Mafia Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
/1/100381/coverorgin.jpg?v=4721009a51f21a320700802c42f2325a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York. To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen. But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table. It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test. "Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture." I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking. He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago. He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy. He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go. He was wrong. I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don. And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy. I wanted to erase him. I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built. Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa." It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul. On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial. When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth. He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife. Because the woman who loved him no longer existed./1/116928/coverorgin.jpg?v=c59e36e6413f208268571a8590b47ec6&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Canary, Her Revenge
For seven years, I was the loyal fiancée to Julian, the city's most ruthless Mafia Don. Then I found a mint condom wrapper in his bathroom and a voice note from his young assistant, Valentina, bragging about his relentless appetites. When I confronted him, he didn't apologize. Instead, he gaslit me, calling me a paranoid liability, and let Valentina replace the decor in our private sanctuary. "You are manufacturing drama from nothing," he sneered. After they publicly humiliated me at a family dinner, I broke the engagement and exposed their affair to the syndicate. Julian retaliated with absolute destruction. He ruined my career, vandalized my art studio, and orchestrated a hit on my father, leaving him bleeding out in a hospital. Cornered and desperate, I jumped from his corporate balcony just to escape his control. When I woke up battered in a hospital bed, Julian stood over me, cold and arrogant. He demanded I publicly apologize to his mistress for causing her trauma, threatening to finish the hit on my family if I refused. He thought I was a caged canary who would finally submit to his power. He didn't know I had already hired a syndicate cleaner to plant hidden cameras in his penthouse. As I stared at the man I once loved, I was already preparing to broadcast his ultimate treason to the Five Families and burn his empire to ashes./1/103626/coverorgin.jpg?v=b8eb9b371ae600ffa85a31df00a6de55&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Saved His Mistress, Not His Wife
I was trapped under a massive oak bookcase, my leg shattered, dust filling my lungs. My husband, Dante, the Underboss of the Chicago Outfit, finally found me. But just as he lifted the heavy beam to free me, his earpiece crackled. It was news about Sofia, his childhood friend and the woman he truly loved. "She scratched her arm on the car door, Boss. She's hyperventilating. She won't board the jet without you." Dante froze. He looked at me, bleeding on the floor, secretly ten weeks pregnant with his child. Then he looked at the door. "It's just a broken leg, Elena," he said coldly, slowly lowering the crushing weight back onto me. "You are a doctor. You know it's not fatal. Sofia needs me." He ran to comfort a woman with a papercut, leaving his wife and unborn child to be buried alive in the rubble. I miscarried alone in the dark, tracing the number of a divorce lawyer on the floorboards in my own blood. Three days later, while he was peeling grapes for Sofia in a VIP hospital suite, I packed my medical degree and a single gym bag. I didn't go to a hotel. I boarded a military cargo plane to a war zone in South Sudan. By the time the Ice Prince realized his castle was empty, I was already thousands of miles away, and I wasn't coming back./1/100382/coverorgin.jpg?v=4254338badef9e33e9b0759afdc6dfd5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Saved Her, I Lost Our Child
For three years, I kept a secret ledger of my husband's sins. A point system to decide exactly when I would leave Blake Santos, the ruthless Underboss of Chicago. I thought the final straw would be him forgetting our anniversary dinner to comfort his "childhood friend," Ariana. I was wrong. The real breaking point came when the restaurant ceiling collapsed. In that split second, Blake didn't look at me. He dove to his right, shielding Ariana with his body, leaving me to be crushed under a half-ton crystal chandelier. I woke up in a sterile hospital room with a shattered leg and a hollow womb. The doctor, trembling and pale, told me my eight-week-old fetus hadn't survived the trauma and blood loss. "We tried to get the O-negative reserves," he stammered, refusing to meet my eyes. "But Dr. Santos ordered us to hold them. He said Miss Whitfield might go into shock from her injuries." "What injuries?" I whispered. "A laceration on her finger," the doctor admitted. "And anxiety." He let our unborn child die to save the blood reserves for his mistress’s paper cut. Blake finally walked into my room hours later, smelling of Ariana’s perfume, expecting me to be the dutiful, silent wife who understood his "duty." Instead, I picked up my pen and wrote the final entry in my black leather book. *Minus five points. He killed our child.* *Total Score: Zero.* I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just signed the divorce papers, called my extraction team, and vanished into the rain before he could turn around./1/116929/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd82c62ebb061ecbdfb33ab8858e708c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Jilted By The Don: The Heiress Awakens
I bled beside Dominic for ten years, helping him rise from a scarred street soldier to the most feared Mafia Don in the city. But on the day I planned to tell him about the eight-week-old heartbeat inside me, he canceled our wedding to marry an eighteen-year-old girl. He told me he craved her innocence, untouched by the filth of our business. His new bride faked an injury to frame me. Without hesitation, Dominic stripped me of my ring and threw me into a freezing underground cell. Days later, they dragged me out and forced me to chug raw moonshine to prove my submission to his new Queen. The liquid fire tore through my starved stomach. I collapsed and miscarried our baby in a pool of blood right in front of them. Even then, his new wife laughed, pointing at my dying body. "She is using hidden blood packs to manipulate you! She was never pregnant!" Ten years of absolute loyalty and two previous miscarriages on the run, all rewarded with this deadly poison. He walked away, leaving me to die on the cold floor of his club, thinking I was just a stray orphan with nowhere to go. But he didn't know my true bloodline. Six months later, as the Underboss of the rival Marino Family, I rolled up the tinted window of my armored SUV, leaving the crippled, ruined Don begging in the mud./1/100383/coverorgin.jpg?v=95891d3737dd8e5ce0412b16bf67e8f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Left To Drown: The Heiress's Cold Departure
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history. But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me. He swam past me. He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water. When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl. "You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home." Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her. I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife." He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps. He was wrong. While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room. I was packing his ring into a cardboard box. I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead. By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession./1/116930/coverorgin.jpg?v=4e32e9b5199272343506a1577427a7f9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Out Of Silence: Reclaiming My Life
I had been deaf for ten years after a cartel fire took my parents' lives. My fiancé, Alessandro, the Mafia Underboss they died to save, swore a blood oath to be my permanent refuge. Two weeks before our wedding, my hearing miraculously returned. But the first thing I heard wasn't his loving voice—it was the sickening sound of him sleeping with his mistress, Sophia. I stood frozen outside his office door as the man who promised to protect me groaned her name. "This forced Family duty is a sickness to me. You are the only one I wish to take to wife." When he came home, he smiled gently and used sign language to ask if I was okay. Yet, right in front of my face, he recorded explicit voice notes to her, detailing what they would do in bed that night. He thought I was still a deaf liability, a crippled burden he could easily manipulate. He paraded his betrayal right before my eyes, confident I was trapped in a silent shell, completely oblivious to his mockery. But I could hear every single dirty word. Instead of crying, I calmly pressed the record button on my phone, booked a one-way flight to London on the morning of our wedding, and prepared to strip the Underboss of his entire empire./1/101681/coverorgin.jpg?v=36fb4fef058532f4475c2f7d9d42ca28&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I Married My Ex-husband's Beloved Woman's Father After Being Betrayed
My mother, Mary Willis, was bitten by a snake, and the snake's owner was none other than Jennifer Walker, my husband's beloved woman. When I called my husband, Timothy Rossi, he was on vacation with Jennifer. "Please come back, Timothy. Mary's condition is very serious." But he merely sighed and soothed me as if I were throwing a tantrum. "I'm in Arngueuil Isles with Jennifer right now. She's been feeling down lately..." So Timothy ignored my humble plea and resolutely hung up the phone. At that moment, all my strength crumbled to dust. In despair, I could only cling to the hem of the man in front of me-Samuel Walker, Jennifer's father, a notoriously ruthless and brutal Mafia boss./0/94868/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e7df9299a09849e817acaa688c82c47&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Trapped In A Mafia Marriage
The surgeon told me I had one hour to save my right hand, the one that spun my soul into symphonies. My husband, Don Dante Rossi, gave that hour to his mistress for a minor fracture. The surgeon pleaded with him, explaining that every minute we delayed risked catastrophic, permanent damage. But Dante just looked at our ten-year-old son, Nico. “What do you think?” Nico met my eyes from the gurney, his own gaze chillingly calm. “Mamma is strong. She’ll understand the sacrifice. Besides,” he added, “if she’s in pain, it means she loves us more.” My hand was ruined, my career as a composer over. But for them, the game was just beginning. They needed my jealousy, my tears, my pain, to feed their sick definition of love. They pushed me down a flight of stairs just to watch me cry. I had mistaken my husband’s obsession for passion, his cruelty for a test. I finally saw it for what it was: a pathology of ownership. My suffering was their trophy. Lying broken at the bottom of the stairs, I heard my son's voice float down. “See, Dad? Now she's really crying. She really does love us.” Something inside me didn't just break; it turned to ice. When my lawyer visited me in the hospital, I took the papers he brought. In our world, a Don’s wife doesn’t leave. She endures or she disappears. I signed the divorce petition. I was choosing war./0/70210/coverorgin.jpg?v=173ca1d3109f5ab6cce4efc8c7bbf48d&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Vended To Don Damon
"Did you think you could run from me, doll? Or is this just your way of testing me?" After being abandoned by her family, being sold by her godmother was the last thing Iris Paulman expected. Raised in a church in a small town, Iris's world was one filled with faith and innocence. But when her godmother put her up for sale to clear her pending debt, Irish life takes a drastic turn. What happens when ruthless mafia lord Damon Vyon decides to buy her?/1/100384/coverorgin.jpg?v=80edb6159cac4354a2a9884b21e2b322&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Unwanted Wife: The Mafia Boss's Regret
I warmed the Underboss’s bed for five years, only to be discarded the moment my twin sister returned. Haleigh claimed she was dying of terminal cancer. She was the golden child, the tragic heroine. I was just Bailey—the spare, the placeholder, the glitch in their perfect reunion. To secure her place, Haleigh framed me with a venomous spider and a deepfake video, turning the men I loved into my executioners. My own brothers whipped me in the basement while Jameson watched in cold silence. When I caught fire on the family yacht, they ignored my screams to tend to Haleigh’s scratched knee. The final blow came on the cliffs of Dead Man’s Drop. Accusing me of pushing her, Jameson ordered my brother to dangle me over the raging ocean by my ankles to "teach me a lesson." They waited for me to beg for my life. Instead, I pulled a switchblade from my boot. I didn't cut my brother. I cut my own laces. I plummeted into the icy black water without a sound, choosing death over their cruelty. It wasn't until they found my hidden diary—and proof that Haleigh never had cancer—that the monsters realized what they had done. Now Jameson is tearing the world apart to find his "innocent" Bailey. But he’s looking for a ghost. The woman who loved him died the moment she hit the water./1/101682/coverorgin.jpg?v=9f20351519d47f160a7449848883b6c2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Spring Beneath the Grave
Elora Griffiths was on her way to drop her daughter off at school when her husband's enemies opened fire in the street. The bodyguard her husband had personally assigned to protect them abandoned the car the instant the shots rang out. Mother and daughter were hit multiple times, teetering on the brink of death. Elora frantically called her husband, Rodger Griffiths, but he didn't answer. Her brother, Hugh Dale, arrived just in time and saved them both. "How could this happen? Didn't Rodger assign someone to protect you?" Hugh asked. Elora sobbed uncontrollably, "The bodyguard ran away!" On the way to the hospital, Elora kept trying Rodger's number, desperate. One call after another... Finally, on the ninety-ninth attempt, the line connected. On the other end was the female bodyguard, trembling, her voice barely holding back tears. "Rodger, it's really not my fault! There were so many assassins. I would've died if I tried to stop them! I was so scared..." Elora held her breath, waiting for her husband's wrath to thunder down. But Rodger just sighed. "Forget it. The important thing is you're safe," he said. Meanwhile, Elora's daughter took her last breath in her arms. The pain was suffocating. She held her daughter close as her body went cold and stiff, teeth gritted in fury, "Hugh, I'm divorcing him! I'll cut off every single arms shipment to the Griffiths family from the largest arms company in Crownport!"/0/98762/coverorgin.jpg?v=7e3893b1ca84555fc35e40e5ba85724e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
From Ashes: The Unwanted Wife's Return
For five years, I was the wife of Jace Sharpe, the city's untouchable "Golden Boy." I was a loyalty consultant paid ten million dollars to make him fall in love, but I was the one who ended up genuinely falling for him. Then his old flame, Fallon, reappeared. When I told him I was pregnant with our child, his face became a mask of stone. Fallon smirked from the steps of his private jet. "The baby has come at the wrong time," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "It must be aborted." He had his men drag me to a clinic. As the anesthetic took hold, I heard him give a final, cruel order to the doctor: "A hysterectomy. I want to ensure there are no more… inconvenient surprises." He destroyed my body and our child for another woman. Lying in that sterile room, my love turned to icy hatred. I reached for a burner phone I hadn't touched in years and sent a single message to a mysterious contact. The reply was instant: "I'll pick you up in fifteen days."/0/61775/coverorgin.jpg?v=37a3f7e56a3126615bc17c7eaf5da98b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Painted Sins
Aria Rossi was moments away from marrying into one of New York's most powerful crime families when she fled, leaving behind a devastated groom and a deadly vendetta. Five years later, she's built a new life under an assumed identity in the sun-soaked streets of Miami, believing she's finally safe. As the owner of a thriving art gallery, Aria has buried her past beneath layers of carefully crafted lies and exquisite paintings. But when a mysterious new client walks into her gallery, Aria comes face-to-face with her past-and the man she left at the altar. Lorenzo Caruso, now the head of his family's criminal empire, has never forgotten the woman who broke his heart and tarnished his honor. As old feelings reignite, so does the danger that forced her to run. With enemies closing in from all sides and secrets threatening to unravel everything she's built, Aria must decide: Can she trust the man she once loved with her life, or will their second chance at romance be her ultimate downfall? Just as she makes her choice, a shocking revelation changes everything-and nothing is as it seems. An intricate web of betrayal, hidden identities, and long-buried secrets begins to surface, forcing Aria to question everything she thought she knew about her past, her present, and the man she's never stopped loving. In a world where loyalty is everything and trust can get you killed, will Aria and Lorenzo's rekindled passion be strong enough to overcome the lies that tear them apart, or will their love become another masterpiece in her gallery of deception?/1/103629/coverorgin.jpg?v=a320b61e739dade5560a7db1ca1514e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Waitress Is Actually A Mafia Queen
I spent 365 days scrubbing floors as a waitress to test if my fiancé was a King. He thought I was just Blake, a poor girl with too many bills. He didn't know I was the daughter of the Capo dei Capi, the true owner of the East Coast. But it took only three seconds for him to fail the test. His mistress, Jaden, marched into the restaurant wearing a dress too tight for a place where deals were made in whispers. She treated me like a servant, throwing her keys at my chest. When I refused to bow to her, she slapped a tray of boiling hot tea onto my hand. The pain was blinding. My skin blistered instantly. I waited for Connor to defend me. I waited for him to show honor. Instead, he looked at his investors, panicked, and turned on me. "Apologize, Blake!" he screamed, desperate to keep the peace. "Kneel if you have to! Just make her happy!" He wanted a Queen to kneel to a mistress just to save his fragile ego. He had no idea I was the one holding the deed to his entire territory. I didn't kneel. I dropped his phone into the deep fryer and watched it sizzle. As my father's tactical team kicked down the doors, I untied my dirty apron. "I'm not fired, Connor," I said, watching the blood drain from his face. "I'm the landlord."/0/94869/coverorgin.jpg?v=2f9f3353f1a8f5ae6ff1e20f9e507fee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
His Mafia Queen, My Substitute Heart
My perfect marriage to Don Dante Moretti, the most powerful man in the New York mob, ended the moment my father died. I was twenty-four, pregnant with his heir, and I believed I was his queen. But for two days, while I planned a funeral alone, my husband was unreachable. Then a friend sent me a photo. Dante in London, his hand tangled in the hair of the woman beside him. It was my cousin, Valentina. He came home with lies about a dead phone and a difficult summit. That night, I found his private journal, and my world disintegrated. He had married me because I had "Valentina’s eyes." I was a substitute. Our unborn child wasn't a product of love. It was a project. A girl he planned to name Elena, after Valentina, calling her a "perfect, tiny piece of the woman I can never truly possess." I wasn't his wife. I was a stand-in. The love I felt for him didn't just die. It was murdered. The next morning, I slid a folder across the kitchen island. "Donation forms," I said. He didn't even look before scrawling his signature on what were actually our finalized divorce papers. His arrogance was my weapon. As he slept beside me that night, smelling of lies and my cousin, I made an appointment at a private clinic. He wanted a legacy? I would give him nothing./1/100385/coverorgin.jpg?v=43c8fb1b30200f7584dd07c47c5fd67a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play./0/63398/coverorgin.jpg?v=88fc7e8d0ebd60c45db93d02e714c99c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
You can run but...
He chuckled at her desperate attempt to make the lie believable. "Pretty little liar, your face betrays a lot, sadly" he placed his hand on her cheeks, his face dark "you can't run from me, Maya; no matter how hard you try to, I'll always find you. Even in the deepest part of hell, And when I find you, you get punished according to how long you were away from me, understand?" His tone was so soft and gentle it could have fooled anybody but not her. She could see through him, and She trembled under his touch. "Y-yes, maestro" **** Though her sister commits the crime, Maya Alfredo is turned in by her parents to be punished by the Ruthless Don Damon Xavier for selling information about the Costa Nostra to the police. Her world is overturned and shattered; she is taken to the Don's Manor, where she is owned by him and treated like his plaything, meanwhile knowing his intentions to destroy her. But then things get dark in the Don's Manor, with the presence of Derinem Xavier. Maya doesn't stand a chance in Damon's furnace. Will he destroy her and everything she loves for the sins he thinks she committed? Or does luck have other plans for her? Note- This is a dark romance. Not all lovey-dovey. ML is a psychopath. Trigger warnings!!!/1/103630/coverorgin.jpg?v=1827d4a586d55de8c0d9fc043ea681e5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir
I stood alone at the center of my art gallery opening, clutching a glass of warm champagne, while the guests whispered behind their hands. My husband, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, wasn't there. A breaking news alert on my phone explained why. It was a high-definition photo of Dante shielding his mistress, Isabella, from the rain. He was touching her with a protective possessiveness he had never once shown me. Then came his text: "Isabella needed me. Go home." That was the moment the cage door unlocked. I didn't go home to cry. I went to his office the next morning with a stack of papers disguised as "gallery insurance forms." While Isabella sat on his desk, mocking me for being a boring housewife, Dante was too annoyed to read the fine print. He just wanted me gone so he could get back to her. He signed the divorce decree. He signed the asset dissolution. Most importantly, without looking, he signed the irrevocable relinquishment of parental rights. I walked out with my freedom, but fate had a cruel sense of humor. That night, I stared at a positive pregnancy test. I was carrying the Sovrano heir he had always demanded. And he had just legally signed away his right to ever know his child. I fled to the Swiss Alps, vanishing into the snow to raise my baby away from his world of blood and bullets. I thought I was safe, until six months later. Dante hadn't just sent men to look for me. He had burned his own shipping empire to the ground, destroying his status as King, just to prove he would trade it all for the wife he threw away./0/69563/coverorgin.jpg?v=36bcb7980002931dd2f5a63a2155a8a4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
