LARA MORRISON
10 Published Stories
LARA MORRISON's Books and Stories
Too Late For Regret, Underboss
Mafia 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. The Fake Mute's Spectacular Revenge Game
Romance Madeline slammed the prenuptial agreement onto the table, forcing Danielle to sign herself away as a "blood bag" bride.
To secure her mother's safety, Danielle was sold to the ruthless, comatose billionaire Deforest Stuart. She kept her head down, perfectly playing the role of a terrified, broken mute.
But on her wedding night, Deforest's sister set a vicious trap, dragging Danielle to a hotel to be ruined by a sleazy investor.
Danielle was prepared to escape, but the hotel door was suddenly smashed open by a massive figure.
It wasn't the investor. It was her comatose husband, Deforest, temporarily awakened by a violent, drug-induced rage.
In the pitch-black room, he pinned her down, mistaking her scent for a ghost from his past, and violently claimed her.
She fled before dawn, only to be blinded by camera flashes.
His sister dragged her back to the Stuart manor, ripping her collar open under the chandelier to expose the dark hickeys on her neck.
"Throw this shameless whore out into the street!" the matriarch ordered.
Danielle's eyes grew cold. If they kicked her out now, her years of planning to tear this rotten family apart would be completely destroyed.
No one believed that the monster who assaulted her was the very man lying perfectly still in the medical wing.
Playing the frantic mute, Danielle dragged the family to his bedroom.
Right as the guards reached for her, she launched herself onto the bed, crushing her weight directly onto Deforest's chest.
A second later, the "comatose" tyrant's eyes snapped open with murderous rage, and her real game of revenge finally began. Reborn Luna: Rejecting My Cruel Alpha
Werewolf I was the fated mate of Ryker Blackwood, the future Alpha, but my lack of an awakened wolf made me a pathetic joke to his pack.
Instead of protecting me, he publicly rejected me, chose the manipulative Lilith Vane as his Luna, and locked me in a freezing dungeon.
While the entire pack cheered for their final mating ceremony above, I rotted in heavy chains below.
When a rogue attack killed our unborn pups, I reached out to him in agony, but his voice through our fading bond was like splintered ice.
"Our pups are dead. Don't bother me again."
He didn't care at all. The casual dismissal shattered my inner wolf, and I died in that filthy cell, suffocating on my own despair and a hatred so potent it burned through my last breath.
Until my last moment, I couldn't understand why my absolute devotion was met with such cruel betrayal, and why my fated mate let our children die without a second thought.
Opening my eyes again, I wasn't in the dungeon.
I was back in my seventeenth year, choking on the icy water of the lake Lilith had just pushed me into.
Seeing Ryker's arrogant sneer and Lilith's fake concern on the shore, I didn't cry or beg for his attention like I did in my past life.
This time, I would publicly sever our sacred bond, awaken my true Alpha bloodline, and make them pay for every drop of my blood. My Runaway Groom's Billionaire Cousin
Romance I stood in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, waiting to seal the merger of the century between the Singleton and English families. Everything was perfect, fragile, and obscenely expensive.
But minutes before the ceremony, my brother burst into the bridal suite looking like he’d seen a ghost. He handed me a crumpled note from Jeffery, the man I was supposed to marry.
"I can’t do it," the note read. "I’m choosing love." Jeffery had fled to Paris with another woman, leaving me to face two thousand guests and a family legacy that would plummet forty percent by Monday morning.
Harrison Singleton, the family patriarch, didn't offer sympathy; he offered a cold ultimatum. The wedding would happen, with or without Jeffery. He stepped aside to reveal Declan Singleton, the "Wolf of Wall Street" who had spent the last year ruthlessly stripping my father’s companies for parts.
To save my family from bankruptcy, I had to walk down the aisle and marry the man I hated most. At the altar, Declan didn’t just say "I do"; he claimed me with a kiss so possessive it felt like a sentencing.
The humiliation was physical, a knife twisting in my gut as the world watched the "hostile takeover" of my life. I was a spoil of war, traded to a predator who believed in leverage over love.
Then, Jeffery called, weeping about his mistake and begging to come back. I looked at the massive, perfectly-sized diamond Declan had already prepared for me and realized this wasn't a coincidence.
I wiped away my tears and straightened my emerald silk. If I had to live in a cage, I was going to make sure I had the sharpest teeth.
"Let's go to war," I whispered to my new husband. Broken Strings: The Mafia Wife’s Exit
Mafia I was bleeding out in the dark, bound to a chair, when I heard my husband tell another woman he would burn the world down for her.
Dante Moretti didn't know I was on the other side of the paper-thin wall.
He didn't know that ten years ago, I was the girl who saved his life in a frozen cave, not his mistress, Sofia.
Sofia had stolen my story, and now she was stealing my life.
When I tried to leave him, Dante chained me in his dungeon and whipped me until I passed out, claiming he was "disciplining" his wife.
When Sofia used steel cello strings to slice my fingers open, destroying my ability to ever play again, he looked the other way.
He even chose to save her over me when we fell into the freezing ocean, leaving me to drown because "Sofia is my soul."
That night, I finally stopped fighting for a man who didn't exist.
I called my brother, the Don of New York.
"The alliance is over," I whispered into the phone. "Take me home."
It took Dante three months to uncover the truth. To see the medical records proving I was the one who dragged him from that cave.
He burned his own boat to trap us on an island, begging for a second chance.
"I can fix this," he pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he touched my scarred, ruined hands.
I looked at him, then at the man standing behind him with a rifle—the man who actually loved me.
"You can't fix a shattered vase, Dante," I said.
Then I watched my new protector pull the trigger. Broken Vows And Paris Lights: My New Beginning
Modern For fifteen years, I buried my dream of motherhood because my husband, Bennett, swore he carried a tragic genetic defect.
"If we have children, they will suffer," he had cried on our bathroom floor.
I believed him. I made him my religion.
But at a charity gala, everything shattered. He introduced his twenty-two-year-old mistress as his "little sister," only to announce moments later that she was pregnant with his heir.
He never had a genetic defect. He just didn't want a child with me.
The humiliation didn't stop there. He moved her into our home. He took my grandmother’s emerald necklace, reset the stone, and fastened it around her neck in front of our friends.
When I tried to leave quietly, he sneered that I was jealous and toxic. He was confident he could break me, planning to manipulate me into eventually helping raise his mistress's baby.
He didn't know two things.
First, his mistress was faking the pregnancy to trap him.
Second, I wasn't going to stay to watch the fallout.
While he rushed her to the hospital for a staged emergency, blaming me for her "pain," I quietly boarded a private jet to Paris.
I deleted my number. I destroyed my SIM card. I reclaimed my maiden name.
By the time Bennett realized his "heir" was a lie and his wife was gone, I was already starting a new life where he didn't exist. Ashes of Love, Flames of Justice
Modern My phone buzzed on the counter of the vet clinic, a harsh sound, demanding my attention from a complicated case. It was Mark, my husband, sharp and impatient.
"Chloe, drop whatever you' re doing. I need you."
He needed his backup drive, for the biggest night of his career, a speech about 'sacrifice' and 'unwavering support', to impress his investors. I, his vet-tech wife, was racing home to fetch it, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
When I arrived, he was radiant on stage, spouting platitudes about family while I clutched the hard drive in the shadows, my stomach twisting. My phone vibrated: Dr. Reed, our son Leo' s specialist.
"Chloe, the new treatment protocol is our best option, but we need to start immediately. The hospital requires a significant deposit."
It was an unimaginable sum. I looked through the glass at Mark, laughing with investors, the hard drive forgotten. Leo and I were not in his world. In that moment, something inside me shifted.
The long, slow burn of resentment ignited into cold, clear purpose. I wasn't going to wait for him. I wasn't going to ask him. I drove directly to sell my father' s classic Mustang – my most prized possession – for the cash.
Returning home, a bright orange notice was slapped on our front door: NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE. My key wouldn' t work. My credit card was declined. I called Mark, his voice laced with fury.
"Where the hell did you go? You embarrassed me, Chloe!"
"The house, Mark," I whispered, trembling. "There' s a foreclosure notice. My keys don' t work."
"I mortgaged it. Months ago. The startup needed a cash infusion," he sneered. "It' s gone, Chloe. My last-ditch funding failed because I was too damn distracted by all this drama with Leo. Your drama."
Rain plastering my hair to my face, I sank to my knees.
"We' re done," he said. "I told the bank to change the locks. You can get your things tomorrow."
He hung up. Just then, Leo, pale and frail, opened the door.
"Mommy? Why is Daddy yelling? Are we leaving our house?"
His simple words cut through my shock. I pulled him close, whispering, "What if it was just you and me from now on? A new life. Would that be okay?"
He nodded, trusting. That was all I needed. The Reluctant Heir's Wildcat
Romance My life as the "Montana Wildcat" was all about rebellion against the stuffy East Coast elite.
But when an old blackmail threat jeopardized my Senator father's career, I was forced into a desperate solution: a fake engagement to Sterling Prescott IV, the blue-blood heir who personified everything I ran from.
My plan was simple: unleash enough chaos to scare off the Prescotts and annul the whole charade.
Instead, his formidable grandmother imprisoned me in their lavish estate for a forced "refinement," and strangely, Sterling became my unexpected confidante and ally, stealing midnight burgers and listening to my wild tales.
Just as our fake relationship started feeling disturbingly real, my world shattered.
Suddenly, the FBI stormed our home, planting fake evidence on my laptop that implicated my father in a national security scandal, destroying his career overnight.
The final blow came with paparazzi photos showing Sterling, seemingly abandoning me, arm-in-arm with Blair Vanderbilt, the daughter of my father' s bitter rival.
The man I'd grudgingly begun to trust, who had broken through all my walls, had seemingly betrayed me when I needed him most, leaving me heartbroken and politically ruined, a pariah.
Then, at my father's televised Senate hearing, where his career was moments from collapse, Sterling walked in.
He carried a briefcase and a recording that would not only clear my father's name but expose the true architect of our downfall, turning everything I thought I knew on its head. His Faked Death, My True Love
Romance My eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through familiar curtains in what was undeniably my childhood bedroom on a military base.
But a stark, chilling truth hit me: I died. I vividly remembered fire, twisted metal, and then a profound, cold darkness.
My father, General Miller, walked in, his voice deep and reassuring.
"Sarah, you're awake. We need to talk about your future." He began to speak of Captain Mark Olsen, the perfect, ambitious officer everyone expected me to choose.
The name was a bitter taste. Because in my first life, I married Mark.
Then came the devastating news: killed in action. The grief consumed me.
I stopped living, leading to my own tragic car accident months later. My world ended.
But it wasn't true. As a lingering spirit, I watched my world shatter while his continued.
Mark, alive and vibrant, laughing with Tiffany Evans, his arm around her.
They had faked his death, eloped, and built a long, happy life together, completely discarding the woman who died for him.
The rage, the profound betrayal, morphed from a cold fire to a precise, icy shard in my chest.
Why did I endure such suffering, such a cruel end, while they basked in their deceitful bliss? The injustice was unbearable.
But this was it. My second chance.
A precious, impossible gift.
This time, there would be no Mark Olsen.
This time, I' d choose differently.
This time, my life wouldn' t end in ashes. The Governess's Million-Dollar Mission
Romance My brother Leo's medical bills were a crushing weight, pulling us both into a financial black hole.
Then, a lifeline: a contract, presented by a lawyer with a voice dry as old parchment.
My mission for the next year: transform the Kincaid children, Oliver and Chloe, into "presentable" figures for their prestigious annual gala.
The payment was astronomical, the only hope I had to save Leo.
I signed, ready to become the stern governess, Sarah Hayes.
Stepping into the marble-floored entryway of the Long Island mansion, I faced two miniature tyrants.
Oliver, thirteen, oozed practiced apathy, while Chloe, ten, clutched a tablet displaying designer logos.
"Another one? How long you gonna last, lady?" Oliver sneered, followed by Chloe's contemptuous, "Do you even know who I am?"
Their father, perpetually attached to his phone, was nowhere to be found, leaving me to face their immediate, blatant rebellion alone.
My first command was simple: hand over the skateboard and the tablet.
This unleashed an explosion of outrage.
"This is child abuse!" Oliver shrieked, threatening to call his wealthy, absent father.
Chloe's wail was operatic, as if I’d declared her streaks and followers dead.
The contract had warned of testing, but the sheer entitlement was a shock, making every small step feel like a war.
How was I supposed to achieve "significant improvement" when their every instinct was to resist and undermine me?
The Kincaid money, critical for Leo's surgery and recovery, felt like a constant mockery against their spoiled lives.
The weight of my brother's future pressed down, reminding me that I absolutely could not fail, no matter how impossible the task seemed.
My quiet thought, "Managing these two? How hard can it be?" now echoed like the most foolish words ever spoken.
I held out my hand, unflinching, for the skateboard and tablet.
Their resistance was part of the job description, a challenge I had to overcome for Leo.
This was my new regime, unyielding, strict, and it had just begun.
My personal philosophy was simple: family first. You might like
The Discarded Wife Is A Mafia Queen
Shore Tour I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire.
On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own.
"Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy."
My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry.
He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance.
I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever.
Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network.
The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun. Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up.
As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress.
The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me.
The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one.
With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered.
I chose the one man they never expected.
I chose his father, the Don himself.
From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party." 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. My Ruthless Mafia Ex-Husband Begs For Mercy
Little Pink Lace I was the devoted wife of Pietro, the untouchable Don of the New York Syndicate. I thought my love could bridge the gap between my civilian life and his brutal underworld.
Then, I swiped open his unlocked private tablet.
I discovered he had been forwarding my most intimate boudoir photos, desperate texts, and sweet voice notes to a dark web group chat filled with his ruthless soldiers and his female associate, Zoya.
They dissected my naked body for amusement.
Pietro captioned my lingerie photo, "Like a starving animal," and told his men I was just a "stable cover" with a clean background.
When I cried over his safety during a turf war, his Capos joked about my whimpers. Pietro bragged to them that starving me of attention was standard protocol to break me.
When I confronted him with the evidence, he didn't apologize.
"You are acting bitter and hysterical. A Don doesn't have time for civilian trivialities."
He warned me that if I walked out, I would be dead to his world, dismissing my absolute humiliation as mere locker-room talk.
My affection for him had been a form of worship, yet my marriage was nothing but a spectator sport for his entire regime. He traded my dignity to feed his god-complex.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg for his love.
Instead, I packed my bags, transferred every damning screenshot to a secure drive, and calmly handed the files over to the Syndicate Elders.
It was time to burn his empire to the ground. The Don's $46 Million Mistake
HONEY MULLINS I married Luca Falcone, the most dangerous Mafia Don in New York, believing our arranged union had blossomed into true love.
But exactly five minutes after our vows, he smashed my father's face into the glass wedding table in front of three hundred guests.
"Giovanni Rossi is accused of embezzling forty-six million dollars from this Family!"
With those words, he sentenced my father to a brutal blood tribunal.
I was dragged into a freezing underground cell in my ruined silk wedding dress.
His Head of Intelligence threw a surveillance dossier at me, revealing that Luca's twenty months of romance was just a cold, calculated investigation to destroy my family.
My mother was left dry-heaving on the marble floor in terror, and my father's heart gave out as he was dragged to the infirmary.
I stared at the photos of our dates, the agonizing realization suffocating me.
Every morning coffee, every gentle touch, and every whispered promise in the dark was an elaborate lie.
He had tracked my every move for nearly two years but never trusted me enough to just ask about the money, choosing the word of a jealous operative over his own wife.
So, I wiped my tears and stopped playing the docile bride.
I calmly summoned my corporate lawyer and dropped the federal tax records proving I was a secret billionaire CEO.
The forty-six million was my own legal money, saved to treat my father's terminal cancer.
Ignoring the ruthless Don as he finally dropped to his knees in tears, I left my wedding ring on the divorce papers and walked out. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 
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