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Mafia Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
You Chose Her, Now Watch Me Leave

You Chose Her, Now Watch Me Leave

For five years, I was married to the most feared Mafia Don in New York. But my husband's heart only had room for one woman: my fragile, manipulative half-sister, Siena. He constantly used his absolute authority to protect her, even forgetting my deadly genetic allergy just to cater to her meals. The ultimate betrayal came during a hostage exchange with a rogue faction at the freezing East Docks. The kidnapper pressed a gun to Siena's head and demanded a one-for-one trade. The Mafia Queen for the sweet civilian. My husband and my son didn't hesitate for a single second. "Walk forward, Tessa," Cassio commanded, his voice devoid of any hesitation. "Go save my aunt!" my young son screamed from the car. I was shoved toward the ruthless mobsters and dragged onto their idling smuggling boat. When I looked back, Cassio was hurriedly wrapping his warm coat around Siena's shivering shoulders. He didn't look at me. Not even once. In that freezing rain, I finally realized my absolute worthlessness. I was never a wife or a mother; I was just a disposable bargaining chip. Memories of a past life suddenly flooded my mind—a life where I withered away in a cage, dying alone while Cassio stood over my hospital bed and whispered his final words. "I wish I had met Siena first." I looked down at the freezing, black ocean churning below the edge of the boat. An underground extractor had already prepared my new identity in Switzerland. With a sudden jerk, I ripped my arm out of the mobster's grip and stepped backward off the edge of the boat. This time, I chose to live for myself.
Too Late, Mafia Don: I Am Free

Too Late, Mafia Don: I Am Free

For three years, I surrendered my nights and bartered my own prospects to build a flawless legitimate business empire for my fiancé, Domenico, the most feared heir in the mafia syndicate. But as I was finishing the final ledger to secure his seat as Don, a flight confirmation popped up on his phone. He had booked two first-class tickets to a high-level mafia summit in Sicily—for himself and Lyla, the girl who had been actively trying to destroy my life. When Domenico walked into the room, he didn't explain. Instead, he complained I was working too slowly. He used the threat of breaking our arranged marriage as a leash, demanding I finish his work. Lyla rushed in, playing the innocent victim, and Domenico immediately wrapped a comforting arm around her waist. He looked at me with cold, vacant eyes and issued his final ultimatum. "Apologize to her, and know your place, or you will be nothing to the Family." His soldiers sneered, waiting eagerly for me to crawl back and beg for the future Don's favor. I stared at the arrogant man I had sacrificed my youth for. The dutiful beat of my heart, which had hammered out a rhythm for him alone, simply went still. The great, heavy anchor of my loyalty dissolved into a strange weightlessness. I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly stood up, walked over to the industrial shredder, and fed every single page of his commercial blueprint into the blades. "The betrothal is dead," I told him, watching his future turn to confetti. "I owe neither of you a single word."
From Mafia Wife to Rival's Queen

From Mafia Wife to Rival's Queen

After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field. But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me. Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. "Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk." It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family. The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him—all dismissed as "just business." Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer. "Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."