Mafia Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

The day I find out I'm pregnant, my son, Lionello Gabardino, stares at a cute little girl on his tablet. His eyes light up. "Mama, I want her," he whines. I can't help but laugh. "Sweetie, she's an online influencer. You can't just claim her as your sister. You're going to have a baby sister soon. In nine months, she'll be here to play with you." I take his hand and gently place it on my belly. But Lionello suddenly pulls his hand away and looks at me in annoyance. "She's really my little sister! I don't want any other sister!" My heart sinks to my stomach, and the smile on my face instantly freezes. Lionello quickly scrolls through the screen and shows me an old post Valeria Barbieri, the influencer he's been watching, uploaded. "Look. Papa and I even gave her the jewelry you gave me last year," he says. One familiar item after another flashes before my eyes on the tablet screen. A chill instantly spreads through my entire body. What exactly has my husband, Marco Gabardino, been doing behind my back?

At our wedding rehearsal, Dante Corleone brings Lucia Ferrante, the fiancee of his late brother, Davide. "Davide died protecting me in that shootout on Thanksgiving. Without him, I never would've become Don to the Corleone Famiglia," Dante says. "We have the rest of our lives together, Camilla, but this is Lucia's only chance." So I stand below the stage, watching my fiance drop to one knee before another woman in a wedding dress and reverently kiss the back of her hand. Then the priest turns to Dante and asks awkwardly, "Do you wish to stand before God and recite your vows to Ms. Ferrante?" Lucia bursts into tears and throws herself into Dante's arms. "Camilla, I'm not trying to steal anything from you," she sobs. "I just want to exchange the vows Davide never got a chance to give me before he died. If Dante is willing to stand in for his Fratello and marry me just this once, I'm sure Davide wouldn't mind." Without a second thought, Dante steps up to the altar. I stand below, watching him slip the very wedding ring I designed onto Lucia's finger. I look down at my own empty ring finger. And suddenly, it all feels so pointless. The vows could be borrowed. The ring could be borrowed. Even my man could be loaned out to comfort another woman. In that case, I'm done with this wedding.

My fiancé’s childhood sweetheart had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had a month left to live. Even though I disagreed, he still temporarily left me to accompany her in completing her bucket list of a hundred wishes. Three days before our engagement, I held the pregnancy test in my hand, wanting to tell him he was going to be a father. Instead, his childhood sweetheart posted a photo on her social media: “Thanks to Leo for spoiling me. I have no more regrets in this life.” In the picture, Leonardo was personally slipping a ring onto her finger. That ruby ring was a dying keepsake my mother had left me, and a priceless family heirloom. Before he left, he said he wanted to take it to the snowy mountains to pray for blessings on our marriage. I commented on her post: “Wishing you both a happy marriage.” Leonardo called me almost immediately: “Elena, don’t provoke Liliana.” “You will be my Donna. We have the rest of our lives. She doesn’t have much time left.” I smiled and told him it was fine. Because I had finally come to my senses: our lifetime would always be tainted by Liliana’s presence. If that was the case, neither I nor our child wanted him anymore. After getting my ring back, I was going to leave this place.

Dominic De Luca always called me by his ex-girlfriend's name. When he cooked, he would call out from the kitchen without thinking: "Bianca, come set the table." The birthday gifts he gave me came with cards that read: "Happy Birthday to my love, Bianca." At first, I used to get angry. I would hold his face, make him look me in the eye, and correct him over and over: "My name is Clara, not Bianca." Every time, he would apologize, and every time, I would forgive him. I left Boston to be with him. I gave up a promotion and moved to New York to start over, because Dominic said he could not handle a long-distance relationship. I thought that meant he had finally chosen me. Until the night he got down on one knee to propose. He looked up at me and said: "Bianca, will you marry me?" That was the moment I stopped wanting to correct him. I just took out my phone and replied to an email I had ignored for an entire month. I accepted the position in London. Dominic did not know yet. The moment he put my engagement ring on Bianca's finger, I had already decided to resign and leave New York. This time, I would not wait for him to explain. By the time he finally learned to say my name correctly, I would no longer love him.

Fifteen years ago, Vincenzo Marchetti pushed me down a stairwell at Saint Catherine's Academy and shattered my skull. I spent four months in the hospital with a fractured head, broken ribs, and bleeding in my brain. The doctors said I would have chronic migraines for the rest of my life and that the scar would never fade.  Vincenzo Marchetti never faced a single consequence because his family owned the school, the hospital, and the police. Two years ago, his mother approached my father at a community event and said her son wanted to meet me. I should have run. But in our world, refusing a Marchetti wasn't really an option for a family like mine. When Vincenzo sat across from me at that first dinner, I watched his face carefully for any sign of recognition. But there was nothing—just polite interest and charm. Maybe he had forgotten or maybe I had been so insignificant that breaking my body was just another Tuesday for him. So I said yes when he proposed. I smiled at our wedding and I played the role of the perfect mafia wife. For one year, I lived in his penthouse cage. He cooked me breakfast, remembered my coffee order, and whispered that he loved me every night before I slept. Then I found the note on his phone, created ten days before we ever met. Six words that destroyed everything. Isabella Russo, the game has begun. Our entire marriage was a revenge and I was the pawn he married to humiliate his rival family.  But Vincenzo Marchetti made one critical mistake —he thought I would stay broken. I planted bugs in his office, stole his financial records and made an alliance with his most dangerous enemy—the boy I tried to save all those years ago, who's now a Don with his own empire. In the mafia, they say you don't forgive and you don't forget. Vincenzo taught me that lesson when he shattered my skull. Now I'm about to teach him what happens when the broken girl learns to fight back.

Five years ago, I threw myself in front of a bullet meant for my husband and lost my hearing in the process. Nico Marchetti learned sign language, held my hand through every doctor's appointment and swore he would protect me for the rest of his life. On the night I discovered his betrayal, he sat across from me at a dinner table surrounded by his capos and smiled, "Giulia is the only woman I love. But I hide it well because if she ever found out about Valentina, she'd leave me."  Then he carved his steak and placed it on my plate like a devoted husband. What he didn't know was that I had regained my hearing exactly seven days earlier. I had already contacted the Benedetti family. I had already arranged my escape to Sicily. All I had to do was wait seven more days. Then I disappeared from Nico Marchetti's life forever.

I'd been with Daniel Bonanno for five years. On our anniversary, I was the one who processed his marriage license application— but the bride wasn't me. It was Emma Miller. He told me it was just a merger. A fake arrangement between families. Once he became the Don, he'd marry me for real. I'd heard that line so many times I'd lost count. But I watched him grow closer to that woman. Day by day. Even when I was kidnapped, he was in bed with her. And finally, it hit me. Five years of loving him, and it was all just a joke. So I faked my death. I made sure everyone thought I jumped off that cliff. But after that, Daniel started haunting the base of that cliff. Two years, pacing back and forth, murmuring under his breath: "I was wrong. Please. Just come back."

While my entire family was helping my adopted sister try on wedding gowns, the doctor told me I had almost no time left. I held my terminal stomach cancer diagnosis and sent one message to the Moretti family group chat. “If I were dying, would any of you miss me?” Three minutes later, my parents replied. “You would lie about having cancer just to ruin Bianca’s wedding?” “Enough. The Moretti family has no daughter who tells lies like this.” My brother called, already irritated. “Bianca’s father died taking a bullet for me. No one will ever walk her down the aisle. She only wants to experience one wedding. Why can’t you let this go?” My childhood sweetheart and fiancé, Adrian Vitale, never answered. He was kneeling in front of Bianca, gently arranging the skirt of my wedding gown. Seven days earlier, my family had decided to give her my wedding. I stood there for a long time before signing the body donation papers. My parents and brother could choose her. My fiancé could choose her too. This time, I would fight for nothing.

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 loved Vincent Jones for three years. Even after his "amnesia," he still remembered only me. So I played along, threw away my study abroad dreams, stayed up all night building his game, forgave every broken promise and every bruise he left behind. Then I found out I was carrying his child. And from outside that VIP room door, I heard him laughing with his true love, counting up my humiliations like trophies. He was never sick. It was all a game. The missing bracelet in the rain? That was number one. Sabotaging my scholarship? That was seventy-two. The fall that took our baby and broke my leg? Ninety-nine. And number one hundred? He was going to destroy my life’s work, my game, in front of everyone I knew. So. He wanted to bet my heart for sport? Then I'll give him a death he can't come back from. Claire Bennett died in that plane crash. Now? You can call me June An. And Vincent Jones? He's going to pay for every single one of the hundred times he broke me.

In the New York Mafia, everyone knows that Cassian, the ruthless Don of the Valeriano family, loves me. His devotion is practically a legend. A cold-blooded killer like him spends a month every year at his family's estate in Sicily, praying for my health. I always thought I was the only queen in his empire. Until the day I saw an encrypted video. My best friend Bianca was holding a little boy, smiling at the camera. "We couldn't keep our hands off each other at the villa back then. That's how Nico was made." "So every year, we come back to thank God for this gift." A second later, a man's hand reached into the frame to tuck her windblown hair behind her ear. Gentle and practiced. But the man's collar was slightly unbuttoned. It revealed the cross necklace I designed for him—the one holding the fatal bullet I took for him years ago. I sat in a room with a roaring fireplace, but my blood froze. Right then, my private doctor called. "Miss Aria, I have bad news and worse news." "Your fetus has a rare genetic defect. It requires a high-risk in-utero surgery. The success rate is under thirty percent." I looked up blankly. My face was wet with tears I didn't even know I shed. My voice trembled, but it carried a newfound coldness. "Cancel the surgery. I'm not keeping the baby."

Through seven years of secret marriage, I was nothing more than an obedient, tirelessly devoted assistant to Don Nathan Harrison. He walked the red carpet at high-profile galas with Susan Ferell, his business partner’s daughter. He booked an entire castle just to host an exclusive rose-themed banquet for her and spent millions at an auction to buy her a crown-jewel diamond necklace once owned by royalty. Their names dominated the headlines daily, dubbed by the Siciamira media as the ultimate power couple of high society. For the first time, I didn't make a scene or shed a single tear. Even when I found that royal diamond necklace intended for Susan tucked away in Nathan’s suit pocket, I simply pulled it out and quietly set it on the vanity. Nathan convinced himself that I had finally grown sensible and understood the overwhelming sacrifices he was making for our future. What he didn't know was that the world's top global syndicate had just tracked me down, crowning me as the sole heir to a century-old empire. And the signed divorce papers were already stamped, processed, and on their way from the courthouse straight to his front door.

Before the Visconti family's truce banquet began, only two seats remained empty at the long table. One was at the far end. The other was to the left of Lucas Visconti, the man I'd married under contract. Three months earlier, to settle a blood debt hanging over my father, I'd signed a marriage contract and become the secret wife of the youngest Mafia boss in New York. According to the seating chart approved and sealed by both families' consiglieri, Sophia Vitali, their negotiator, was supposed to sit at the far end. The list hadn't been changed, but the place cards on the table had been swapped. I had just started toward Lucas when he looked up. "Sophia, take this seat." The banquet hall fell silent. Enzo, the Vitali family's consigliere, stiffened. "Is this a gesture of goodwill, or are we to understand that Sophia is now under your personal protection?" Adrian, Lucas's consigliere, spoke under his breath. "Boss, the official seating chart hasn't been amended. We can still fix this." Roman Hayes, the underboss, also stopped the estate manager from setting out any more silverware. But Lucas overruled the objections. Sophia's brother Dominic had taken a bullet for Lucas six years ago and died of his wounds three days later. "She's here for the negotiations. I take full responsibility." Enzo demanded that the incident be entered into the truce minutes and reserved the right to suspend the talks. Lucas didn't back down. Throughout dinner, he fielded every toast meant for Sophia, using the negotiations as his excuse. When a waiter knocked over a champagne flute and broken glass sliced my wrist, he didn't even turn around. I slipped off the obsidian ring reserved for the Visconti inner circle and set it on the table. Adrian and Roman's expressions changed in unison. Lucas had forgotten the one thing that mattered: the secret wife he'd kept in the shadows was the only person who could unlock every dark secret of both families.

Everyone knew Salvatore Romano, head of the Romano crime family, had never shown any interest in women. During our three years of marriage, I was the one special exception. Until my sister Lucia showed up. He said he despised picky eaters because he'd nearly starved to death once. Yet the dishes Lucia didn't like disappeared from the table the very next day. He said blondes were shallow. So for three years, I dyed my golden hair black without fail. Lucia wore her blonde hair wild and radiant, and he presented her with a pale yellow diamond necklace. He declared that at every banquet hosted by the Romano Family, no one was allowed to wear the same jewelry as her. To coax a smile from Lucia, he filled the entire garden with lilies. He forgot that I was allergic to pollen. He told her, "If only I'd met you sooner." He told me, "Because of you, Lucia always feels so uncomfortable." I let out a cold laugh, turned, and walked away without looking back.

After we'd ordered our wedding rings, Andre opened the car door for me like the perfect gentleman. "Darling, I've already put a ring on your finger. I won't be going to the wedding." I turned to look at him as if he were a stranger. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "The girl the Cardona Family sent over is their precious princess. I can't exactly make her the other woman." "While you were in the hospital, we already went through with the marriage." "I'm another woman's husband now. Having a wedding with you wouldn't be appropriate." I stepped back and didn't get in the car. Six months ago, I'd set out to permanently silence everyone who refused to recognize Andre as the next Don. I moved as fast as I could, launching a purge. In the firefight, I took a bullet to the chest, broke six ribs, and fractured my shinbone. I spent six months in the hospital. I even missed Andre's installation as Don. My wounds still hadn't fully healed. A dull ache lingered. I looked at Andre. "What do you take me for?" He sounded apologetic, almost innocent. "It's just an arranged marriage, Ash. You'll always be the love of my life." "If you're really upset, I'll give you the three busiest bars in the East District and the smuggling rights along the harbor." "Go buy yourself some clothes, bags, jewelry, whatever you like." He tossed me a black credit card. "Buy whatever you want. Don't deny yourself anything." I didn't reach for it. The card dropped to the ground. As I turned to leave, I texted Durand: "I've made up my mind. I'm willing to come back. Get me on the next available flight." Andre was right about one thing. I was done denying myself.

When my husband Alessio learned I was pregnant, he didn't look happy at all. Instead, he set two abortion pills and a glass of water in front of me. His voice held no emotion. "Elena, the timing is wrong. Until I own Greyhaven Terminal outright, you can't give birth to my heir." The Costa Family still owned a thirty-percent stake in Greyhaven Terminal, the last obstacle between the Rossi Family and total control of the harbor's freight traffic. If I stayed pregnant, my father would use the baby as leverage to raise his price at the negotiating table. Alessio would never let anyone gain leverage over the Rossi Family, not his wife, not even his own unborn child. This time, I swallowed both pills without a fight. When the cramps folded me in half, something in his expression softened. He sat beside me on the bed and took my hand. "Someday, I'll repay you for everything you've sacrificed for me." He thought I had no idea. The day before, I'd seen a pregnancy announcement on my best friend Bianca's social media. In the photo of her positive test, I recognized the sleeve of my husband Alessio's shirt. The mysterious boyfriend Bianca had always refused to introduce was my husband. Looking at the guilt on his face, I spoke weakly. I said I needed his signature to sell a small block of shares in the import-export company he'd given me. I handed him a stack of papers. Guilt did the rest: he signed every page without reading a word. This time, though, I was building my exit. Buried in the stack was a postnuptial property agreement. Once the agreement was in force, I would be gone for good.

I knew Leon Hall was in love with someone else. To protect that woman, he left me behind time and time again. For five years, I loved him. So I endured another woman at the Hall Family's dinner table. I endured her moving through our waterfront estate as if it were hers. And I endured the same excuse every time I objected: "She has no one else." That ended today, the day Leon and I were supposed to go to the county clerk's office for our marriage license. I waited at the county clerk's office all day. I called him ten times. He finally texted two words: "Wait for me." I stayed until the clerk locked the doors for the night. Leon never came. I followed his location to a VIP lounge at a private nightclub owned by the Hall Family. He had Elena Russo cradled against his chest, murmuring to her as if she might shatter in his arms. When he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed Leon's face, but he didn't let go of her. "Elena had a fight with her husband, Damian Russo. She ran out and got drunk. I can't leave her like this." I stared at him. "So you left me waiting at the county clerk's office all day?" Leon frowned, utterly unapologetic. "We can get the license another day. Damian nearly beat her to death tonight. I wasn't going to abandon her." In that moment, I didn't even have the energy to argue. Carrying a relationship alone was exhausting. I was done.

Five months after opening my bakery in Sicily, I ran into Quill Moretti, the Mafia Don who had once paid me to be his lover. He stared at my pregnant belly, mockery and warning in his eyes. "Claire, you've got some nerve! Thinking you can use a baby to become my wife! "The only woman I've ever loved is Sherry!" I scoffed. "I think you've misread the situation. "I'm carrying my husband's baby." Quill's brow furrowed. "Trash like you will lie about anything! "I want a paternity test. You're coming with me." I nodded calmly. "Fine. We'll go first thing tomorrow morning." Three years ago, I was nothing more than a hotel housekeeper. While cleaning a suite, I accidentally knocked over the man staying there. Quill. He'd been drinking heavily. He stared at me for a long moment, then dragged me onto the bed. We were tangled up together all night. Once he sobered up, Quill tossed me an agreement. "Be my woman. "A million dollars a month." I thought of my mother, who was fighting cancer and desperately needed expensive treatment. She finally had a chance. I agreed without hesitation. Quill's sexual appetite was insatiable. At least five times a day. But he refused to let me get pregnant. "Someone of your lowly status doesn't deserve to carry my child." So I took the pill, over and over again. Until his first love, Sherry Russo, came back. Quill threw me a bank card. "A hundred million dollars to end this. Be smart and take it." I had always known that Quill's possessive hold on me was not love. So I accepted his offer. On the day of his wedding to Sherry, I slipped away without a word. And married a strikingly handsome billionaire who rivaled Quill in every way in a private civil ceremony.

After learning that I am the Moretti family's adopted daughter, I go from Brogary's most spoiled mafia heiress to the most obedient puppet. When my sister, Victoria Moretti, wants my jewelry, I hand it over without a second thought. When she ruins my coming-of-age party, I don't even flinch. Even when she blushes and tells me she has fallen in love with my fiance, Enzo Vitale, all I manage is a flat, resigned, "Okay". But the next day, Enzo corners me against a wall in the garage. His eyes are bloodshot, and his voice is hoarse. "How did you become like this? Just because you're an adopted daughter, you're willing to give me up… to someone else?" I look at him, unable to tell if he is being sincere. After all, he is the one who forged the DNA test report and adoption papers to prove I'm not a real Moretti.

I was with Cassius Vance for eight years. I was there when he was just a bastard nobody cared about, and I watched him become the most feared Don in New York. I took a bullet for him. I lived with him in a shithole basement. When things were good, he put every one of his businesses in my name. "You're the only thing that gives my life a damn bit of meaning," he’d said. But in the eighth year, he started talking about another woman. The new maid, Lily. He’d get this wistful smile and say, "She reminds me of you when you were young. Innocent, sweet, but with so much fire…" It wasn't the first time he'd said she was like me. But this time, I looked Cassius straight in the eye and said softly, "I want a divorce." He froze. He didn't object. No big fight. We just ended it. Clean. But when I finally started to move on, started finding my own fun with younger men, just as he’d been tempted to do… Cassius told me he’d made a mistake.