Falling For My Ex's Mafia Dad Read Online Free Novels & Stories

My mum burst into a harsh, bitter laugh that echoed in the room, making me feel even more foolish. "Do you really think it’s that easy, Chloe?" she asked, still laughing as if I had told the most ridiculous joke. The laugh didn’t reach her eyes, though. It was a laugh filled with regret and hopelessness. "Anna is not just some helpless girl we can brush aside. She’s the daughter of a notorious mafia boss—the Italian mafia boss, for God’s sake. And her mum? She was a mafia princess, tied to one of the most powerful crime families in Italy. Both families are backing her now." My mum's words hit me like a ton of bricks, each revelation more shocking than the last.

Now, here I was, back pressed against a very expensive-looking door, staring at a man who casually tossed his sweater onto an armchair, only to reveal a black T-shirt that clung to his torso like it was scared of heights. How did I get here? Oh yeah. Whiskey. Betrayal. The undeniable urge to spite my ex and his community-sharing… assets. “You don’t have to do this, Maeve.” Elian’s voice was soft, but that goddamn smirk told me he was hoping I’d do exactly this. My responsible brain screamed at me to leave. To be sensible. To not let a man with the bone structure of a Marvel villain and a voice like melted chocolate ruin what little dignity I had left.

What was all these? He gets up and my eyes lock on him. I’m too scared to take them off. It’s like he would behead me once I look away. Like a predator hunting for its prey. His agile movement comes towards me. One step after another pristine step. Ethan lets go of me as his father approaches us. Ethan’s father is a fucking mafia don. Jesus Christ. I guessed he wasn’t a lawful citizen but this is too much. The freaking mafia. HELL NO I didn’t sign up for this!!

The one I never told Jonathan about—because I didn’t trust him not to go full savior-mode and escalate it into something dangerous. And I was right not to. Turns out my dad didn’t just borrow from some leg-breaker with a gold chain and a temper. No. My father went to the mafia. While I was overseas, there’d been a shift in their ranks. Mr. Bianci, the old man who treated me with leniency—probably because I reminded him of his granddaughter—“retired.” Enter Rossi.

"To what we build next." Outside, the city glittered. Somewhere, Vincent Moretti sat in a federal prison, his empire ash, his legacy reduced to a son who would never bear his name. Vanessa had disappeared into the tabloid circuit, selling her story to anyone who'd pay. Elena Moretti was raising her grandson in Westchester, telling anyone who'd listen that the child was her second chance. And I was here. Alive. Whole. With ten percent of a capital firm, a plan to rebuild my family's name, and a partner who saw me as an equal.

"I didn't tell you all of this so you would feel sorry for her. I wanted to open your eyes to the fact that Dante Luciano is a lunatic. "His repentance and revenge are meaningless. The damage has been done. Your Padre won't come back to life, and your wounds won't disappear." "I know," I muttered. "No, you don't," Uncle Marco retorted, shaking his head. "You grew up with him, and you still think of him as the young boy who will bandage your wounds when you're injured. That boy died a long time ago, Lina. "The man you're up against is the Don of a mafia family. His hands are steeped in blood, and he's stubborn to a fault."

As she disappeared into the crowd, Conrad stood frozen, cheek flushed, heart raging. The light danced across the Phoenix pendant on her neck—like a warning. Behind that graceful smile, she carried a secret only a few could survive: She was the wife of one of Italy’s most feared Mafia bosses. The crowd swallowed her again. As soon as she was out of sight, Conrad’s hand slipped into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. His chest rose and fell with fury. The call connected. “I accept the offer,” he said coldly.

I had to look strong, even if I was falling apart inside. “If this is about a debt, send me a bill. I don’t need thugs breaking down my door.” A flicker of amusement passed over Marco’s face, though his lips barely moved. “Miss, it’s not that simple. Your father diverted millions from my family. Money we need to recover. And you, with your… talent for numbers, are going to help us.” “And if I refuse?” I lifted my chin, though my pulse was racing. I’d heard rumors about the Vallardis—about bodies turning up in the Hudson River.

"Bayu, get all the transfer documents ready." Bayu, who was standing behind Lucas, immediately frowned. "What documents, sir?" Lucas, who was standing there, gazed out the window of his office. His expression was calm and impassive. "I’m leaving the mafia world. Bayu, I want to walk away from all of this." “What do you mean, sir?” Bayu was confused by Lucas’s words. “I’m going to withdraw from the mafia.” “What? Why?”

“He hasn’t done anything. In fact, I haven’t even seen him these past few days. He’s rarely around. Unlike his son.” “Son?” came my father’s confused reply. I let out a small, nervous laugh. “Apparently, the mafia king has a little boy. He calls me ‘Mama.’ It’s… strange.” The line went silent for a moment as I brushed my hair and sat at the vanity. My reflection looked composed—a stark lie my frantic pulse betrayed. “I-I’m sorry, Rachel,” Dad said suddenly, his voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”