Anastasia Paige
16 Published Stories
Anastasia Paige's Books and Stories
Sacrifice: The Mafia Don's Pregnant Wife
Mafia I was the illegitimate daughter of a powerful mafia Consigliere, forced to scrub their marble floors while my half-sister Cassidy lived like a pampered princess.
When Cassidy was ordered to marry a condemned, brutally tortured Underboss in a deadly blood-oath execution, my father dragged me to the underground black site to take her place.
They forced me into a cheap wedding dress and locked me in a pitch-black cell with a dying man, expecting us both to catch an executioner's bullet.
My stepmother even handed me a small glass vial through the iron bars—the exact same poison she had used to slowly murder my pregnant mother years ago.
"The Don is issuing the kill order tonight. Drink this. Save yourself the agony," she mocked.
My father simply stood by and watched, willingly throwing me to the wolves just to keep his precious legitimate daughter entirely safe.
I stared at the poison in my calloused palm, and then at the bleeding, terrifying mafia boss chained to the concrete wall.
They honestly thought I was just a disposable pawn, meant to die quietly in the dirt so they could continue building their glamorous underworld empire on my mother's bones.
But they forgot I inherited my mother's underground medical brilliance.
I pulled a sterilized scalpel from my hidden trauma kit, looked the deadly Underboss right in the eye, and made a blood vow that would soon burn my family's entire empire to the ground. The Alpha King's Maid is the Moon of Vengeance
Werewolf I watched my family burn.
My fiancé, Holland Berger, lit the match-then smiled as he climbed over their ashes. I survived. I became Anitra Bennett, a nameless Omega servant.
I hid myself in Alpha King's castle, waiting in humiliation for the day I could destroy the person I hated.
Every night in his bed was a lesson in endurance. Every cold command, every bitter dose of contraceptive herbs, every moment I knelt when I wanted to tear his throat out-I told myself it was the price of revenge.
But the Alpha King, Devan Sterling, was never just a monster. He saved my life in the garden. He saw my face in the moonlight. And when I tried to kill Holland, when I thought I was finally striking back, Devan didn't punish me.
He smiled.
He already knew my real name. He knew my family history. He knew every lie I had ever told. He had been watching me from the very beginning, pulling the strings I thought were my own.
And now, with his lips against my ear, he whispers the question that will haunt me forever:
"Who else do you want to kill?"
I came here to destroy my enemies. But I never expected the Alpha King to make me his weapon-or to make me wonder if the deadliest monster in this castle might be the only man who truly sees me. The Scorned Bride's True Billionaire Identity
Romance Three weeks before the wedding, Stella Beaumont stood in a luxury boutique, encased in a million-dollar custom gown. It was the perfect dress for her perfect, arranged marriage into the Carlisle empire.
Then her phone buzzed with a photo from her best friend. It was her fiancé, Ethan, tenderly escorting her perpetually ill stepsister, Isabelle, out of an OB/GYN clinic.
When Stella confronted him, Ethan coldly offered her a one-way ticket to Paris as hush money. Down in the lobby, Isabelle faked a dramatic collapse to frame her. Ethan violently shoved Stella aside to cradle his mistress. Soon after, Stella's own mother called.
"Get on your knees and beg Isabelle for forgiveness, or you are no longer a Beaumont!"
When Stella refused, her mother instantly disowned her and froze every single one of her bank accounts. For years, her biological parents had treated her like a disposable commodity while showering the fake daughter with love. Now, they thought they could strip her of her funds and force her to swallow this ultimate humiliation.
But they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Stella didn't shed a single tear. She shredded the custom gown, shoved Isabelle's head into a freezing plaza fountain, and posted the cheating evidence online for all of New York society to see. Then, bypassing her frozen family trust, she pulled out a mysterious, limitless black card with a royal crest.
"I'm not the jilted fiancée. I'm the one who ended it."
She was done playing the obedient pawn. It was time to flip the board. Escaping The Billionaire's Ten Million Dollar Debt
Romance For seven years, Stella Lane was Julian Sterling's perfect assistant and obedient possession, bought for three million dollars to keep her dying brother alive.
But her gilded cage shattered the night Julian wagered her in a poker game against a ruthless underworld boss.
He had the winning hand, yet he deliberately threw the game.
"Go. Fulfill your duties."
Julian's voice was as cold as ice as he handed her over to the predator.
When his security team eventually intervened, it wasn't a rescue—it was just Julian sanitizing his property before his upcoming wedding to a wealthy heiress.
Desperate, Stella handed in her resignation, only to be trapped by a ten-million-dollar breach-of-contract penalty.
To further break her, Julian forced her to serve his new fiancée at a family dinner like a lowly maid.
His grandmother even tried to pawn her off to a crude, arrogant heir, promising her massive debt would be cleared if she entertained him.
Stella had given Julian her youth, her body, and her absolute loyalty, mistaking her jailer for a savior.
Why was she just a disposable toy to him? Why, after discarding her for a perfect bride, did he still insist on torturing her with impossible debts and endless humiliation?
Waking up in a hospital bed with severe pneumonia after finally fighting back, Stella looked at her phone ringing with Julian's name.
She calmly ripped the IV needle from her bleeding hand and powered the phone off.
The contract was dead, and this time, she was choosing herself. Forsaken By The Alpha: The Wolfless Mate's Revenge
Werewolf For four years, I was the Silvercrest Pack's biggest joke—a scentless, wolfless Omega who somehow became the Alpha's Luna.
I thought I was just naturally defective, until our fourth anniversary, when I overheard my husband Adrian talking to his Beta.
"I’ve been having the kitchens slip a silver-based compound into her meals since the day I marked her."
He confessed the poison was meant to suppress my inner wolf and keep my womb permanently barren. He only married me as a power play to make his highborn mistress, Seraphina, jealous. While I wept over my empty cradle and apologized to his family for my broken body, he was using pack funds to buy her custom luxury goods, tossing me the leftover wrapping paper. When I finally confronted him about the silver and tried to leave, he flew into a feral rage. He violently smashed my head against the marble vanity, leaving me bleeding on the floor, and locked the bedroom door behind him.
I lay there in the cold, staring at the pool of my own blood. My entire life, my endless pain, and my unborn pups were nothing but a cruel, calculated joke to the man who was supposed to be my Mate.
But Adrian didn't know I wasn't just a brainless Omega.
I wiped the blood from my face, climbed down the balcony trellis into the freezing rain, and pulled out an encrypted burner phone.
"The cage is broken. Initiate Phase Two." The Unwanted Wife's Secret Billionaire Heir
Billionaires Fiona Ferguson was trapped in a cold, transactional marriage with billionaire Holland Montgomery just to save her dying grandmother.
On their wedding night, he didn't touch her. Instead, he slammed an emergency contraceptive pill onto the vanity, accusing her of drugging him to secure a ring.
She swallowed the bitter pill to appease him. But weeks later, a routine medical checkup revealed the impossible: she was four weeks pregnant. Her grandmother's herbal anxiety medication had secretly neutralized the contraceptive.
Terrified of his ruthless temper, Fiona hid the pregnancy while enduring his constant humiliations. When her grandmother's life-saving heart transplant was suddenly bumped for a VIP patient, Fiona swallowed her pride and begged Holland to use his hospital board influence.
He didn't even listen. Instead, he pulled out a black American Express card and threw it across his massive desk.
"Name your price," he sneered, treating her desperate plea for a life like a cheap shakedown. "One million? Five? Let's just put a number on it."
Staring at the heavy black card, something inside Fiona finally shattered. She had taken his pills, endured his family's mockery, and let him treat her like dirt—all to keep her only family alive. But he truly believed her soul had a price tag.
A chilling calm washed over her. Without touching the card, she looked the billionaire dead in the eye with profound contempt.
"I regret the day I ever met you," she said, her voice like ice. "As soon as the surgery is over, we are getting a divorce. And I am walking away with absolutely nothing." The Chef's Lie, Her Scars
Modern My husband Collin and I were Chicago' s culinary power couple, but our perfect life was a lie. To win the coveted Golden Spoon award, he brought in a protégée, Casey-a woman who looked just like me, twenty years younger.
Then I overheard his sickening plan. He would use my talent to win the award, securing our empire. After that, he' d set Casey up as his adoring mistress in Europe.
"I get to have both," he bragged. "The respectable chef wife, the passionate, adoring mistress. It's perfect."
He publicly humiliated me, abandoned me after a kitchen fire left my arm scarred, and painted me as a jealous, unstable woman when I caught them together. He thought I was too devoted to our restaurant, too blinded by love to ever see his betrayal.
He was wrong.
The final straw wasn't his affair, but his cruelty. After he left me bleeding on the street to rush Casey to the hospital for a minor scratch, I finally saw the truth. I would not just leave him. I would vanish, erasing myself from his life so completely that he'd be left with nothing but the ashes of the empire I built. From Ruin, A Family's Rebirth
Modern The hum of my hydroponic pumps was the sound of success, a constant thrum in the Harmony Springs warehouses I' d brought back to life.
I was Ethan Miller, the tech kid who' d poured every fortune back into this dying town, promising jobs and prosperity.
Then the celebration died the moment the angry shouts from outside drowned out the pumps.
A mob, half the town, stood in my gravel lot, their faces twisted with an anger I couldn' t grasp, led by Chad Thompson, a man I' d hired, trusted, and considered family.
"There he is! The millionaire!" someone screamed, and the wave of accusation focused on me.
Chad laughed, a short, ugly sound. "This is a town meeting, Ethan. You' re the guest of honor. We' re tired of you getting rich off our backs."
They called me a parasite, a thief, accusing me of exploiting them, despite the jobs I'd created and the wages I'd paid.
They saw my success and interpreted it as a betrayal.
They demanded an insane increase in rent, 50,000 dollars per warehouse, and 20% of my company' s profits, with Chad as chairman.
It wasn't about money; it was about control.
"No," I said, my voice quiet but final. "I will not be extorted."
The shouts became threats, a violent crescendo. "Get out of our town, you thief!"
Then, the first rock slammed into the metal siding of my warehouse.
They swarmed, shattering windows, overturning equipment, trampling my plants into mud.
My dream, my life' s work, was being systematically destroyed by the very people I had come home to save.
My wife, Sarah, and daughter, Lily, arrived, just as a brute backed out of the warehouse, nearly hitting Lily with a metal shelf.
I lunged, taking the blow myself, crumpling to the ground as Lily screamed.
Chad smirked over me, "Looks like you had a little accident."
Sarah' s fury erupted. "You! He treated you like a brother! He came back to this dead-end town because he believed in it!"
The betrayal solidified into an icy resolve.
"They can have it," I rasped, defeat in my voice. "They can have this whole damned town."
But they weren' t getting my technology.
That night, under the cover of darkness, I orchestrate a silent, complete extraction, leaving Harmony Springs with nothing but an empty shell, unaware of the financial trap I laid. Unloved Daughter, Unbreakable Spirit
Young Adult After three years away, the day finally came: my parents and little sister were coming home.
My heart pounded with a desperate hope, imagining the hugs and loving welcomes I' d missed.
But when they arrived, their eyes went straight to my doll-like sister, Brittany, leaving me, Chloe, standing invisible in the doorway.
"You' ve gotten so… big," my mother, Sarah, stated flatly, her gaze making my simple clothes feel cheap and ugly.
Brittany' s innocent-sounding jab, "Mommy, she looks like a country girl," was met with my dad' s chuckle and my mom' s tired smile, twisting a knife in my chest.
What followed was a slow, agonizing realization: I wasn' t a daughter, but a utility.
My hands bled from endless chores, yet my mother dismissed it as "attention-seeking."
I overheard my father declare my future: stuck in our small town, running the family store, "good enough for her."
Then came the slap-a public humiliation, a burning sting on my face for a spilled candy jar worth mere cents.
Their casual cruelty overshadowed any physical pain, confirming I was nothing more than a nuisance.
My grandmother, the only warmth in my world, held me as I sobbed.
"Some people are just not meant to be in your heart," she whispered, her words a bitter truth.
I tried again, making my mother a birthday cake with my own saved money, only for her to call it "ugly" and knock it to the floor, shattering it-and my last vestiges of hope.
The final blow came when my mother accused me of theft, hitting me so hard my head throbbed, while my father stood by.
Then Brittany ran in, crying over a scraped knee, and their immediate, doting concern made it sickeningly clear: her minor discomfort outweighed my brutal reality.
Why was their love so conditional, so utterly, devastatingly absent for me?
Why did their concern instantly shift to a superficial scrape while my pain was invisible, dismissed, or even caused by them?
How could a family be so blind, so callous, to its own child?
The answer solidified with chilling clarity: I was done trying to earn a love they would never give.
That night, I started tearing up every academic achievement, every proof of my efforts, a quiet declaration of war: I would not be their victim. His Wife's Cruel Secret
Modern My name is Nathaniel Lester, a legacy in The Directorate, a secret agency where my legendary father, "Ghost," once operated.
I chose to sacrifice a leadership career, opting for a field agent role, all to stay close to my high-ranking handler wife, Sylvia, whom I loved more than anything.
That choice shattered my world during a mission in Eastern Europe when I was captured by mercenaries, tortured, and had the crucial "Rosetta Key" cut from my arm, leaving me broken and left for dead.
My hero, Sylvia, later rescued me, but her voice from the hospital hallway - "using the mercenaries to set up Nathaniel... maybe we went too far," followed by, "Caleb needs the Rosetta Key... As for Nathaniel? He has me. That's enough" - echoed louder than any scream.
My wife, the woman I devoted everything to, and my lifelong mentor, conspired to leave me brutally maimed for a promotion for some rookie named Caleb, destroying my body, my career, and my very identity.
They systematically fed me lies, delayed my healing with fake serums, and orchestrated my public humiliation, stripping me of my clearance and painting me as a traitor just as Caleb, the one who benefited from my agony, was groomed to replace me.
How could my closest allies betray me so utterly?
What dark game were they playing, and why did my sacrifice mean so little?
Alone in that locked room, with nothing left but searing pain and raging fury, I remembered one thing they forgot: my father, Ghost, always had a contingency for betrayal.
I activated his hidden protocol, a desperate signal sent through my life force, relinquishing my old self to call the Ghost home, knowing this was either my end or my ultimate rebirth. My Wife's Faked Death
Modern At sixty-six, lying in a hospice bed, my breath a shallow rasp, I faced the end of a lifetime of thankless labor. My estranged daughter stood by, refusing eye contact, when she announced, "You have a visitor."
The door opened, and in walked a woman older, impeccably dressed-my wife, Jenny, who had supposedly died in a fiery car crash forty years ago.
She thanked me for raising Stella and caring for her parents, then offered a condescending "donation" to cover my burial costs. The betrayal, forty years old, ripped through me like a fresh wound, knowing my daughter was in on the lie, my whole life a bitter joke.
My heart seized, the world went dark, and the monitor beside my bed screamed its frantic protest.
Then, light. I gasped, shooting upright, my heart strong, my hands calloused and young. I wasn' t in a hospice; I was in my own bedroom, 26 again, clutching Jenny' s crumpled "suicide note."
She was gone, but not dead. This time, I' d make her "death" real. The Devil's Sister
Horror My name is Jocelyn Clark, or it was.
Five years ago, my husband, Ethan, sent me away, pregnant and alone, to a forgotten town.
He was obsessed with my sister, Nicole, convinced she was a fragile angel, but she was a viper.
He abandoned me, and then she had me killed.
Now, Nicole's heart is failing, and Ethan's desperate search for a compatible donor leads him back to the dilapidated house where he sent me to die.
He calls, only to have a small, trembling voice answer, "My mom? She passed away. A long time ago."
He dismisses it as a game, storms to the town, and demands to find me, refusing to believe Barney, the old sheriff, who tells him the truth: "Jocelyn is dead. She' s been dead for five years."
Ethan' s arrogance blinds him; he sees conspiracy where there is only tragedy.
He refuses to accept my death or the existence of our son, Matthew, whom he dismisses as a "bastard" and threatens to harm.
His cruel intent escalates until his men dangle our terrified son from a rooftop, a brutal ultimatum for me to reveal myself.
Just as Matthew falls, the DNA report arrives: "He' s your son!"
Simultaneously, word comes: "We found the grave... Jocelyn Clark."
The horrifying truth about my death and our child's paternity crashes down, shattering Ethan' s world.
He thought he was seeking a donor, a wife, but he was condemning his own son. My 21st Birthday: Day Of Reckoning
Billionaires My 21st birthday gala.
The grand ballroom buzzed, filled with the heavy scent of lilies.
But my eyes snapped open to my private suite; I was back.
Not in the cold, damp alley where they left me to die.
It was that day again.
Last time, my seemingly sweet cousin Chloe stole my bespoke gown, publicly humiliating me.
My charming fiancé, Ethan, watched, then sealed my fate.
My own brother, Marcus, ravenous for power, colluded with them.
They engineered my ruin, aligning with Viktor Rostova's Apex Global, swallowing our family empire whole.
My father, the Senator, fell mysteriously ill, then was cruelly silenced.
The memory of their betrayal, cold and hard, was a raw wound.
How could the people I trusted most destroy me so utterly?
Their 'revenge' for one public embarrassment had cost me everything.
But this time, I knew their every move.
This time, it would be different.
I stood, calm and steady, ready to dismantle them piece by piece.
The first move? My true dress.
Then, a reckoning for every single one of them. From Sugar Baby to Heiress
Young Adult At seventeen, my world was simple, filled with summer heat and the promise of graduation, all centered around my wild first love, Jax Carter.
But his family's money whispered through town, a power that turned to poison when his twisted need for revenge against my mother crippled my ten-year-old brother, Miguel, and left me pregnant and abandoned.
My comfortable life vanished overnight, replaced by the relentless burden of Miguel's medical bills, forcing me into the humiliating role of a "sugar baby," enduring leering old men just to survive.
Eight years later, I walked into a charity auction, a sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, only to see him across the room: Jax, now a successful architect, thriving, untouched, with a beautiful fiancée by his side.
His presence, a stark contrast to my daily struggle and the constant reminder of my brother' s shattered future, ignited a cold, burning rage so deep it threatened to consume me.
When fate, or perhaps karma, brought him back into my orbit, terminally ill and desperate for a relationship with Mateo – the son he never knew he had – I saw my chance.
He wanted redemption and believed I offered forgiveness, but every kind word, every tender touch, was a meticulously crafted lie, a performance designed to lure him into my trap.
I would use his guilt, his vast wealth, and his desperate hope for a cure to secure everything for my brother and son, then deliver a truth so brutal it would obliterate him.
This wasn' t a second chance; it was the ultimate, calculated payment for a debt he owed, ensuring he would finally pay for the ruin he caused my family, even if it meant destroying myself in the process. The Harrison Heir's Vengeance
Billionaires My Austin estate, usually a haven of quiet luxury, felt like a cage. My engagement to Brooke, stable as the family fortune, was meant to be the next logical step in a life I thought I largely controlled.
Then came the primal scream from my throat, wordless in the chill of a nightmare that suddenly, terrifyingly, became real: the heavy thud of our main gate, the crash downstairs signaling intruders, and the glint of steel.
I barricaded my mother and myself in my room, listening in horror as my sister, Savannah, dismissed Mom’s desperate pleas as "drama" on the phone, accusing me of faking it, while a knife plunged into Mom’s chest. Barely escaping with my life and a broken body, I stumbled to my fiancée Brooke for help, only to be branded a liar and brutally whipped by her, Savannah’s poisoned words already having turned her against me.
How could my own flesh and blood, consumed by jealousy for some pathetic country singer, orchestrate such a savage betrayal, painting me as the villain while my mother bled out? The burning injustice tore through me, mingling with the chilling realization that those I trusted most were the ones who condemned me.
But as the sirens approached and a call from the sheriff confirmed the bloody truth and an arrest, a new, cold resolve cemented within me: the naive boy was gone, replaced by a man forged in fire, ready to reclaim his destiny, unmask the true orchestrator, and dismantle the lives of everyone who dared to wrong the Harrisons. You might like
Reborn, I Ruined Their Perfect Life
Priority I spent five years laundering my family's wealth and buying military-grade weapons to crown my husband, Alistair, the Don of the Chicago Mafia.
But the night before his coronation, he drove an Italian stiletto into my stomach.
He sneered that a Don needed a true Mafia Queen, and that was always meant to be his "fragile" friend, Kylie.
As I bled out on the Persian rug, he revealed the sickening truth.
The night I was found in a rival Irish boss's bed two years ago wasn't a setup by our enemies. Alistair had ordered his own mother and sister to drug and frame me.
He just needed me terrified enough to sign over my merchant trust fund to prove my loyalty.
My entire marriage, my sacrifices, and my stolen wealth were just stepping stones for him and his mistress.
I had bled for him and won him the city, only to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb so he could hand my empire to another woman.
Before the flames I started consumed us both, I swore I'd drag his entire family to hell.
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, replaced by the scent of lavender and the bitter taste of chloral hydrate.
I was back on the exact night of the frame-up two years ago.
Outside the door, my sister-in-law was whispering, waiting for the Irish boss to arrive so they could ruin me.
This time, I was going to make sure she was the one in that bed. The Enforcer's Jilted Princess
Bone Possolo Tomorrow was my wedding day to Jason Brennan, the heir to a powerful Mafia family.
My family, the Falcones, had even taken in an orphaned girl, Elena, treating her like my own sister.
But in my nightmare of a past life, I choked on my own blood, poisoned by the arsenic Elena slipped into my food every day.
As I lay agonizingly close to death, Jason stood over me with a cold laugh, holding Elena in his arms.
"We just needed the Falcone wealth, Bella. And the docks."
Then came the gunfire. I was forced to watch them slaughter my father and my brother, tearing my family out by the roots.
After my death, Elena even spread vicious rumors that I was a barren spinster, twisting their foul betrayal into a tragic tale of noble sacrifice to completely destroy my legacy.
The metallic tang of my own blood was so real I could still taste the ash.
I didn't understand why the girl my family sheltered for eight years would repay our charity with such venom.
And I understood even less how the man who swore to love me could orchestrate my brutal murder without a shred of hesitation.
Bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, I realized I had returned to the night before my wedding.
This time, I wouldn't just cancel the engagement. I would hand their treason directly to the Mafia's most terrifying Enforcer, and watch them burn. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler 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. Dying To Escape The Obsessive Mafia Don
Priority I spent three excruciating years building an underworld empire for Cassius, only for him to give the ultimate symbol of his protection to a fragile girl named Serena on the very day he proposed to me.
My biological brother Julian, my protector Enzo, and my ally Lucian all followed suit, prioritizing Serena's fake tears over my life.
They forced me into a lethal bone marrow extraction to save her. When I welcomed the agony—using it to trigger my system's extraction protocol, my only way home to the real world—they violently aborted the procedure. They accused me of twisted manipulation and locked me in a high-security medical prison. There, they handed my care over to Serena, who tortured me in secret, calibrating my pain to hover just below the medical alarms.
"You will live," she whispered, "so that you may watch them choose me—until the act itself becomes a prayer."
I didn't understand. Why was my physical agony never enough to make them stop, yet a single tear from Serena became their absolute law? Why wouldn't they just let me die so I could go home?
Then I saw my real brother Arthur, exhausted by my hospital bed, through the system feed—and I realized I couldn't die. Not yet.
I wiped all emotion from my face and calmly signed the papers for their live public reconciliation broadcast.
Before I leave this world for good, I will tear Serena's perfect facade to pieces. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Too Late For Regret, Underboss
LARA MORRISON 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. Sacrifice: The Mafia Don's Pregnant Wife
Anastasia Paige I was the illegitimate daughter of a powerful mafia Consigliere, forced to scrub their marble floors while my half-sister Cassidy lived like a pampered princess.
When Cassidy was ordered to marry a condemned, brutally tortured Underboss in a deadly blood-oath execution, my father dragged me to the underground black site to take her place.
They forced me into a cheap wedding dress and locked me in a pitch-black cell with a dying man, expecting us both to catch an executioner's bullet.
My stepmother even handed me a small glass vial through the iron bars—the exact same poison she had used to slowly murder my pregnant mother years ago.
"The Don is issuing the kill order tonight. Drink this. Save yourself the agony," she mocked.
My father simply stood by and watched, willingly throwing me to the wolves just to keep his precious legitimate daughter entirely safe.
I stared at the poison in my calloused palm, and then at the bleeding, terrifying mafia boss chained to the concrete wall.
They honestly thought I was just a disposable pawn, meant to die quietly in the dirt so they could continue building their glamorous underworld empire on my mother's bones.
But they forgot I inherited my mother's underground medical brilliance.
I pulled a sterilized scalpel from my hidden trauma kit, looked the deadly Underboss right in the eye, and made a blood vow that would soon burn my family's entire empire to the ground. Billing My Ex: The Queen's Glorious Return
Shi Yue For seven years, I bled to protect Dante Morretti and his family. I drained my own inheritance to bribe cops, hire underground doctors, and secure his throne as the Don of New York.
But on our seventh anniversary, as I stood outside his club with a custom-forged gift, I saw the syndicate announcement. Dante had just publicly crowned a Capo's daughter as his queen.
When I confronted him, he brushed off my anger.
"Stop this drama, Eva. You are my fiancée. She is a political necessity."
His parents, whose lives I had saved, told me to stop throwing a tantrum. His mother looked at me with pure disdain.
"You are the legal wife. You manage the household. You see to our care."
Worse, I discovered Dante had used my emergency extraction funds—money meant to keep his family safe—to buy his new queen a luxury penthouse.
I had taken a bullet for his mother the exact same night he was caught on camera sleeping with Serena. I gave them my youth, my money, and my blood, only to be treated as an unpaid warden and a disposable shield.
I didn't understand how my seven years of fierce loyalty could be erased so easily.
But I didn't shed a single tear.
I calmly handed Dante an itemized bill for $367,420, dropped my safe house keys on the table, and walked away.
This time, I would build my own empire. No Tears For My Cold Mafia Husband
Amigo On our first wedding anniversary, my husband walked out the door.
Not for business. For her.
I left the divorce papers on the table, my wedding ring next to his untouched champagne, and I disappeared into the night.
For a year, I watched Dominic Rossi—the ruthless Underboss of the New York syndicate—drop everything the moment his phone buzzed with another crisis from Sophia. A panic attack. A sleepless night. A lie. I was his wife, the woman he’d promised to cherish, but I was never his priority.
So I chose myself.
Now he’s tearing the city apart trying to find me. But I’m already gone—building a new life with a job that’s mine, an apartment that’s mine, and a name that doesn’t belong to him. The girl who waited in that penthouse is dead. The woman who walked out isn’t looking back.
When Dominic finally corners me, I see the cracks in his armor. He says he’s sorry. He says he loves me. He says he finally understands.
But some words are too late, and some promises can’t be fixed.
He made me guess for a year. Now it’s his turn to wonder if I’ll ever come back.
A heart-wrenching, standalone mafia romance about a woman who refused to be second choice, and the man who learned too late what he’d lost. 
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