Lana Adler
2 Published Stories
Lana Adler's Books and Stories
Mafia King's First Love
Mafia Elizabeth Taylor gave Sofia Roth a subtle nod, as if to calm her, before turning her full attention to Cloe. Her gaze was sharp, unforgiving.
"This is not your home, Cloe."
The words slammed into Cloe like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. She froze, her body stiffening as the weight of the moment settled over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Elizabeth cut her off, her voice like a blade slicing through Cloe's hope. "Meet Ethan's fiancée, Sofia."
The words hit Cloe like a thunderclap, a shock so violent it felt as if lightning had struck her to the core. Her body stiffened, her eyes wide, her heart pounding so loud it echoed in her ears. Fiancée? Ethan's fiancée?
Her eyes darted to Sofia, who stepped forward with a cruel smile, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Yes. Fiancée. I'm pregnant with Ethan's child."
Cloe's world shattered. The words slammed into her with the force of a thousand storms, and she staggered backward as if physically struck. Her knees buckled, her hands clutching her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. Pregnant? With Ethan's child?
--------
Cloe was not ready to give up. So she received a sex tape from Sofia Roth.
A sex Tape
The man's face was deliberately obscured, lying back on the bed, while Sofia's naked body moved atop him, her large breasts bouncing as she rode him with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Sofia's face, however, was clear. Her eyes locked onto the camera with an unmistakable awareness of what she was doing. Her moans were loud, theatrical, and filled with purpose. She threw her head back, calling out, "Oh, Ethan... love it, babe."
The hands of the man beneath her, though blurred and devoid of identity, reached up to grip Sofia's breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. Sofia's moans grew louder, her voice filled with pleasure as she called out again, "Ethan, baby... you're the best."
------
Three years later.
She stepped cautiously into her apartment, her heart racing as she noticed the dark figure seated on the living room sofa. The shadows of the room made it hard to make out who it was. Her breath caught in her throat as she instinctively gripped her bag tighter.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
The figure stirred, slowly rising to his feet. Ethan, unable to believe his eyes, stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. It was her. Cloe-his Cloe-right there in front of him. The woman he had thought lost forever.
She took a step forward, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Who are you?" she asked again, her voice firmer now.
Ethan felt like the world had stopped moving. The woman standing before him, looking at him as if he were a stranger-how could she not know? His emotions collided within him, confusion, shock, and an overwhelming sense of longing. "I... I am your husband," he managed to say, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
She froze, her face contorting in shock. "My husband?" she repeated, disbelief lacing her words. She took a step back, her confusion deepening. "Who are you? And what kind of joke is this?"
She refused to recognize him. You might like
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.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground. The Mafia King's Substitute Bride
Western Rose The space between them disappeared. She arched into him, tilting her head as his lips traced a slow path down her jaw, then lower.
Goodness, she wanted more.
***
Valentina De Luca was never meant to be a Caruso bride. That was her sister's role-until Alecia ran off with her fiancé, leaving behind a family drowning in debt and a deal that couldn't be undone. Now, Valentina is the one offered up as collateral, forced into marriage with Naples' most dangerous man.
Luca Caruso has no use for a woman who wasn't part of the original bargain. To him, Valentina is nothing more than a replacement, a means to reclaim what was promised to him. But she isn't as fragile as she seems. And the more their lives tangle, the harder she is to ignore.
Everything begins to go well for her, well, until her sister returns. And with her, the kind of trouble that could ruin them all. Rebirth of the Mafia Mistress
Olivia My fiancé Jaret Frazier promised to protect me on my nineteenth birthday. By the next year, he had married a Mafia Princess for power and locked me in a hidden apartment as his secret mistress.
When his new wife discovered I was pregnant, she didn't file for divorce. She sent her enforcers to my bedside.
They held me down while a back-alley butcher tore my unborn son from my womb.
Jaret never came to save me. For ten years, I rotted in that gilded cage, watching him use my money to become an Underboss while I faded into a ghost. I died alone, completely erased.
Then, I opened my eyes.
I was back in my own bed, unscarred, the calendar turned back to the year my life was destroyed.
Jaret was still just my fiancé, not yet my jailer.
And this time, I wouldn't be the one who ended up in a cage. 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. When Love Rebuilds From Frozen Hearts
Landslide 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. Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway
Tangye Wanzi I watched my husband, the most feared Capo in New York, sign away our marriage with the same cold indifference he usually reserved for ordering a hit.
The nib of his Montblanc pen scratched against the paper, drowning out the rain hitting the coffee shop window.
He didn't bother to read a single word.
He thought he was signing routine shipping manifests for the family business.
In reality, he was signing the "Dissolution of Union" papers I had hidden beneath the cover sheet.
He was too distracted to check. His eyes were glued to his encrypted phone, frantically texting Sofia—the widow, the tragic beauty, the woman who had haunted our marriage for three years.
"Done," he grunted, tossing the stack into his armored SUV without even glancing at me.
"Business is concluded, Elena. We leave."
Moments later, his phone rang with her special emergency tone.
His demeanor shifted from cold boss to frantic protector instantly.
"Driver, divert. She needs me," he roared.
He looked at me with zero affection and ordered, "Get out, Elena. Luca will take you home."
He kicked me out of the car into the pouring rain to rush to his mistress, completely unaware he had just legally granted me my freedom.
I stood on the curb, shivering but smiling for the first time in years.
By the time the Don realizes he just signed his own divorce, I will be a ghost in San Francisco.
And he will have nothing left but his shipping logs and his regret. 
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