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Mafia Books for Women

Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
The Gambler's Wife: A Blood Betrayal

The Gambler's Wife: A Blood Betrayal

The delivery room was cold, the sterile white walls closing in on me as my newborn son, Leo, fought for every breath down the hall. Then my husband, Liam, called, his voice a panicked whisper: "Ava, I'm in big trouble. I owe six point sixty-six million dollars to 'The Gambler.' If I don't pay, he'll kill me." I emptied our savings, sold my father's cherished comic collection, maxed out high-interest loans, and worked myself to the bone for four agonizing years while Leo battled his own health issues. I even sold my blood, twice a week, because Liam said it was the only thing keeping him alive, that we shared a rare blood type. Finally, I had the money. But when I delivered the duffel bag of cash, "The Gambler's" henchman told me the price had gone up to sixteen point sixty-six million, showing me video proof of Liam being tortured, screaming in agony. Then I walked into a lavish VIP room, ready to beg for his life, only to find Liam, unbruised and in an expensive suit, draped around a stunning woman who looked eerily like me. He wasn't tortured. He was The Gambler. "The blood wasn't for him, darling," his mistress, Scarlett, purred, "It was for me. I needed a little 'top-up.' You were a walking blood bank." My sacrifices, my love, my life-all a lie. He looked at me, a hollowed-out wreck, and called me a failed "evaluation." Then, he threw a pittance of my own money on the floor: "Now get out. You're not welcome here anymore." My world shattered. My son was sick, fighting for his life, and my husband didn't just not care, he was the monster who had profited from our agony. But when he demanded I continue to be his mistress's blood bank, even as Leo lay dying in the hospital, something inside me snapped. "The blood bank is closed. Permanently," I told him, hanging up the phone. He sent his thugs to the hospital to take Leo. My son, my dying son, was just another resource to him. "Mommy?" Leo's tiny voice echoed over the walkie-talkie, Liam's phone still connected to the thugs. "Is... is Daddy there?" That pure, innocent question, crashing through Liam's carefully constructed lie, was all the opening I needed. My son was gone, taken by the man who was supposed to protect him. Now, I would watch Liam's world burn.
Burned Alive, Reborn Anew

Burned Alive, Reborn Anew

The smell of gasoline and burning flesh clung to my last breath, a horrific perfume of my own end. My wife, Olivia, and her grandmother, the woman I' d sacrificed everything to save, celebrated my agonizing death. "You staged the kidnapping, you killed my lover and my son, how dare you still be alive!" Olivia shrieked, as flames licked at the cage they' d locked me in. Her grandmother, my supposed savior, added, "You couldn' t give me a child, so you targeted my grandson, I' ll teach you a lesson you\'ll never forget!" I died watching them smile, consumed by fire, bewildered by their monstrous accusations. I had given my family' s entire fortune to rescue her grandmother, even taken multiple stab wounds in the process. The media had hailed me as a hero, "the ultimate proof of our love," but it meant nothing to them. Olivia' s lover, Ethan Hayes, jealous of the attention, had tragically drowned with their son, Lucas, and they blamed me. They smiled as I burned alive, a fool who gave everything and received only contempt. Then, a frantic, insistent ringing pierced the fiery memory. My eyes snapped open. I wasn't in a burning cage; I was in my bed, the one I shared with Olivia. The calendar on my phone screamed a terrifying truth: it was the fifth anniversary of my marriage, the very day her grandmother was kidnapped. I was back, forced to relive the nightmare. But this time, I wouldn't be the fuel for their fire. I silenced the phone, the urgent ringing of the kidnappers cut short. This time, their fate was their own.
The Disposable Bride's Deadly Secret Identity

The Disposable Bride's Deadly Secret Identity

My debt-ridden uncle sold me to the Romero mafia family to save his own skin. I was forced to marry Emiliano Romero, a man known to the underworld as "The Ghost"—a rumored monster who supposedly tore his last two caretakers apart. My aunt and cousin delighted in my misery. My cousin came at me with a razor, leaving a nasty bruise on my face, while my aunt bleached my hair to make me look like a cheap, disposable doll. When the Romeros arrived, they didn't even pretend to want a daughter-in-law. "The Family needs a nobody whose death won't start a police report." They just wanted a clueless victim to sign a pre-nup and die quietly. They shoved me down a sterile hallway and locked me inside a fortified, padded cell with a man wrapped in heavy chains. They all thought they were sacrificing a helpless, terrified lamb to a madman. They laughed at my tears, completely convinced I was just gutter trash waiting to be slaughtered. But they had no idea I was a highly trained undercover operative. Listening to their arrogant whispers, the pieces finally clicked. Emiliano wasn't a deranged killer—he was a prisoner being drugged and framed by his own blood. I drained my uncle's bank account to buy a neurotoxin antidote, dropped my pathetic, trembling disguise, and stepped calmly into the monster's cage. I wasn't here to be their victim. I was here to save him.
His Unwanted Fiancée Was His True Savior

His Unwanted Fiancée Was His True Savior

I was standing in five thousand dollars of hand-stitched lace when I received the medical report. My fiancé, Dante de Rossi, the future Don of Chicago, had gotten another woman pregnant. He didn't apologize. He didn't beg. He looked me in the eye and called it a "strategic necessity." "Isobel saved my life five years ago," he said coldly. "I owe her this child. You will raise it as your own. It is the price of the Peace Treaty." He forced me to cancel our engagement photos so he could take them with her. He took her on the vacation meant for our honeymoon. At dinner, he ordered me the seafood risotto, completely forgetting my deadly shellfish allergy, while fussing over Isobel’s water temperature. When I tried to leave, he cornered me. "You are a mob wife, Nina. Act like one. She is the hero who saved me." I wanted to laugh. Because five years ago, in that alley, Isobel wasn't even there. I was the one in the mask. I was the one who stitched his femoral artery and saved his life, risking my own medical license. He was destroying our twenty-year relationship to pay a debt to a liar. I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I simply picked up a red marker and walked to the calendar. On the day of our wedding, while Dante stood at the altar waiting for his obedient Queen, I was already boarding a one-way flight to the other side of the world. I left him nothing but four words scrawled across the date: "Let's break up, Dante."