Mafia Books for Women
Bestsellers Ongoing Completed
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No Forgiveness For The Ruthless Mafia Don
Prologue At our third-anniversary party, my husband’s childhood sweetheart, Livia, pushed me into the pool. I had been terrified of water all my life, and the life ring was drifting just in front of my hand. And then Livia reached out and pulled it away, hugging it to her chest, while my husband Dante lifted his phone and started recording. Dante did not even look down. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “The water’s barely two meters deep, and you took that diving course last year.” And so I was left alone in that black, freezing water, punishment for being “disobedient” in his eyes. What he did not know was that I was already carrying his child. He did not know yet what he had done. I, long since peeled free of my flesh, was floating quietly above his head, watching him. This time, all that was left in me was a dead, flat silence. To stand aside and watch him drown, step by step, in the hell he had built with his own hands — that was the only thing I wanted./1/134989/coverorgin.jpg?v=4fd304bfd351470ced6ee833cab24595&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Jilted Mafia Queen: Ruling The North
I grew up with four mafia heirs, taking a sacred blood oath at ten years old that we would never abandon each other. I was supposed to be their Mafia Queen. But the moment a fragile, trembling girl named Lyra appeared, they threw me away. To give her my Ivy League slot, my fiancé Damian forced me to sign a permanent defection contract to the freezing North. When Lyra cried fake tears and framed me for stealing, the four men I loved didn't hesitate to turn on me. They violently twisted my arms, tore my room apart, and permanently deleted all my childhood videos—the only memories I had left of my dead parents. "You do not exist in this Family anymore," Damian threatened coldly. My heart died in that exact moment. I had turned down prestigious Northern commissions twice just to stay by their side, sacrificing my dreams for our vow, only to be erased without a single question. When the armored extraction vehicle arrived, I calmly took off my promise ring and threw away our blood oath crest. I crossed the border and permanently severed our bond without looking back. Five years later, when the future Don knelt in the dirt begging me to come home, I looked at him with absolute indifference. "What is given away is no longer wanted."/1/135368/coverorgin.jpg?v=7bd0b4c19487ba12c9706de0446012ef&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Divorcing The Don: I Am Free Now
Lorenzo loved proving to the Underworld how desperately I loved him. So, on every anniversary, he presented me with fake divorce papers, betting with his Capos on the exact minute I would break down and beg him to stay. In our first year, he slid the Syndicate Severance Decree across the mahogany table with a cruel smirk. "If you don't care about me, sign it." I cried and tore the document to shreds. He pulled me into his arms in front of all his men. "I knew it. You cannot bear to leave me." In our second year, he let Gianna—his childhood friend and the Consigliere's daughter—sit right beside him. He looked at my pale face and asked, "What would you do if she actually became the new Donna?" With red eyes, I begged him to stop playing these twisted games. He simply kissed my forehead, his voice dripping with arrogant satisfaction. "Look at you. You really cannot live without me." In our third year, he had his ruthless Syndicate Fixer publicly read another fake decree. He forced me to declare in front of the entire Family, "I will never leave you, Lorenzo." His men secretly recorded my traumatic panic attacks. They cataloged my tears, using my breakdowns to entertain their underground betting ring. Until our eighth anniversary. The Fixer slid the documents toward me once again. But this time, the decree was real. Lorenzo had already signed his name on the dotted line. Gianna sat intimately close to him, asking in a soft, carrying whisper, "Once this little game is over, can I finally be the Donna?" Lorenzo looked at me with absolute certainty, waiting for my usual breakdown. "As long as you drop to your knees and beg like you always do, this decree will not take effect." Everyone in the room held their breath, waiting for me to tear the papers and throw myself into his arms. Instead, I calmly picked up a black pen and signed my name on the very last page. The arrogant smile on Lorenzo's face slowly froze. I pushed the finalized decree back to him and slid the heavy, diamond-encrusted Mafia wedding band off my finger. "She can stay," I said, my voice eerily steady. "And you can find someone else to prove their love for your sick bets." Because my love for him was dead./1/110205/coverorgin.jpg?v=601e654ea2c5fdd60eeddb011bdb9433&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Three days before the wedding. I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman. Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress. The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem. It didn't spell Elena. It read Sofia. He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name. Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife. He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance. I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared. "The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?" "Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport." "Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys." I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday. He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead./1/104523/coverorgin.jpg?v=76fb812335981d8aac82c7be5ebd7d90&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Jilted Bride Marries The Ruthless Capo
I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."/1/110133/coverorgin.jpg?v=9142bb3a6808633fa9ccf90bfa9693d1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone
"Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the separation agreement across the mahogany desk. It was the eighteenth time in five years I had signed these papers. Matteo De Luca, the most ruthless Capo in New York, checked his Rolex with cold impatience. "Sign it, Sera. Bianca is on the ledge again. She needs to see we're over, or she jumps." Bianca. The ward. The broken bird. The woman whose fragile psyche dictated every moment of my marriage. I signed my name, and he left me alone on our anniversary to save her. Again. But saving her wasn't enough. When Bianca pushed me down a flight of marble stairs in a fit of jealous rage, shattering my spine and leaving me paralyzed, I thought Matteo would finally choose me. I was wrong. I woke up in the hospital to find him holding her hand, not mine. "The security footage has been wiped," he told me, his voice void of emotion. "We cannot have a scandal. You fell, Sera. That is the story." He erased the truth. He erased my pain. He protected the woman who crippled me over his own wife. Two months later, he wheeled me into a gala, playing the doting husband while I sat in the chair that was my prison. He didn't know I had a burner phone hidden in my velvet dress. He didn't know that tonight, the obedient wife was going to die on the pavement, and a ghost would rise in her place. I looked at him one last time and dropped the phone in his lap. "I hope she's worth it."/1/135287/coverorgin.jpg?v=836f26c6c69edfa860a3d8c517b091a5&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Dead At The Altar: The Don's Regret
On the day of my wedding to the mafia godfather, Bianca—the orphaned daughter of my fiancé's mentor—blocked my way and forced a glass of hard liquor on me. "Drink this to honor the elders of the underworld, and big sister's wedding will go off without a hitch." I was severely allergic to alcohol and refused with a smile. To my surprise, Bianca's eyes instantly brimmed with tears. My fiancé Dante's smile vanished. He pressed the glass to my lips: "Stop faking jealousy and telling lies over something this trivial. Drink it, then apologize to Bianca right now." My brother pinned me down, and my best friend forced the liquor down my throat. Just like that, I suffocated to death on my fiancé's back. As a ghost, I could only watch as that vicious ward slapped my corpse and smothered the angry allergic rash spreading across my body under layer after layer of heavy foundation. I screamed myself hoarse trying to tell everyone I was already dead, but not a sound came from my throat. All I could do was watch, in an agony of dead silence, as the very people who had sworn to protect me for life blindly pushed me into the abyss. Just as Dante was about to lift my wedding veil— My soul circled coldly in the air above, my heart utterly still: This wedding was about to become a funeral./1/135357/coverorgin.jpg?v=75084469f42ca2fee4269dae6f9298d3&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Shattered Vows: Escaping My Mafia Husband
On our wedding day, my brother made a joke. "For every minute the groom is late, he pays five hundred dollars!" Enzo, the city's most feared mafia Don, was six minutes late. He laughed and handed over three thousand dollars in cash without blinking. Seeing his generosity, my father confidently entrusted my life to him. But the moment the wedding ring was on my finger, Enzo looked at me with a dark, chilling smile. "Your family likes this game, right?" he whispered coldly. "From now on, every minute you are late, I deduct five hundred dollars from your allowance." Year one: I was three minutes late to a Syndicate dinner. He deducted fifteen hundred dollars. Year two: I was twelve minutes late to my doctor's appointment. He deducted six thousand dollars. Year four: On our anniversary, my father suffered a massive brain hemorrhage. I rushed him to the hospital in the pouring rain and arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late. Enzo glanced at the cold steak on the table and smirked. "Twenty thousand dollars. It comes out of your account tomorrow." I didn't argue. I just nodded. When we got home, he carelessly tossed his tablet to me, asking me to check the parking fee. But the moment the screen unlocked, a new notification popped up. [Transferred $5,000 to Valentina. Memo: An apology for making you wait ten minutes.] My hands trembled as I opened his chat history. When she was one minute late for their date, he sent her five hundred dollars. When she didn't show up at the hotel, he wired her ten thousand to coax her. And this very afternoon, while I was begging the doctors to save my dying father, Enzo was in a luxury suite, paying his mistress an apology fee. Scrolling up, I found over a thousand transactions for custom lingerie and luxury hotels, dating back six years. He had been with her two years before he even married me. The next morning, I wired him the exact twenty thousand dollars for my anniversary fine. Then, I booked a Syndicate severance lawyer./1/112629/coverorgin.jpg?v=a19aa95cd9de58e3f143db2df60707ca&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly. Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!" "You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now." "Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him. Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly. "I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly. She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud. "Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!" "You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine." "I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!" Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked. Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly. Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..." "I can't," he whispered. And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her. *************** Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark. But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den. The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows. Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive. Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?/1/100386/coverorgin.jpg?v=87c9b5906bb82e9d441383d9fe57406b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Capo's Regret: The Curse Was A Lie
For fifteen years, my husband Bennett refused to let me get pregnant. "My blood is a curse, Kelsey," he would say, gripping my hand with terrified intensity. "It kills the women who carry it. I won't risk you." I believed him. I mourned the children we never had just to stay alive for him. Then he brought Aria home. He claimed she was a distant cousin in trouble. But from the shadows of the ballroom, I watched him caress her swollen belly with a tenderness he never showed me. When I confronted him, the mask fell. "You provide the image, Kelsey," he said coldly. "She provides the bloodline. Do not make a scene." To teach me a lesson in obedience, my horse's reins were sabotaged. I woke up in the hospital with a fractured leg, only to learn he had ignored my emergency calls to hold Aria’s hand during a routine ultrasound. Lying in that sterile bed, the truth hit me harder than the fall. There was no curse. He had medically gaslighted me for a decade, stealing my fertility with a lie, just to replace me with a mistress he called "cousin." He thought he had broken me. He thought I would fade quietly into the east wing. Instead, I wiped my tears and planted listening devices in his office. He wanted a legacy? I boarded a train to Paris, leaving behind a bomb that would burn his entire world to ash./0/96394/coverorgin.jpg?v=1c658151d6984acf5a1df9673906504e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Mafia Princess: Escaping His Deadly Lie
For three years, a rare liver disease has been killing me. Through it all, my husband Julian has been my rock. Our last hope was a black-market liver, secured through a life-debt owed to my family, the Volkov Bratva. But from my hospital bed, I overheard him promise that very liver to another woman. It was for his mistress's mother. I soon discovered he had a four-year-old daughter with her. Their family was established; I was just the placeholder. On a hidden security feed, I watched him in my dead parents' penthouse—a sacred place he forbade me from visiting—bouncing their child on his knee. Then he fastened the diamond necklace he'd bought for my birthday around his mistress's neck. The final blow came when I heard her whisper, "Just a little longer... the fever will do the rest." He wasn't just leaving me. He was actively trying to kill me. The love I had for him didn't just die; it turned to a cold, hard stone in my chest. The man whose devotion I never questioned now made my skin crawl with revulsion. The next morning, I signed myself out of the hospital against medical advice. I left my wedding ring and the signed divorce papers on the entryway table, blocked his number, and walked out of our house without looking back./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./0/97866/coverorgin.jpg?v=f013275ce4b74d1ffa48ca217e847834&imageMogr2/format/webp)
She Returned: A Mafia Boss’s Nightmare
The man who swore he would burn the world down for me has been married to another woman for three years. I found out the day I was finally discharged from the Swiss clinic he'd sent me to. I flew home to surprise him, only to discover my release was a year overdue. He had forged my medical reports, painting me as a fragile, broken thing just to keep me locked away while he built a new life. His new wife, Isabella, hit me with her car. He defended her, calling me hysterical. She stole my art portfolio and claimed it as her own, and he forced me to take the blame to protect his family's reputation. She even killed her own puppy to frame me. While I jumped into a freezing river to retrieve my father's medallion that she'd thrown in, he stood on the terrace pointing out a meteor shower to her. The final betrayal came when Isabella faked her own kidnapping and named me as the culprit. I didn't understand. This was Dante Moretti, the Devil of the East Coast, my guardian, the man who had sworn to be my shield. Why was he letting this woman destroy me piece by piece? Believing I was the kidnapper, he had me tied to a helicopter, dragged across a field, and left me for dead. But I didn't die. I survived. Five years later, I have a new name, a new life, and a husband who loves me. And today, I just ran into Dante on the street. He looked at me like he'd seen a ghost./1/102846/coverorgin.jpg?v=908e149594baa7be84666aeb893c7ade&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit
I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra. But the man beside me—Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York—had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right. She wasn't his fiancée. I was. The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up." He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush. To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture—a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting. So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home. I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet. On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war." By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life./1/116781/coverorgin.jpg?v=c218501234d925a5eb22d42845cec70c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Tears For My Cold Mafia Husband
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./0/96393/coverorgin.jpg?v=fca99e20a68470111ed3f361d71998e8&imageMogr2/format/webp)
My Mafia Husband's Deadly Secret
For years, I was the perfect, quiet wife to Dante Moretti, the most feared Mafia Don in New York. I mistook his lavish gifts for affection and his cold protection for care. The ninety-ninth time I asked for a divorce, he laughed. An hour later, his mistress, Isabella, called him. "Get out," he ordered, leaving me on a dark street corner in the pouring rain so he could rush to her side. As I watched his armored car vanish, I finally understood the truth. Our marriage was a transaction, a pact made to settle my father's debts. I was just a placeholder, a substitute living a life designed for Isabella. Every gift, every gesture, was an echo of her tastes. He never saw me. To him, I wasn't his wife; I was a possession. An obligation he could discard at will. He thought I was too weak, too dependent to ever fight back. He believed I couldn't survive without him. He thought I would just run and hide. He was wrong. You don't escape a man like Dante Moretti. He would hunt you to the ends of the earth, not out of love, but out of pride. To break a pact with a Don, you can't just run. You have to be prepared for war. And standing there, drenched and abandoned, I made a new vow: I wouldn't just leave him. I would burn his entire world to ash./1/121282/coverorgin.jpg?v=54a5535f177026f1fa35ed72459078db&imageMogr2/format/webp)
No Mercy For My Mafia Fiancé
During a massive syndicate attack, my fiancé, the most ruthless Mafia Capo, locked his grip on my wrist like an iron vice. He desperately wanted to drag me into a corner panic room to protect Bianca, the innocent underworld socialite he secretly obsessed over. In my past life, I saved him with my body—and he rewarded me with a crippled leg, years of disgust, and a push off a cliff. He believed her lies, and he murdered me for them. Opening my eyes again, I was reborn to the exact moment the safehouse was under attack. This time, I let him walk willingly into his own concrete tomb./1/104846/coverorgin.jpg?v=44b791258eec8eb9a3b8705d81af3d5b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Revenge Is Sweet: Marrying His Worst Enemy
I was staring at the two pink lines on the plastic stick, trembling with the terrifying joy of carrying the heir to the New York underworld’s most ruthless faction. Then the intercom buzzed, and a voice splintered my world. "The little art student actually thinks I'm going to marry her? It was just a game to pass the time while you were in Europe, Estella." I froze. My boyfriend, Holden, was in the next room, laughing with the daughter of his rival. He explained that I was just a "clean civilian image" he needed to secure a business deal. Now that the deal was signed, he was dumping the "stray" to marry the "Queen." I tried to run, but freedom only lasted forty-eight hours. Holden didn't just break my heart; he turned my terror into content. He kidnapped me, tied me to a chair at the edge of a cliff, and forced me to choose between my life and his new fiancée's. Then, he pushed me off the edge. As gravity snatched me, I heard him laughing. I landed on a stunt airbag. It was just a "social experiment." A sick prank for his amusement. "Don't be so dramatic, Kenia," he called down. "It's just a game." He thought I was broken. He thought I was just a prop in his life. But he forgot that I knew his secrets. I dragged my injured body to a payphone and dialed the one number Holden told me to fear—the rival Don, Gael Simpson. "It's Kenia," I whispered, clutching the receiver like a lifeline. "I'm calling in the debt."/1/102819/coverorgin.jpg?v=a617482dc12f331777919667aac45637&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Betrayed Rose Rises Anew
He called me his wild rose, the foster kid he rescued from the streets. He built me a gilded cage and told me it was love. Then I saw the text: my best friend, Karis, showing off the engagement ring he' d just given her. I rushed to his office, only to overhear the truth. I was just a "placeholder," a "stray he picked up," a useful toy to keep his family happy while he planned his real future with her. He laughed about how easily he could control me. "A little gaslighting, a few well-placed gifts, and she'll be back where she belongs. Under my thumb." His final act of love? Drugging me and handing me over to a monster, sacrificing me as a "body double" to protect his precious Karis. He thought I was just a broken foster kid with nowhere to go. He thought he could erase me. He was wrong. As the private jet he put me on exploded over the ocean, I was already gone-saved by the powerful family I never knew I had. Now, I'm coming back, and they will pay for every single lie./1/120401/coverorgin.jpg?v=815ec2c8b02621cb78ddc710081defcc&imageMogr2/format/webp)
