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Mafia Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

Mafia King's Debt: My Family's Fury

At my husband's nephew's christening, I saw him across the ballroom holding a newborn with another woman. I was four months pregnant with his heir, but he was presenting her son as his own. He had built a criminal empire, and our marriage was a strategic alliance. But now, the men who toasted our wedding were congratulating him on another woman's child, their gazes sliding right past me. My mother confirmed my worst fears: he'd been paying for his mistress's apartment for months. His mistress, Selena, cornered me, her voice dripping with venom. "He chose me. And our son." The stress brought on sharp, agonizing cramps, but when my husband, Dante, rushed over, he took her side. "Calm down," he commanded. "You're making a scene." He accused me of being hysterical, of cornering his fragile mistress who had just given birth. Through a haze of pain, I watched him shield her from me, his wife, telling me to go home and "be rational." The public humiliation was absolute. In the lawyer's office, Selena slapped me, then knocked over her own baby's carrier and screamed that I had attacked her child. Dante believed her without question. As I collapsed from the pain, the last thing I saw was his back as he walked away with his new family. I woke up in the hospital. He arrived with his mistress, not to see if I was okay, but to demand I apologize to her. That was the moment the woman he married died. And in her place, someone new was born.
Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen Escapes

Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen Escapes

I married Julian, the city's most ruthless Mafia Don, trading my freedom and body just to keep my dying sister alive. But when Elena needed an emergency surgery, Julian coldly denied the three hundred thousand dollars. "Submit the request to Serena. She handles all financial approvals," he dismissed me, knowing full well his secretary despised me. Serena intentionally stalled the funds, mocking my desperation while Julian rewarded her with a sacred blood-diamond heirloom meant only for the Mafia Queen. While they laughed over wine at a high-end restaurant, I watched my fragile sister pull her own life-support tubes to free me from my mafia enslavement. The devastating shock ripped through my abdomen, and in a horrific pool of blood on the clinic floor, I miscarried Julian's unborn heir. Even then, Julian's only message was a cold threat, demanding I drop to my knees and apologize to Serena for my attitude. I stared at the flatlining monitor, my soul completely hollowed out. I was his wife, yet he had casually handed the power of life and death over my only family to a malicious subordinate who wanted me replaced. I didn't shed another tear. I surgically cleared the tragic remains of my pregnancy, packed the bloody tissue into a sealed medical cooler along with my signed severance papers, and had it delivered straight to the Don's mahogany desk before vanishing into the night.
His Unwanted Bride, Another Man's Queen

His Unwanted Bride, Another Man's Queen

My fiancé, the ruthless Mafia Underboss, tore my dead mother's necklace from my throat and fastened it around another woman's neck. "Diana needs it," Arthur said, his eyes cold. "My blood remembers loving her. It calms her anxiety." He was referring to the bone marrow transplant that saved his life. Diana was connected to the donor, and Arthur believed his new blood made him belong to her. I became a ghost in my own home, forced to watch him crown a usurper. When Diana faked a fall at a gala, accusing me of pushing her, Arthur didn't hesitate. He decided to "discipline" me publicly to teach me respect. He raised the whip. "Arthur, please, I'm pregnant!" I screamed, shielding my stomach. "Don't lie to me," he spat, and the lash came down. I lost our baby on that cold marble floor in a pool of blood. He didn't believe me. He stepped over my body to take Diana to dinner. He didn't stop there. He let my grandmother die in the ER to tend to Diana's bruised nose. He even dug up my grandmother's grave because Diana wanted the view for a garden. I finally fled, vanishing into the night. It wasn't until months later, when he found the autopsy report of our unborn child and the toxicology results proving Diana had been drugging him, that the fog lifted. He tracked me down to a small town, where I was finally healing with a good man. The feared Underboss fell to his knees in the pouring rain, holding the whip he had used on me, shaking violently. "Beat me, Ella," he begged, tears mixing with the mud. "Hurt me. Make us even." I looked at the monster I used to love and dropped his ring into the dirt. "You can't bring back the dead, Arthur," I whispered. "And you are dead to me."
Too Late For Regret, Underboss

Too Late For Regret, Underboss

For two years, my world was circumscribed by the biometric lock on our penthouse and silent prayers for my husband, Vincenzo, the most feared Underboss of the Cosa Nostra. But when he finally returned from a brutal three-week smuggling route, he tossed me a cheap five-dollar tourist scarf, while his ex-lover Camilla flaunted the flawless pearl necklace he had just bought her. He abandoned me with a bleeding hand to rush to her side, ignored my severe medical emergencies to comfort her over trivialities, and publicly humiliated me at a Syndicate banquet by seating her in my rightful place at the head of the table. Camilla cornered me in the powder room, her fragile victim facade dropping instantly as she smirked at my reflection. "The thing a powerful man fears most isn't a wife who screams. It's a useless one who refuses to bow out gracefully." I endured his blatant disrespect and broken Omertà, wondering why my unwavering loyalty meant nothing compared to the manipulative tears of a woman who was actively leaking his classified safehouse coordinates. I didn't understand why he treated his sacred vows like garbage, eagerly feeding her Syndicate intel just to play the big, strong hero while leaving me to face cartel death threats entirely alone. But I was done being the neglected mafia wife waiting in the shadows. I calmly activated the covert audio recording device hidden inside my designer clutch. It was time to present this irrefutable evidence to the Don's Tribunal, strip my husband of his title, and build my own empire.
Betrayed By The Don: Her Ultimate Escape

Betrayed By The Don: Her Ultimate Escape

On our anniversary, I was basting the roast when my husband’s encrypted laptop lit up on the kitchen counter. Alex Bradley, the ruthless Underboss of New York, never made mistakes. But tonight, he left a chat room open. The notification shattered my world: "Is the idiot eating the dog food yet?" It was from his mistress, Charlotte. They were betting on whether I would eat the red velvet cake she had spiked with her Rottweiler’s excrement. I realized then that my marriage was a long-con. I was just a "placeholder" wife to secure his promotion to Don. To survive, I had to play the part. Alex sat on the bed, feeding me the tainted cake with a loving smile. "Eat up, Jillian," he purred. "It’s to die for." I swallowed every bite of the filth, forcing myself not to vomit until he left the room. The humiliation didn't stop there. I found out our marriage license was void. He publicly bought me a twenty-million-dollar necklace at a gala, then abandoned me to face the debt, forcing me to hand over my grandmother’s earrings as collateral. He even watched calmly as his family beat me for a prank Charlotte orchestrated. But the final blow came when I overheard him planning our "romantic" getaway. "The blizzard hits Friday," he told Charlotte. "It’ll look like a tragic accident. Hypothermia." He thought he was taking a lamb to the slaughter. He didn’t know I had been counting down the days. When we arrived at the cabin and he went to prepare my "accident," I didn't cry. I tossed one of my boots over the cliff edge to stage my death. Then I climbed into the black extraction van waiting in the snow. Alex Bradley thought he had killed his wife. He had no idea he had just set her free.
Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband

Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband

On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family. I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown. But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic. He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event. "She is carrying my son," he said, his eyes devoid of any humanity. "You will give her whatever she needs." I begged him. I bargained for my freedom. He lied and agreed, just to get the needle in my arm. As my dark red blood flowed through the tube to save the woman destroying my life, my chest tightened. The monitors began to scream. My heart was failing. "Mr. Reyes! She's crashing!" the doctor shouted. Dominick didn't even turn around. He walked out of the room to hold Chastity's hand, leaving me to die on the table. I survived, but Annis Myers died in that clinic. He thought I would return to the penthouse and continue being his obedient, silent wife. He thought he owned the blood in my veins. He was wrong. I went back to the penthouse one last time. I struck a match. I let the room burn. By the time Dominick realized I wasn't in the ashes, I was already on a plane to London. I had left my wedding ring in an envelope, along with the medical records that proved his cruelty. He wanted a war? I would give him one.
From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

From Mafia Doll To Montana Queen

I was the invisible daughter of the Hayes crime family, secretly painting portraits of Marcus, the Underboss. He was the man who had once protected me from the world, the man I loved from the shadows. But he chose power over affection. To secure an alliance, he engaged Isabella. Threatened by my existence, Isabella staged a fake miscarriage and framed me for destroying her heirloom wedding dress. Marcus didn't ask for my side of the story. Blinded by rage over his "lost heir," he ordered his guards to drag me to the Ice Cellar—a freezing underground torture chamber used for traitors. For days, I shivered in the absolute darkness, listening to the water drip, realizing the man I worshiped was actually my jailer. My father, protecting his own millions, let it happen. In that cold, the girl who loved Marcus died. When he finally released me, he expected me to be broken, obedient, and grateful for his mercy. Instead, I burned every painting I had ever made of him. I packed a single bag and vanished into the night, escaping to a rugged ranch in Montana where no one knew my name. Three years later, the truth about Isabella’s lies finally surfaced. Marcus tracked me down. The King of New York fell to his knees in the dirt and cow manure of my new home, weeping, begging, and offering me the entire world to come back. I looked down at the man who once owned my heart. "You can't un-shatter a glass, Marcus," I said coldly. "I'm not coming home."
By the Time You Read This, I'll Be Dead

By the Time You Read This, I'll Be Dead

For two years, I endured agonizing chemo for my leukemia, believing my struggling family was sacrificing everything to save me. But right before my surgery, I overheard my brother and mother whispering outside the door. I didn't have cancer. My family, who were actually billionaires in the Syndicate, had been secretly poisoning me. They needed me weak and dying so my betrothal to the supreme Don could be transferred to their newly found biological daughter. "Once the betrothal is transferred, I will find the best specialists to cure Clara," my brother said coldly. But they didn't know I had already made my choice. Thinking my treatments were starving them, I had just swallowed a vial of lethal, untraceable poison in the bathroom. I died in excruciating agony on the operating table before they even made the first cut. When the surgeon announced I had committed suicide, my family's world completely shattered. My brother found my blood-stained suicide note and the meager cash I had saved to buy them gifts. "We murdered our own daughter," my father sobbed. My mother went completely insane, clutching my rotting corpse, while my brother slit his own wrists in a desperate attempt to feel my pain. They kneeled before my grave, weeping and begging the heavens to let them protect me in the next life. Floating above them as a ghost, I watched their absolute despair with a numb heart. I harbored no hatred, but I knew one thing for certain. In the next life, we will be nothing but strangers.
Marrying The Wounded King: My Ex's Regret

Marrying The Wounded King: My Ex's Regret

I stood in the center of the rose garden, convinced the Underboss of the East Coast was finally going to defy his father and put a ring on my finger. Instead, Desmond walked toward me holding another woman's hand. "Dallas," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "This is Chelsea. My fiancée." He told me it was just business, a merger to secure shipping routes. He expected me to stay in the shadows as his mistress, his "pet canary." When I refused to be his dirty little secret, his family sold me like cattle to Kennedy Simmons, the crippled Don of the West Coast, just to get rid of me. But the ultimate betrayal happened the night before I left. On the family yacht, Chelsea pushed me overboard. I screamed for help in the freezing dark water. I watched Desmond dive in. I reached out for him, but he swam right past me. He chose to save his wealthy fiancée, the "asset," and left me to drown. In that moment, the girl who loved him died. I realized his brother Antone, who I thought was my friend, was just a stalker using me to get close to Chelsea. I was nothing but collateral damage to the people I had worshipped. I didn't die that night. I boarded the plane to Seattle with a frozen heart. They thought they were selling me to a monster. They didn't realize they were handing me a King. The next time the Morgans saw me, I wasn't their victim. I was the woman coming to burn their empire to the ground.