illness shortly after, he harbored nothing but hatred for me. He detested that I had clung to him for over a decade, forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. More than that, he loathed himself for not running away with Elara. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn before everything went wrong. I looked at him, "Vittorio, I'm getting married." He looked a bit troubled. "You know I’m busy with a critical territorial expansion. My mind is entirely elsewhere…" “Never mind.” I offered a faint, indifferent smile. Relieved, Vittorio leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Don't worry. We've been together for twelve years. I'll do the right thing and take responsibility." He didn’t know what I meant, but I knew what I’d do in this lifetime. I would never choose him again, let alone marry him.

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé suddenly asked me to give up the ceremony for his first love, Sofia. I turned it down cold in my former life, only to become the Chicago mob’s godmother at a lavish wedding. When Sofia heard the news, she was heartbroken and jumped into the sea to take her own life. Vincent blamed me for Sofia’s death. For the next thirty years, the words he said to me most often were: “Elena, if I had married Sofia that day, she wouldn't have died.” On his deathbed, he told our children: “Don’t bury me with Elena.” The year after he died, I fell gravely ill and passed away. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night before the wedding. Over the phone, Vincent's voice came again: "Sofia needs this title more than you do. Everyone knows I love you, so they respect you—but Sofia's different. She's just a poor orphan girl..." Before he could finish, I calmly replied, “Fine, I agree.” I turned and signed the papers to cut ties with the family. I flew to Sicily, home to the Salk Institute that I had always looked up to. In this life, I refuse to be his appendage.

My younger sister, Rosalind Thorne, stole nine boyfriends from me in a row. I was too terrified to ever fall in love again until Nikolai Volkov proposed to me. He doted on me as if I were a rare treasure. I truly believed I had finally found the one. I thought I was destined to become his Donna, living a life of peace and security by his side. On the eve of our wedding, Nikolai sent Rosalind abroad. Four years into our marriage, I crossed paths with Rosalind at a banquet. A guest smirked. “Nikolai sent you overseas to rot for four years. Don’t you hate him?” Rosalind offered a provocative smile. “He’s the father of my child. Why would I hate him?” The room suddenly fell deathly silent. “My elder sister is so stupidly naive, believing Nikolai actually despises me!” She sneered, wearing a look of disdain. “The truth is I’ve borne his heir, lived in his estate, driven his supercars, and spent his money.” As she finished, every single gaze in the room snapped toward me. As Nikolai Volkov’s lawful wife, I knew nothing about what she said. But, I didn’t cry and cause a scene. I simply tapped ‘send’ on the email I had drafted long ago. The reply came swiftly. [We’ve been eager to have you on our design team. Your portfolio is extraordinary. Welcome aboard.] Staring at the reply, a genuine smile slowly returned to my lips. Nikolai Volkov, from this moment on, you no longer need to pretend to love me.

My husband promised we would spend Thanksgiving with my parents this year. Right before we left, he looked down at his phone and frowned. "Damn it. I forgot to change the delivery address again. Your parents' gift basket went to Cassia's place." I stood in the entryway with my fingers frozen around my scarf. For three years of marriage, Roman DeLuca had never removed Cassia Vail's address from his shopping apps. Whenever I asked him why, he always said the same thing: "Cassia and I grew up together. She’s basically family." The Italian espresso machine I wanted went to her apartment. He said her old machine had broken anyway. The sapphire bracelet for our wedding anniversary was signed for by her. He said asking for it back after she opened it would look petty. The sunflowers and baby's breath he promised me on Valentine's Day ended up in her hands. He said she had already put them in a vase, and he couldn't give me secondhand flowers. This time, I had reminded him for two weeks. The Thanksgiving basket had a low-sugar pumpkin pie, nut-free cookies, and a custom low-sodium turkey roll for my father. I had chosen every item myself. It still went to Cassia. I kept my voice steady. "Drive over and get it back." Roman's face darkened. "She already signed for it. What do you want me to do? We'll pick up wine and pastries on the way. Same thing." "It isn't the same. Get it back." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Elena, can you stop turning every little thing into a family trial? No one makes things awkward like you do." Every time something meant for me ended up with his childhood sweetheart, I asked him to get it back. Every time, I got some version of the same answer. I stopped arguing and watched him slam the door behind him. A few minutes later, I wiped my tears and texted my attorney. [Happy Thanksgiving. Please draft a divorce agreement for me. Thank you.]

When I was three months pregnant, I walked straight into an ambush. A bullet tore through my arm, and they rushed me to the hospital. By the time it was over, the baby had been torn out of me alive. The surgeon, Mia, passed it off as a tragic mistake. I tore the hospital apart, and my husband, Leon, only looked annoyed. "It's one kid. We'll have another. Why put the doctor through hell over it?" Then I saw the smug woman standing behind him, and it all came together. I smiled at Leon. What he didn't know was that in the gang shootout three months ago, the bullet to his stomach had left him sterile for good. And that baby was the only blood he would ever have.

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.