My Broke Husband Was The Mafia Don Novels & Stories

His tone was calm to the point of atrocity. "That is a rival stronghold. We have to follow the rules. Since they want to talk, you will go represent the family." The Capo was frantic. "But Don, the Madam has no training, and her body..." "She is a Mafia wife!" Marco interrupted coldly. "She has enjoyed the glory and wealth for so many years; now it is time to make a sacrifice for the family." He walked up to me, looking down with a hint of impatient charity. "Stop stalling. It's the code of the Mafia. They wouldn't dare actually touch the Don's wife; they just want to humiliate me a little."

“You should tell your husband that breakfast is meant for family. He’s been missing it for weeks.” “I’m not sure he’d listen.” That earned her a glance — brief, assessing. Caterina was always studying her, waiting for a crack, a weakness to exploit. “A De Luca man listens to no one,” she said finally. “You should have learned that by now.” Isabella didn’t answer. She focused on stirring sugar into her cappuccino, pretending not to notice the faint tremor in her hand. Silence filled the air, broken only by the low murmur of voices in Italian coming from the hallway. Men’s voices — heavy, confident. The business of the De Lucas.

I died five years ago. Now my husband, the Don of our Mafia family, wants me to take the fall for his sister again—this time for accidentally killing a British noble's heir during an arms deal. It was exactly because I took the fall for Kate on Lucien’s orders that I left the family five years ago—and that incident completely broke my heart. Now, he’s come to me again—and it’s still to make me take the fall. My ghostly form floats in the air as Lucien bursts into the apartment, clutching the ridiculous confession letter.

“So what, don’t touch her? Easy. Done. I won’t lay a hand on your foreigner. But you and I both know, she’ll break before I ever touch her. I won’t even need to lift a finger.” My father raises his hand. “Stop talking over me, the two of you.” He says, flat, but the authority lands all the same. “I’m still here.” Then he levels his gaze at me, those yellowing eyes, his skin papery and dull. Liver failure. He thinks I don’t know. Thinks he’s still untouchable. “Son,” he begins, “marriage in the Drognov family isn’t something you do willy-nilly.”

A smile formed on his lips. “Surprise... it didn’t hurt,” he grinned. Onora’s eyes widened. She tried to run, but he caught her, spun her around, and slammed her against the wall. His grip locked tightly around her wrists, pinning her there. She whimpered. “You punched me, and you must pay.” Pay? “Your husband didn’t tell you? Mafia don’t do free. You can’t punch me for free,” he smirked. Mafia. Her husband was a mafia. She had read many stories about them—dangerous men who manipulated others to get what they wanted.

"It's just a scratch. Nothing serious." I felt upset and heartbroken at the same time, seeing blood seeping through his bandages. I snapped, "Can you rein in that spoiled bravado of yours? This isn't some lawless era anymore. You can't solve everything with your fists!" Vicenzo suddenly grabbed my hand. Grievance filled his gaze when he said, "They called you an old hag, Freya. Said you weren't fit to be the Donna of the Corleone famiglia. I couldn't just do nothing."

I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth, terrified of making even the slightest sound. Inside the private suite, Zann Lima was dressed in a black bespoke suit, perfectly tailored to accentuate his tall, slender frame. He looked nothing like the listless figure who had been confined to a wheelchair. A cigar rested between his fingers as he lounged casually against the sofa, bantering with his men while emanating the commanding presence of a mafia boss. “Don, you’ve kept up the act for a whole year now. Neve Steele has worked down to the bone to pay for your treatments. She barely looks human anymore. This should be enough of a punishment, shouldn’t it?”

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 sk

"Hey, everyone!" His voice was loud enough that several men who were talking immediately turned. I frowned. Adriano spread both his arms like someone making an important announcement. "Look! A mafia Don, Nicola Conti, famous for being cruel and feared throughout Italy, now goes everywhere with his son's nanny!" Several people looked at each other. "Amazing, isn't it?" he continued while laughing. "Seems like his taste has dropped drastically. He even rejected a woman like Marianna, who is far more beautiful, elegant, and perfect, only to bring a fat nanny to his side!"

“I know what I'm doing.” “You've been digging the same hole for twenty minutes.” “It's a difficult hole.” Elena laughed. “A difficult hole?” “Yes.” “Adrian.” “What?” “Are you fighting with the dirt?” He stared at the ground. “Maybe.” Elena shook her head. “My husband, the former mafia don, defeated by a flower bed.” Adrian pointed the shovel at her. “Come help me.” “No.” “Why?” “Because I'm enjoying watching you struggle.” He smiled.