Blackmailed By My Own Mafia Husband

"THEN TRY ME."

The last fragile piece of my heart shattered.. The man who had once sworn to protect me was now the one holding the knife.

...

The first time I heard Astrid's name was a year ago.

We had both been invited to speak on a high-profile true crime documentary panel after a case involving an abused young girl captured national attention. While most people focused on evidence, accountability, and justice, Astrid spent the entire discussion talking about sympathy and compassion.

After the event ended, she cornered me backstage.

She looked genuinely upset.

"Celeste, don't you think you're too harsh?" she demanded.

I frowned. "Harsh?"

"The man is old. He's lonely! People make mistakes!"

For a moment, I honestly thought I had misheard her. "Mistakes?"

"Yes." She crossed her arms. "Can't you show some compassion? Do you really want him to spend the rest of his life suffering alone?"

I stared at her in disbelief.

A child had suffered.

A child! And Astrid's concern was whether the predator felt lonely.

That night, I told Rocco about the conversation. I expected him to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Instead, his expression darkened.

Pulling me into his arms, he wrapped one arm around my waist and pressed a kiss against my forehead.

"What an idiot," he muttered coldly. "Daring to upset my wife."

Then he looked down at me and asked, "Want me to handle her?"

I immediately shook my head. "No. It's not worth it."

At the time, I thought he was defending me. I thought he was angry on my behalf.

How ironic.

Six months later, Rocco personally hired Astrid and brought her into Thornton Empire.

I remember how confused I was. Even then, I trusted him completely.

"Honey," he said one evening while pulling me onto his lap, "we needed another producer anyway."

I frowned. "Why her?"

He chuckled softly. "She's interesting."

Interesting?

That was the word he used.

After that, Astrid's name started appearing everywhere. Astrid said this. Astrid thought that. Astrid recommended something. Astrid made him laugh. Astrid made him smile.

Of course I noticed. How could I not? But I never felt threatened. Why would I? Rocco loved me.

At least that was what I believed.

The man who once swore that if he ever betrayed me, he would gladly swallow ten thousand needles. The man who promised to spend his entire life protecting me.

Now he was willing to destroy my family just to keep Astrid happy.

My brother. My career. My reputation. And my life...

None of it mattered. Not compared to her.

The despair inside me became unbearable.

Slowly, I picked up the agreement Rocco had prepared. My hand trembled as I signed it page after page, line after line. With every signature, it felt as though I was burying another piece of myself.

When I finished writing the last word, I pushed the document across the table, stood and walked away.

I had barely stepped outside when my phone suddenly rang.

My father's name flashed across the screen.

The moment I answered, panicked sobs exploded through the speaker.

“Celeste, get to the hospital right now!”

He was crying so hard I could barely understand him. “Your brother—! Your brother tried to take his own life...”

The world around me fell silent.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Then I ran.

I don't remember how I got to the hospital. The journey disappeared from my memory entirely. All I remember is bursting through the emergency room doors and seeing my father collapsed on the floor, clutching my little brother in his arms.

Blood stained his clothes, his trembling hands, and the white hospital floor beneath him.

“Please save my son,” my father begged the doctors, his voice cracking from despair. “Please... he's still warm. I stopped the bleeding as much as I could. There's still time. Please save him.”

Again and again, he lowered his head. Begging. Crying. Abandoning every ounce of pride he had left.

His hair was disheveled, his forehead red and swollen from repeatedly bowing and pleading. I had never seen my father like that.

Never.

Several doctors stood nearby with troubled expressions. Finally, one of them let out a weary sigh.

“We can't help right now.”

I froze. “What do you mean you can't help?”

The doctor looked away before answering. “President Thornton ordered all available emergency specialists to remain on standby.”

My heart sank. “For what?”

The hesitation in his eyes made the answer even worse.

“Miss Snow's cat is sick.”

For several seconds, I simply stared at him.

A cat?

My brother was dying! My brother was lying there covered in blood! And they were worried about a cat?

Rage exploded inside me. I rushed forward and grabbed the doctor's sleeve. “Doctor, please,” I pleaded, “Veterinarians exist for animals. You're doctors. You're supposed to save people. He's only twenty two years old. Are you really going to stand here and watch him die?”

The doctor gently pulled himself free, helplessness written across his face.

“Miss, please understand.”

“No, you understand!” I nearly screamed. “My brother needs help!”

The doctor's expression hardened. “Mr. Thornton personally gave the order,” he said quietly. “Miss Snow treasures that cat. If something happens to it, she'll be devastated. And if she's upset, all of us will suffer the consequences.”

The words struck me like a physical blow.

That was the reason.

My brother's life meant less than Astrid's feelings.

I chased after the doctors anyway, down the hallway, through every corridor— begging and crying.

Screaming for help until my throat felt raw but nobody stopped. Nobody turned around and nobody cared.

By the time I returned to the emergency room, everything was already over.

My father was still sitting on the floor, holding my brother in his arms. Only this time, my brother wasn't moving.

His body had already gone cold.

My father's grief-stricken cries echoed through the room, shattering what little remained of my heart.

Slowly, I dropped to my knees beside them and pain swallowed me whole.

I couldn't even force myself to look at my brother's face.

This was my fault, wasn't it?

If I had fought harder... If I hadn't married Rocco. If I hadn't trusted him. Would my brother still be alive?

I raised my hand and slapped myself multiple times.

“It's my fault,” I whispered through broken sobs. “It's all my fault! I killed him.”

My father caught my wrist before I could strike myself again.

My brother's blood still stained his hands. His eyes were swollen from crying, but something inside them had changed.

The grief remained but there was something else now.

Hatred— cold, unwavering hatred.

“Celeste...” he said hoarsely. “We're leaving.”

I stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“We're taking your brother and leaving this country.”

His jaw tightened. “I'll find someone who can help us.” He lowered his gaze to the son in his arms. When he looked up again, his eyes were red with pain. “Seven days. Give me seven days. We'll settle everything and leave. We'll never come back.”