Rafaela Kokkotou
9 Published Stories
Rafaela Kokkotou's Books and Stories
He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen
Mafia I was polishing a diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard the truth.
My fiancé, the ruthless Don Dante Moretti, was telling his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account.
But it wasn't until the accident that I understood the depth of his cruelty.
While training in the estate gym, a support cable snapped. I fell twenty feet, shattering my leg on impact.
Through the haze of blinding pain, I waited for Dante to save me.
Instead, he rushed to his mistress, Livia—the woman who had cut the wire.
He held her close, soothing her because the loud noise had "startled" her, while I lay broken and bleeding on the floor.
"She won't die," I heard him whisper to her later. "Pain is a good teacher."
My love for him turned to ice in that moment. He didn't just want my father's money; he was letting her plan my assassination to get it.
They thought I was just a porcelain doll to be discarded once the wedding contracts were signed.
They forgot that even a pawn can kill a king.
I wiped the tears from my face and walked straight into the territory of the Valenti Syndicate—Dante's sworn enemy.
"I don't want protection," I told the rival Don, placing the surveillance evidence on his table.
"I want to burn his entire dynasty to the ground." Betrayed For A Fake Heir: The Wife's Exit
Mafia At the auction, my husband raised his paddle and bid five million dollars on the only keepsake I had left of my dead mother.
But he didn't buy the sapphire necklace for me.
He handed the velvet box to his pregnant mistress, Mia, right in front of the entire New York underworld.
When I reached for it, Mia faked a stumble.
Dante moved with the speed of a predator. He shoved me hard to clear space for her.
My body slammed into a marble pillar, shattering my hip, while he scooped her up and carried her out, stepping over my dress without a single glance.
That was only the beginning.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her during a false emergency.
He exiled me to a freezing cabin with no heat, leaving me to be buried alive in an avalanche while he comforted her over a lie.
Lying in the hospital bed after surviving the snow, I realized I no longer hated him.
Hate is passion. Hate implies he still matters.
I felt nothing but a cold, heavy silence.
So when he finally left the house to hunt down the truth about Mia’s baby, I didn't wait for his apology.
I left my wedding ring on the bathroom counter.
I dropped my phone into a sewer grate.
By the time the Dragon of New York realized his wife was gone, I was already in Seattle, painting a new life where monsters couldn't find me. Love, Lies, And A Second Life
Horror The air in the room was stale, thick with the smell of antiseptic and despair.
They told me I was sick, that grief had broken my mind.
My mother-in-law, Martha, would visit, her concern a chilling mask, whispering to doctors how I was hallucinating, a danger to myself and my son, Billy.
"She doesn' t understand that David is gone," she' d insist, loud enough for me to hear.
But the real horror wasn't my madness; it was the truth.
Three days after my husband, David, a decorated police officer, was supposedly killed, I stood at his memorial, expected to mourn.
The man in the casket wasn't David.
It was Mark, his identical twin, missing the faded scar David always had.
That night, I found David, not dead, but alive in our summer cabin, with his childhood sweetheart, Emily Peterson.
He confessed it all with chilling indifference: Mark was killed in a shootout, and David seized the chance for a new life, free from me and Billy.
"I never loved you," he said, as if explaining a simple math problem. "It was always Emily."
I tried to tell everyone-his mother, his captain-but they looked at me with pity, already conditioned by Martha and David' s lies.
They had me committed to a white room, and David married Emily.
My four-year-old son, Billy, was left in their care, crying for me every night.
Then came the unbearable news: Billy was dead, a "tragic accident" from an overdose of cough medicine.
My world shattered.
Desperate, I fashioned a noose, remembering Billy' s bright laugh, the life David had stolen.
My only regret was that David would never face justice.
I kicked the chair away.
Darkness took me.
Then, a blinding light, and I was back on my living room couch, the day David was supposedly killed.
I wasn' t dead. I was back.
Martha' s face, a mask of practiced sadness, now held a triumphant curl.
I heard David' s voice from the hallway, "Is she stable?"
"She' s fragile, but she bought it," Martha replied. "She' ll break, just like we planned. We' ll have her committed, and Billy will be ours."
"Good," David said. "Make sure she doesn' t get near the body. Mark didn' t have my scar."
This time, I was not the grieving widow.
I was the executioner. The Billionaire's Regret: A Silent Amends
Billionaires While struggling to get by, a call from an unknown New York number shattered my fragile sense of peace.
It was Ethan Vance's assistant, inviting me to his foundation's gala-Ethan, my former guardian who had cruelly exiled me years ago, now pulling me back.
Victoria, Ethan' s wife, immediately launched a campaign of humiliation, subtly branding me his "old ward" at the gala.
She then systematically sabotaged my job search, slamming every door shut on my desperate attempts to rebuild my life.
When I refused her massive bribe to disappear, a brutal fire tore through our apartment, leaving my daughter Lily in a hospital bed, gasping for air.
Clutching my terrified Lily and battling my own PTSD flashbacks, I knew this wasn't an accident; the fire was no coincidence.
This cold, calculated attack was all Victoria, who had effortlessly tried to destroy what little I had.
How could a person be so merciless, deliberately endangering a child to eliminate me?
I hugged Lily tight, promising, "Never. I will never let anything happen to you."
Lying there, battered and bruised, my resolve hardened.
I was through being a victim of his past or her present schemes.
It was time to confront Ethan, expose his wife, and fight for the stable life Lily and I deserved. Reborn on Our Wedding Day
Romance My wedding day. Again.
I stood there, a young woman forced into an arranged marriage, about to become Abigail Blackwood.
In my previous life, a cold, brutal tyrant named Ethan, obsessed with a family vendetta, systematically destroyed everything and everyone I loved.
I suffered silently with a terminal illness no one knew about, watching in agony as he engineered my beloved grandfather' s public humiliation and death, and as my sister Ellie endured a horrific abusive marriage that tragically cost her, and her unborn child, their lives.
His cruelty knew no bounds: public shaming, forcing me to play piano until my fingers bled for his mistress's amusement, endless torment for every desperate plea.
Overwhelmed by despair and humiliation, I chose to die by my own hand.
But somehow, fate intervened. Here I am, back on our wedding day.
And so is he.
Ethan Blackwood remembers everything, just as I do. The monster who tormented me now acts kind, attentive, even regretful, desperately trying to atone.
But my heart is a fortress of old wounds, my soul scarred by unimaginable pain. Can I ever trust him, or is this just another, more sophisticated game?
This second chance is both a gift and a terrifying burden. I am determined to protect my family, to rewrite our tragic history, and to never again be the pawn in his brutal game. Can love truly blossom from such a foundation of hatred and despair? The Daughter Who Refused to Break
Mafia Emily Callahan had finally done it. Full scholarship to the state university, a dream come true for her and a testament to her late father' s legacy, her mother Susan beaming with pride from their beloved Sunrise Cafe.
But the aroma of coffee turned to the stench of fear when local crime boss Paddy O' Doyle, whose offers for the cafe were always refused, stormed in. What began as intimidation quickly became a brutal assault, leaving Susan battered and their cafe in ruins.
This attack was no isolated incident; it was just the first domino. The police chief turned a blind eye, revealing a pervasive corruption that shielded the O' Doyles from justice. Emily' s scholarship was mysteriously revoked, her future snatched away. Then came the orchestrated smear campaign, turning the community against her, followed by a terrifying home invasion where her dog was brutally murdered and her father' s cherished Medal of Honor desecrated. Now, even her mother' s vital medical care was at risk.
How could a hero' s family be so horribly betrayed and abandoned, their pleas for justice met with silence or outright hostility by the very system meant to protect them? The injustice burned, transforming her grief into a searing rage.
With every official avenue blocked and nowhere left to turn, Emily clutched her father' s Medal of Honor, a symbol of everything good and true, and embarked on a desperate cross-country journey to seek out the only man who could possibly help: her father' s former commanding officer, a four-star General. The Twin Swap: An 18-Year Deception
Modern For 18 years, I quietly raised my twin sons, Alex and Ben, believing their father Mark and his mistress Brenda were dead.
Now, with their Stanford acceptance, I planned a celebratory dinner, a culmination of my secret pride.
But as the party peaked, the 'dead' burst in—Mark Thompson and Brenda Sullivan, arrogantly alive.
Mark accused me of lies, Brenda feigned heartbreak, and he demanded I sign away my sons, seizing what he claimed was his.
My bewildered sons watched their world crumble as Mark's family rallied behind him.
With a steady hand, I signed the papers, feeling my boys' pain and disbelief.
"Mom, no! How can you?" Alex cried.
Everyone assumed I was broken, defeated.
They saw a mother abandoning her children, a woman succumbing to the pressure.
"You're just... giving us up?" Ben whispered, his eyes clouded with betrayal.
The room buzzed with judgment.
They had no idea this was just the first act of a meticulously planned retribution.
"The party isn't over," I stated, a chilling smile on my face.
As two young men, one dependent on a wheelchair, entered, I revealed their truth.
"Mark, Brenda, meet Cody and Tyler Thompson. Your actual biological sons."
My 18-year revenge was finally set into motion. The Placeholder Wife: A Billionaire's Secret
Billionaires It was my 30th birthday, and I was patiently dining alone at a Michelin-star restaurant, waiting for my finance titan husband, Julian, to arrive.
Suddenly, my phone screen flickered to life, displaying a TMZ headline that stopped my breath: "Julian Vance Spotted with Returning Socialite Chloe Sinclair – Old Flames Rekindled?"
A video showed Julian, my husband, shielding Chloe from the rain and cameras, his arm protectively around her.
Shock, cold and sharp, spread through me, as the bitter taste of betrayal filled my mouth.
This wasn’t just a business meeting; it was a public declaration of his true affections.
The table was set for two, but the untouched food grew cold as countless minutes ticked by, each one deepening the suffocating loneliness I felt.
Five years. Five years I had spent waiting; five years I had been a placeholder for the woman he truly loved, the one he married me to forget.
Then, a text from Julian cemented my despair: "Raincheck on birthday. Next year."
There would be no next year for us.
My quiet endurance finally gave way to a hardened resolve.
I signaled the maître d', trading the lavish, uneaten meal for a sturdy umbrella.
I walked out into the Manhattan rain, a clear decision forming in my mind: this was the end.
But for me, it was also a new beginning. You might like
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. Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle
G~Aden I'm a moaning mess as Antonio slams into me from behind. His hips hit me hard, and each deep thrust sends shockwaves through my body.
My breasts bounce with every movement, my eyes roll back, and I moan his name without control. The pleasure he gives me is overwhelming-I can't hold it in.
I feel my walls tighten around his thick length. The pressure builds fast, and then-
I explode around him, my orgasm tearing through me. He groans loud and deep as he releases inside me, his hot seed spilling into me in thick pulses.
Just when I think he's done, his grip shifts. He turns me over and lays me flat on the bed. His dark eyes stare into mine for a moment, filled with raw hunger. I glance down-
He's still hard.
Before I can react, he grabs my wrists, pins me down, and pushes himself inside me again. He fills me completely. My hips rise on instinct, meeting his rhythm. Our bodies move together, locked in a wild, uncontrollable dance.
"You're fucking sweet," he groans, his voice rough and breathless.
"I can't get enough of you... not after that night, Sol," he growls, slamming into me harder. The force of his words and his thrusts make my body shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice low and full of heat.
And just like that, my body trembles. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, shaking with the force of my orgasm.
"Mine," he growls again, louder this time. His voice is feral, wild, like a beast claiming what belongs to him. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.
***
Solene was betrayed, humiliated, and erased by Rowan Brook, the man she once called husband, Solene is left with nothing but her name and a burning hunger for revenge.
She turns to the one man powerful enough to destroy the Brooks family from within: Rowan's estranged and dangerous uncle, Antonio Rodriguez.
He's ruthless. A playboy who never sleeps with the same woman twice. But when Solene walks into his world, he doesn't just break the rules, he creates new ones just for her.
What begins as a calculated game quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and secrets too deadly to stay buried. Because Solene isn't just anyone's ex... she's the woman they should've never underestimated.
Can she survive the price of revenge? Or will her heart become the next casualty?
And when the truth comes out, will Antonio still choose her... or destroy her?
Marrying The Rival: My Ex-Husband's Despair
Fonz Nadherny 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. The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
Breeze I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return. Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. Jilted Pet Becomes The Mafia Queen
Cornelia When I was eight, Dante Moretti pulled me from the fire that killed my family. For ten years, the powerful crime boss was my protector and my god.
Then, he announced his engagement to another woman to unite two criminal empires.
He brought her home and named her the future mistress of the Moretti family.
In front of everyone, his fiancée forced a cheap metal collar around my neck, calling me their pet.
Dante knew I was allergic. He just watched, his eyes cold, and ordered me to take it.
That night, I listened through the walls as he took her to his bed.
I finally understood the promise he’d made me as a child was a lie. I wasn't his family. I was his property.
After a decade of devotion, my love for him finally turned to ash.
So on his birthday, the day he celebrated his new future, I walked out of his gilded cage for good.
A private jet was waiting to take me to my real father—his greatest enemy. He Chose The Mistress, Losing His True Queen
Lively 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. Spring Beneath the Grave
Rabbit 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!" The Runaway Wife's Secret Heir
Shu Yu 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. Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don
Maverick For nine years, I was the perfect mafia wife. I laundered Marcus Thorne’s money through my design firm, smiled at his dinners, and ignored the lipstick stains on his collars.
I believed in the Omertà of our marriage. I thought my loyalty was my armor.
I was wrong.
On the night of our anniversary gala, a car lost control and barreled straight toward us in the parking lot.
Marcus didn't look at me. Not once.
He lunged for his mistress, Izzy, tackling her to safety behind a concrete pillar.
I was left standing in the open.
The impact threw me like a ragdoll. I lay bleeding on the cold asphalt, my body broken, watching through the haze as my husband frantically checked his mistress for scratches.
"My ankle," she whimpered.
Without a backward glance, he picked her up and carried her to his limousine, leaving me to bleed out on the pavement.
He didn't leave me because he panicked. He left me because I was just a shield he used to protect what he actually loved.
As darkness crept in, a shadow fell over me. It wasn't Marcus.
It was Julian Croft, his sworn rival.
I looked at the empty spot where my husband should have been and made a choice.
"Get me to the hospital," I rasped, staring into the eyes of the enemy.
"And then help me burn his empire to the ground." 
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