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Mafia Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
Mafia's Accidental Bride

Mafia's Accidental Bride

Nadia's life was a symphony of flour, sugar, and the contented sighs of satisfied customers. Her bakery, "Flour & Fancy," was a haven of warmth and comfort, away from the whispers of the city's underbelly. One rainy afternoon, a misplaced invitation shattered the tranquility. Addressed to "Nadia Petrova," it spoke of a lavish wedding for a couple she didn't recognize. Intrigued by the strange coincidence and fueled by a touch of reckless curiosity, Nadia tucked the invitation into her pocket. Over the following weeks, the misplaced invitation became a twisted calling card. Cryptic messages, delivered through seemingly ordinary means – tucked under her bakery door, finding it in her purse – drew Nadia deeper into Dante's world. Torn between her fear and a growing fascination with the man behind the power, Nadia began to search for the enigmatic Don only to come up with nothing not even his picture. Her creations, infused with love and a hint of rebellion, became a silent conversation between them. The night of the wedding, a world unseen by Nadia unfolded. The venue, a mansion shrouded in shadows, pulsed with a dangerous energy. Inside, opulent chaos reigned – glittering gowns, veiled threats exchanged under crystal chandeliers, and a tension that crackled in the air. Here, Nadia encountered Dante Russo, the enigmatic Don. His gaze, as sharp as obsidian, held a flicker of surprise when he saw her. Despite the danger radiating from him, Nadia couldn't deny a spark of attraction. She found herself to be the center of the invitation. She was the bride without even realizing it. Dante realizes that there was a mix-up. She was not the girl he hired to be his fake bride. To save face, he comes up with a plan. She had two choices either accept the deal or get killed by the Don. As Nadia learned more about Dante's world, the harsh realities of the mafia life clashed with her kind heart. Witnessing a brutal act of violence forced her to confront the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. Their connection, a forbidden dance on the edge of a knife, threatened to unravel everything. One night, she stumbled upon a truth. They used her as bait, luring Dante into a trap. The invitation was not a mix-up. It was deliberately sent by her husband's brother. The ensuing chaos forced Nadia to choose – retreat to the safety of her bakery or fight for the man who had awakened a fierce protectiveness within her. As she was picking up the broken pieces, she came to know the dark secret. Her parents were killed by Dante Russo 10 years ago. Thrown into yet another challenge, she navigated her way through. In the end, Dante dismantled the violent operations of the Russo family, leaving behind a legacy of justice. Nadia, no longer just a baker, became his partner, not just in love, but in building a new future.
A Jilted Heart, A Mafia Don's Love

A Jilted Heart, A Mafia Don's Love

For four years, Ember traced the bullet scar on Chace's chest, believing it proved his unwavering protection. Their anniversary gala was supposed to be the night he finally proposed, a symbol of their future. Instead, she stood frozen, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto Karyn Warren's finger—the daughter of a rival family. His voice, amplified by the silent ballroom, declared, "Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets." Her heart incinerated. Publicly humiliated, she was ordered to remain his mistress, threatened with her dead mother's grave. Chace, confident her father's debts trapped her, forced her from their shared penthouse. He then used a fake "Help. Sick." text to lure Ember to a club, only to humiliate her further, calling her "loyal like a dog." Karyn ordered a soldier to "touch" Ember while Chace watched, indifferent. With no other choice, Ember drank a punishment cup containing wine she was severely allergic to. She collapsed, suffocating on the club floor, as Chace and Karyn watched, annoyed. Waking in a sterile hospital room, her throat raw, she faced Chace's cold relief and Karyn's dismissive cruelty. The betrayal was absolute, the injustice sickening. But moments before, in her despair, Ember had invoked a Blood Oath. She texted Keith Mosley, the ruthless Don, accepting his price for her father's debt: marriage. She would become his, and she was ready to pay.
My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman

My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman

Three years after I buried an empty casket for my husband, I found him alive in a grocery store parking lot. He was rubbing a stranger's pregnant belly, smiling a soft smile I had never seen in our years of marriage. My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, had become "Arthur," a gentle man with no memory of the empire he ruled or the wife he left behind. To protect his happiness, I swallowed my agony and lied. "I am his cousin," I told his pregnant fiancée, Mia. I brought them home to his estate, enduring the torture of watching him give her the tenderness that used to belong to me. But my mercy was rewarded with cruelty. Dante looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes and slapped divorce papers onto the table. "Sign them," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to marry Mia before the baby comes. I want a fresh start." He didn't know I was dying of a heart defect caused by the stress of grieving him. He didn't know I stalled for two weeks not for money, but because I wanted to be buried with his name. I died the morning the deadline arrived, taking the secret of my love to the grave. Ironically, that very night, a bullet grazed his temple during an ambush, unlocking the memories he had lost. He remembered the peach orchard. He remembered our blood oath. He remembered that I was his soulmate. He ran to my brother’s gates, screaming my name, blood pouring down his face, desperate to beg for forgiveness. But my brother just stood there, blocking the entrance to the cemetery with a cruel smile. "She waited for you every single day," he spat. "And you killed her."
Not For Sale: The Debt Is Paid

Not For Sale: The Debt Is Paid

Seven years. That was the price tag attached to my father's life. When my father gambled away money he didn't have, Michael Vance paid the debt. He bought my father's safety, and in return, he bought me. I was nineteen then. A peasant girl he polished up to look like a mob wife. I was reapplying my lipstick in the vanity mirror of his armored SUV when I found a diamond choker tucked behind the sunshade. It was a million-dollar piece of jewelry that wasn't mine, engraved with a date that wasn't my birthday. That night at the gala, Michael threw his mistress's heavy fur coat at me. "Hold this, Sarah. Jessica gets hot easily." I stood there like a servant, buried under the scent of another woman’s perfume, watching my fiancé hold her on the dance floor with a tenderness he never showed me. When I stumbled from hunger, he called me a liability to his image. But when Jessica faked a crisis, he abandoned me at the venue to rush her home. I walked to the nearest trash can and shoved the expensive fur down past the half-eaten caviar. As the sugar from a cheap candy bar hit my bloodstream, the fog lifted. I realized I wasn't a wife-in-training. I was a debt that had been paid in full. I left the penthouse, the ring, and the life. But Michael wouldn't let his property go. He cornered me in a parking garage, screaming that I belonged to him, threatening to start a war. He didn't expect me to be standing next to David Chen, the Underboss of the rival Triad faction. And he certainly didn't expect me to take off my Louboutin stiletto and use it as a weapon. "I don't love you, Michael," I said, looking him in the eye as he knelt on the concrete. "And I'm not for sale anymore."
He Signed Away His Own Wife

He Signed Away His Own Wife

#Chapter1 Chapter I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.