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Mafia Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms

His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms

For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe. On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring. Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger. Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family. When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence. "Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets." My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet. He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts. He was wrong. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use. Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed. *I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.* His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning. *The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?* I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me. I looked down and typed three letters. *Yes.*
Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.
The Jilted Bride Marries The Ruthless Capo

The Jilted Bride Marries The Ruthless Capo

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."
From Unread To Cherished: My Mafia Second Chance

From Unread To Cherished: My Mafia Second Chance

I was just trying to plug my mafia Capo boyfriend's backup phone into the charger. The screen lit up, and I accidentally swiped into his encrypted chats. There, I saw a glaring red dot next to every single voice message I had sent him over the past five years. Thousands of seconds of my deepest fears, my unwavering love, and my midnight pleas for help had been completely ignored. Yet, pinned at the very top was a chat with his female subordinate, Sophie. He had listened to every sixty-second complaint she made about her bitter coffee, replying with meticulous, tender care. Two weeks ago, I almost died from a ruptured appendix on our bathroom floor. I sent him desperate voice notes begging for a doctor, but he only typed a cold "Understood" and never came home. But tonight, on our seventh anniversary, when Sophie cried over a burst water pipe in her apartment, he slammed on the brakes. "Get out and call an Uber." He abandoned me in the pouring rain and sped off to save her. The first two years had been different. He used to listen. But somewhere along the way, he stopped. For five of the seven years we were together, I had deceived myself, thinking his quick replies meant he was just too busy running the underground city to listen. I couldn't understand how my life-and-death emergencies meant absolutely nothing to him, while her trivial office drama could move the most ruthless man in the city. Realizing his love had died long ago, my heartbreak suddenly vanished, replaced by a chilling sense of relief. I took off my diamond ring, packed a single black suitcase, and blocked him on every network. "William, we are done." I sent my final three-second message, and walked out the door to start a new life.
When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts

On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.
He Let My Parents Die,Then He Died for Me

He Let My Parents Die,Then He Died for Me

I was lying in a sterile hospital bed, recovering from a severe hemorrhage that had just taken my baby. Hours later, a police officer handed me a bloodstained watch, informing me my parents had been killed in a car crash rushing to see me. My husband, the city's most feared Mafia Don and a brilliant trauma surgeon, ignored my seventy-six desperate calls. Instead, he was busy buying a designer puppy for his mistress. He even let her shred the baby blanket my late mother had painstakingly knitted, turning it into a crude dog sweater. When I confronted them, the man who refused to hold my hand in public due to his severe germaphobia slapped me across the face to protect her. "You are embarrassing yourself and this Family. Apologize to Mia right now." I had surrendered my dream of being a journalist to be his perfect, docile wife. I lived in a heavily guarded estate, caged by his control issues, while he used the blood money of his empire to fund his mistress's extravagant life. He thought my parents' death was a lie I invented to win an argument. He thought I was a broken, powerless woman who would swallow the humiliation to keep his protection. He was completely wrong. During the lavish banquet meant to clear his mistress's name, I hijacked the live broadcast to expose his embezzlement and their graphic sex tape to the entire underworld. Then, I served him the divorce papers and bought a one-way ticket to a war zone.
Reclaiming The Crown From My Ex-Husband

Reclaiming The Crown From My Ex-Husband

I am Serena Vitiello. My family's bloodline was the shield that allowed my husband, Salvatore, to become an untouchable mafia boss. However, at the national syndicate summit, he actually claimed his power was all thanks to his mistress, Chiara. He even took off my heavy family gold signet ring and slipped it onto her finger. To completely break my spirit, he intentionally forced me to eat a plate of scallops, knowing full well I was allergic. He watched coldly as my throat swelled until I couldn't breathe. When I confronted that mistress at the headquarters, Salvatore actually slapped me hard to the ground in front of my loyal soldiers. What was even more outrageous was that Chiara took a forged ultrasound report, claiming she was pregnant with Salvatore's heir. This shock was too much for my grandfather's heart to bear, ultimately triggering a fatal heart attack. "Let's go, we have another party to attend." Salvatore said to her with a smile, turning away without even glancing at the flatline on my grandfather's heart monitor. He thought I was just a broken, submissive wife who would quietly give up my crown. He naively believed he had built this empire all by himself, forgetting that all these years, I was the one secretly using my family's fortune to cover his millions of dollars in losses. I was the one who bought off those judges to keep his business running for a decade. So, when he slammed the divorce papers on the table, demanding that I transfer all the family's territories to him, I lowered my head and signed. He couldn't wait to snatch the pen and excitedly signed his name on the agreement, completely unaware that he had just legally taken over eighty million dollars of cartel debt. Meanwhile, I had already transferred all the clean money under my name.