Mafia Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
/1/114681/coverorgin.jpg?v=afc98375fb3cbaccbdf70eb3483a4feb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Wrong Call, Claimed by the Bratva Boss (Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance)
I didn't mean to call my boss. I definitely didn't mean to leave a seven-minute voicemail of dirty secrets about him. Working for Ruslan Oryolov is the job from hell. The man is impossible-demanding, arrogant, and way too gorgeous for his own good. After eighteen months of fetching his coffee and swallowing my pride, all I wanted was one night of stress relief. But the billionaire CEO of Bane Corporation isn't just a boss from hell. He's the head of the Oryolov Bratva-and now that he's heard every secret I never meant to share, he's decided to claim me. His contract. His rules. His protection for my three orphaned nieces and nephews-the only reason I'm signing my life away to a man I should fear. He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now he wants my soul./1/118272/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef1066afb645c5518ce83c1a9efb3320&imageMogr2/format/webp)
He Let His Mistress Strip Me
My husband froze my cards in front of Chicago's most ruthless mobsters. Then he let his mistress smash a bottle of wine at my feet-and ordered his men to strip me if I couldn't pay. The room laughed. They called me a useless trophy wife. They had no idea what I had done for him in the shadows. No idea that I wasn't begging for mercy-I was buying time. I borrowed a burner phone and made one call. They thought they were humiliating me. They had thirty minutes to learn just how wrong they were./1/104479/coverorgin.jpg?v=fddc4551dd58a6540ed414f4510ecf2c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
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."/1/120404/coverorgin.jpg?v=e67a7beac081ca4738ac606aa035eabe&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Cold Queen And Her Weeping Don
I was the wife of the city's most ruthless mafia boss, bound to him by a sacred blood oath. For six years, I stood beside Lorenzo Falcone as he built his empire from blood and ash. I believed our bond was unbreakable—until the night I unlocked his private safe. Inside, hidden beneath a false bottom, was a black velvet box. And inside that box was a silver moon pendant engraved with two letters: S&L. Sofia and Lorenzo. Sofia was his most lethal Capo—the architect of his most profitable ventures. The woman he swore was nothing more than a trusted soldier. While I was suffocating in our bulletproof mansion, he had been sharing late-night whispers with her on burner phones. While I lay alone in our bed, he stood on the balcony in the freezing dark, his voice low and urgent, speaking her name into a disposable phone. When I confronted him, the man who could end a bloodline with a flick of his wrist completely crumbled. "I never touched her," he sobbed, his knuckles bleeding as he pounded on my locked door. "I swear on my life—she was only an emotional crutch during the syndicate war. You have to believe me." But belief was a luxury I could no longer afford. For six months, I treated him like a ghost. The terrifying Don who made Capos tremble was reduced to a weeping mess, cooking my meals and standing vigil outside my library door until dawn, begging for a single glance. I couldn't understand how the fiercely loyal soldier, who once carved me a wooden rose with his combat knife, could let another woman into our shadows. Had absolute power completely rotted the man I loved? Or had I simply been blind from the start? When he finally fell to his knees, offering to surrender his entire criminal empire just to stop me from walking away, I made my decision. I wouldn't just give him a clean divorce. I was going to put the head of the Family on trial—and make the entire underworld watch./1/120460/coverorgin.jpg?v=4019122a5e23ed1d8e1ff5faadeb1608&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rejected By Him, Crowned By The Don
For three months, I thought I was the only woman who knew Fabiano’s soul. Then he saw my face — and decided I was worth less than the check he slid across the table. But it was all a clerical error. When we finally met and he saw my plain face, he realized I wasn't the glamorous mafia princess he thought he was talking to. He immediately severed our connection and forced me to help him court her instead, promising a blank check to save my dying grandmother from loan sharks in return. I swallowed my pride and did everything he asked. When my grandmother suddenly needed immediate brain surgery to survive the night, I crashed his VIP party to cash in his promise. Fabiano wrote the check, but his new princess snatched it, poured red wine all over the paper, and threw it in the trash. "You are a jealous, pathetic leech. You are nothing," she spat, laughing in my face. I stood there with my hand frozen in the empty air, looking at Fabiano. The man who once swore he would burn down the city for me just sat there on the leather sofa, watching in complete silence as my grandmother's only lifeline was destroyed. The foolish warmth I carried for him instantly died. I turned around, walked out into the freezing rain, and got into the armored SUV of his biggest rival. This time, I wouldn't beg for scraps; I was going to build my own empire./1/122083/coverorgin.jpg?v=e489e5707c59aaadd76263c7e8c3741e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Betrayed by the Capo, Crowned by the Don
After my father, the Syndicate's most respected Consigliere, died, I was sent to a brutal training camp. My arranged fiancé, Capo Luca, despised me and only wanted to swallow my family's assets. One afternoon, Luca forced me to escort his lower-level mistress, Lucia, to the isolated washroom. Behind a locked stall, she delivered a stillborn baby, covered her hands in blood, and ran out screaming that I had just murdered my own hidden infant to protect my reputation. The entire compound instantly turned against me. Dozens of armed soldiers surrounded me, racking their rifles and roaring for my immediate execution. Luca played the devastated fiancé perfectly, publicly condemning me to death for treason. He swore he had never touched me, using the dead child as proof of my sins so he could legally steal my inheritance. He really thought I was just a helpless pawn. He believed his rank and his twisted lies would easily send me to my grave, allowing him to rule the compound with his mistress. But he didn't know someone far more powerful had slipped me an anonymous warning and a hidden camera that morning. As the Syndicate's legendary and ruthless Don Alessandro arrived to pass judgment, I didn't beg for mercy. I calmly held up the black device. "I don't have to defend myself." "Because the Don just watched your entire setup live on his encrypted server."/1/118982/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f3bd24d937989336c29e09b03c6f33a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Who's Useless Now, Mr. Capo
For six years, I traded my life as the Syndicate's top cryptographer to be a devoted wife to Victor, a powerful Mafia Capo, and a loving mother to our son. But today, outside his elite academy, my six-year-old son looked me in the eye and called me a "useless pig" in flawless Russian. It was the exact curse his father used for his enemies. When I demanded answers, Victor merely rolled his eyes, calling me a hysterical, unappealing housewife who did nothing but sit at home. My mother-in-law openly mocked my weakness, encouraging my son to treat me like a maid. And Victor's mistress boldly texted me, bragging that he had promised her my place the moment I gave birth to my second child. They had poisoned my own blood against me, treating my years of silent sacrifice as an invitation to completely erase me. They truly believed I was just a helpless, pregnant civilian who would swallow their abuse to keep a roof over my head. They forgot that before my world shrank to the size of a drawing-room, I was the one who built the foundations of Victor's empire in the shadows. Looking at the digital evidence of Victor skimming millions from the Syndicate Boss—evidence his foolish mistress had accidentally sent me to taunt me—the last thread of my devotion snapped. I calmly packed my tactical bag, secured the encrypted ledgers, and dialed the ruling Consigliere. "I want a legally binding Severance, and in exchange, I am giving you Victor's head on a platter."/1/104529/coverorgin.jpg?v=c9980e81ba0a8e7c4ad594cbaab927a1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend
For three years, I played the role of the submissive, boring fiancée to pay off a blood debt. My mother gave her kidney to save the Moretti Matriarch, and in return, I was promised to Dante, the heir. A life for a life. I cleaned his estate and wore his ring while he treated me like furniture. But my silence only bought me humiliation. Dante didn't just cheat; he brought his mistress, Roxy, into our home for dinner. He called me a "glorified housekeeper" on a recording and then broke our engagement via an Instagram post, tagging me to ensure the entire underworld saw my shame. When I went to return the family crest, they wanted a show. Roxy mocked me in front of Dante’s soldiers, snatched my mother’s antique jade pendant—the only thing I had left of her—and shattered it on the dirty club floor. Dante laughed, thinking I was helpless. They thought I was a hothouse flower who would faint at the smell of exhaust. They didn't know the "boring" girl had a racing license hidden under the floorboards. They didn't know I was "Ghost," the legendary underground racer they all bet on. Roxy handed me a spectator ticket to the Death Race, telling me to watch how the big boys play. I took the ticket, but I didn't go to the stands. I walked to the starting line, put on my helmet, and decimated the track record. When I took off that helmet in the winner's circle, Dante’s face went pale. And when Lorenzo Falcone, the most dangerous man in the city, stepped out of the shadows to wipe the blood from my hand and claim me as his own, Dante realized the truth. He hadn't just lost a fiancée. He had signed his own death warrant./1/119875/coverorgin.jpg?v=5231c62ce276c5b0632fafd3c99e3813&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Mafia Don's Regret: His Heir Never Existed
On the night of my twenty-fourth birthday, my husband walked into our heavily guarded penthouse with his pregnant childhood friend and demanded a divorce to protect her bastard child—entirely oblivious to the fact that I was carrying his. My posture became a rigid thing at the long mahogany dining table. The wicks of the candles I had spent hours preparing had drowned, leaving greasy craters in the frosting. On the far side of that ruined confection, Christian Cavallaro stood. He was the Don of the Cavallaro Family—a man who had left two rival syndicates cooling on mortuary slabs before his twenty-fifth birthday, whose name was a quiet command that could make hardened men lower their eyes. His dark suits were always tailored to perfection, hiding the lethal weapons and scars beneath. But right now, he was just the man breaking my heart with a single sentence. Serena stood slightly behind him, her hand a pale guard over her still-flat stomach. She was a high-ranking Capo's daughter, a glamorous socialite who had spent the last few years in Europe. Now she was back, pregnant with a child fathered by an outsider from an enemy faction. In our circle, that was a crime punishable by death. Christian took a step closer. His gaze fell to the hollow of my collarbone. In the dim light, his pupils were wide, the shadows obscuring his intent. He told me the syndicate demanded blood for Serena's transgression. The only way to shield her was to give her child the protection of his name. He needed to marry her. My hand moved to my own flat stomach. Beneath my palm was the secret I had planned to share tonight—the tiny heartbeat I had imagined would complete our fractured family. A sudden, glacial clarity settled in my bones. I looked at the man who had pulled me out of the blood and trauma of my parents' assassination ten years ago. They had been loyal soldiers, dying to take bullets meant for his father. In return, I had been made a ward of the estate. A decade of devotion, bartered for this. I had folded my medical school acceptance letter and tucked it away to become a silent, suitable wife. I had weathered his mother's remarks about my low-ranking blood, learning to arrange my face into a serene mask. I had thought my devotion would eventually thaw his cold exterior. I was wrong. Christian reiterated the necessity of the divorce. He said it was only a temporary measure. I looked at Serena, and saw the smirk that flickered for an instant behind her sculpted mask of fear. I realized then that bringing a child into this penthouse—where any window might splinter inward from a sniper's bullet—would be a life sentence. My baby would be born into a cage of paranoia and blood, with Serena's poisoned presence a permanent threat. If I revealed my condition now, his child would forever chain me to his syndicate. I would never be free. Neither would my child. I lowered my hand from my stomach and folded it over my other hand on the table. I looked directly into my husband's eyes, and I told him I agreed to the divorce./1/104949/coverorgin.jpg?v=7965f014a2909df8b41e432fa0c14700&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Marrying The Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Mafia Brother
My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention. He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor. I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don. "The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly. An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion. He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement. For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple. "Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her." As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman. Then, the steel door detonated. Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive./1/120762/coverorgin.jpg?v=60a73b2b255f50cd8e5014e366a4395a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Coldhearted Don And His Powerful Queen
For five years, I bled for my fiancée, Elena. I drained my personal accounts to settle her family's ruinous debts and built a fortified estate to keep her safe from rival mafia families. But as I stood at the altar, she video-called me from a hotel in Iceland, demanding I cancel the ceremony. She was busy comforting Julian, a manipulative parasite who faked panic attacks to keep her attention. She had previously slapped our marriage papers from my hand, refusing to sign them because it would upset him. "You are choosing your mafia pride over a victim's sanity." Watching her bleed with sympathy for a fraud, the warmth I held for her for five years drained out of me like water from a cracked vessel. She smiled smugly through the screen, completely certain that my love was an infinite resource she could exploit forever, believing I would never have the guts to abandon her. So, I didn't cancel the ceremony. I turned to the woman standing beside me—Celeste, the ruthless heiress of the Sinclair syndicate. "I do." I married Celeste, merged our syndicates, and when Elena later embezzled three million dollars from my accounts to buy Julian an art gallery, I didn't protect her. I transferred her massive debt directly to the unforgiving Sinclair enforcers, permanently blacklisted her number, and left her to face the wolves alone./1/119768/coverorgin.jpg?v=95f158b08aa895c0639d35820ff598d0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Jilted Ex-Wife Is A Mafia Boss
For five long years, I hid the truth about my mother in our basement, pretending she was just locked in the safehouse. My father, a ruthless mafia Capo, thought she was just throwing a bitter tantrum. To protect his mistress's illegitimate daughter, he decided to marry me off as collateral to a rival cartel. When I refused, the mistress framed me, crying that my mother and I were doing dark magic in the basement to curse her unborn twins. My father flew into a blind rage. "Strip her and give her fifty lashes in the snow. Let's see how long her mother can hold out!" He ordered his men to beat me with a salt-soaked leather whip. I was twelve years old. My skin was shredded, my fever spiked to 104 degrees, and I was pronounced dead before the cartel's convoy even reached the hospital. Until my last breath, my father kept staring at the safehouse door, waiting for my mother to come out and save me. He didn't know the woman he was trying to punish had been forced to drink poison by his precious mistress five years ago. He didn't know I had endured his brutal abuse just to guard my mother's secret. What he never imagined was that my mother didn't die that night. She escaped. She rebuilt herself from nothing. And while my father was still screaming at a ghost, she had already conquered an empire of her own. When I opened my eyes again, the biting winter cold was gone. I was lying in a warm bed, bandaged and alive. And standing right in front of me, wearing a sharp suit and ruling the city's underworld as a Mafia Queen, was my mother./1/119743/coverorgin.jpg?v=30c54e505488c10020698a2e25c9e487&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rejected By Blood, Crowned By The Don
On my eighteenth birthday, my mafia parents exiled me from our estate, freezing my bank accounts and leaving me with exactly thirty-two dollars. They demanded I crawl back and kneel before my older sister Isabella, or they would strip my Famiglia protection and let the syndicate's wolves tear me apart. I managed to find a safe haven sweeping floors for Donna Rosa, a revered underworld Matriarch, but my family refused to let me escape their grip. When my university acceptance letter accidentally arrived at their compound, I went back to claim my only ticket to a clean life. My mother slapped me hard across the face, while Isabella poured scalding coffee over the document, destroying my future with a smug, triumphant laugh. When Rosa stepped in to shield me, my father hurled a heavy crystal decanter at her, and my parents violently shoved the elderly woman until her head cracked open against a stone pillar. As bright red blood pooled on the white marble, my parents didn't even check if she was breathing. "She's a human trafficker trying to steal our property, and you are nothing but a deceitful bitch!" I stared at the people I once called family, sickened by the realization that their love was just a leash, and to them, I was nothing but an asset to be liquidated for Isabella's benefit. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone, shattered the unforgiving law of Omerta, and dialed the Don's emergency line to report my own bloodline./1/104527/coverorgin.jpg?v=97747f34ed966eac12b93bb6cfbe3d24&imageMogr2/format/webp)
You Said Die Quietly, So I Did
The doctor told me I had thirty days to live. Exactly ten minutes later, my husband told me his mistress was pregnant. I sat in the cold marble living room of the Vitiello estate, watching Dante pace. He was the Capo of Chicago, the man I used to stitch up in a bathroom when we had nothing. Now, he looked at me with dead eyes. "Sienna is moving in," he said casually. "She carries the heir. You will raise him." He treated the destruction of our marriage like a business arrangement. I tried to tell him about the pain eating my insides, the Stage IV cancer that made standing agony. But he just rolled his eyes, calling my weakness "jealousy" and my silence "theatrics." He even gutted our first home—the safe house where we fell in love—to build a nursery for her. When I finally asked him, "What if I'm dying?" he didn't even pause on his way out the door. "Then do it quietly," he said. "I have enough headaches today." So I did. I burned every photo of us. I signed the divorce papers. And I went to a civilian cemetery to buy a plot under my maiden name, far away from his family mausoleum. I died alone on a cold stone bench, just as he asked. It wasn't until he stood in the morgue, holding my skeletal hand and realizing I weighed nothing but bones and grief, that the King of Chicago finally broke. He found my journal in the trash, where I had written my final entry: "I wish I never met Dante Vitiello." Now, he is on his knees in the dirt, begging a headstone for forgiveness that will never come./1/120765/coverorgin.jpg?v=d59b076a35a5a12b34b66074ba86442c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Runaway Sister's Abandoned Mafia Heir
My sister abandoned her newborn baby at a hospital and fled the country. The father was Dante, the absolute sovereign of the city's underworld. My mother frantically ordered me to hide the child to save our skins. But I refused to cower. I took the baby straight to the Mafia Don's fortress and demanded he take responsibility. For the first critical days of the baby's life, I was the only one there. I paced my rundown apartment with a sick infant, spending my last savings, while my sister was living it up in Vancouver with her offshore money. But months later, when Dante officially claimed the boy and placed us under his ultimate protection, my sister and mother suddenly came back. They put on a pathetic weeping act in Dante's office. "I just want my son back. I was just so scared," my sister sobbed, demanding custody of the Mafia heir. My own mother had actually helped her pack, advising her to dump the baby on me so she could escape. Now, seeing Dante's limitless wealth, they wanted to reap the rewards. They treated me like a disposable pawn, expecting me to quietly hand over the child I had saved. How could my own blood be so shamelessly greedy? But they underestimated me, and they underestimated the Don. Looking at the ruthless Mafia boss, I calmly exposed their treason, forcing his final judgment. This time, I was claiming my place./1/119604/coverorgin.jpg?v=a5227615face6fc942d92d10918a22e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Regretful Don: The Queen You Threw Away
I was the Gold-Tier Fixer of the syndicate, promised to the lethal Underboss, Dante. We had bled on the same battlefields to conquer the eastern seaboard. But ever since he took in his new mentee, Mia, I became invisible. For three years, he canceled our Mafia Blood Oath seventeen different times to be by her side. On our third engagement anniversary, he rushed home at noon not to see me, but to grab a bespoke diamond necklace for Mia's birthday. When he finally returned late at night, he tossed a cheap, last-minute duplicate purse on my table. "I need you to step down from your position as Gold-Tier Fixer and give the title to Mia," he said, his voice laced with absolute entitlement. "Let her have it." Before I could even respond, Mia called about a minor security issue, and he immediately headed for the door, swearing we would finally take our vows the next morning. I stared at the two identical bags sitting untouched in my closet, realizing every gift he ever gave me was thoughtless garbage compared to the treasures he showered on her. I had spent eight years smelling of unscented soap just to please him, yet he let the heavy scent of Mia's roses soak right into his collar. I was a fool squandering my talents on a man who had already buried our vows. The next morning, I didn't go to the sanctuary. I dropped my resignation papers on the Capo's desk, permanently blocked Dante's number, and boarded a one-way flight to Paris. This time, I chose to build an empire for myself./1/110270/coverorgin.jpg?v=15a044687e19957b3ffcbd3812f52eec&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late To Love: The Don's Dying Wife
At my boyfriend's poorest moment, I suddenly broke up with him. Later, he became a Don in the Mafia and married me by any means necessary. Everyone said he loved me to the bone. But every night, he brought different women home, deliberately trying to provoke me. I asked no questions, shed no tears, and never disturbed his trysts with his mistresses. He went crazy with rage instead, kissing me fiercely and demanding, "Why aren't you jealous?" He didn't know I was sick. Dying. While he was furiously taking his revenge on me, I was slowly walking toward death./1/119729/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260611165813&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Ruthless Mafia Ex-Husband Begs For Mercy
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./0/96398/coverorgin.jpg?v=d61ebc5066575fbe167d28d73f8d2623&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Mafia Wife's Revenge: Unleashing My Fury
For five years, I lived a beautiful lie. I was Aliana Hughes, the cherished wife of the city's most feared Mafia Capo and the beloved daughter of the Don. I believed my arranged marriage had blossomed into love. On my birthday, my husband promised me the amusement park. Instead, I found him there with his other family, celebrating the fifth birthday of the son I never knew he had. I overheard their plan. My husband called me a "naive fool," a placeholder to legitimize his secret son. The ultimate betrayal wasn't his affair, but the sight of my own father's car parked across the street. My family wasn't just aware; they were the architects of my ruin. Back home, I found the proof: a secret photo album of my husband's other family posing with my parents, and records showing my father had bankrolled the entire deception. They had even drugged me on weekends so he could play happy family. The grief didn't break me. It turned into something cold and sharp. I was a ghost in a life that was never mine, and a ghost has nothing to lose. I copied every damning file onto a USB drive. As they celebrated their perfect day, I sent a courier with my parting gift: a recording of their treachery. While their world burned, I walked toward the airport, ready to erase myself and start over./1/121242/coverorgin.jpg?v=1f64375727756bda6a8ccadba1647639&imageMogr2/format/webp)
