Blackmailed By My Own Mafia Husband

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I sat on the edge of the bed in a house that no longer felt like mine. Not because anything had changed physically, but because something inside it had already been taken away.

Eventually, I started packing and by morning, every box was ready. I called a courier and had everything sent out. Designer clothes, jewelry, gifts I had once thought meant something. Now they just felt like proof of how long I had been living inside a lie.

When the courier arrived, he hesitated at the boxes.

“Miss, are you sure?” he asked. “The destination says incineration.”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t want any of it anymore. Just process it.”

He looked uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. Because those things were not memories anymore. They were weight. And I couldn’t carry weight from a life that had already been erased.

As he left, my phone rang.

My father.

The moment I answered, I heard panic in his voice. People shouting behind him.

“Celeste,” he said, struggling to breathe, “they’re trying to take your brother’s grave.”

My body went still.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

His voice broke. “They came with documents. They said the burial plot has been reassigned. I tried to stop them, but they pushed me aside. I can’t hold them back.”

There was a pause, then his voice cracked again. “He’s gone, and now they won’t even let him stay where he is.”

I was already moving before he finished speaking.

“I’m coming,” I said.

And I left.

---

When I arrived, the cemetery felt wrong immediately.

Men in black suits stood near the burial area. Security types. Cold faces. Blocking access like it was a restricted site instead of a resting place.

My father was on the ground nearby, struggling to get up. He still held the urn tightly against his chest.

I rushed to him and knelt.“Dad, who is doing this?”

His hands shook violently as he pointed ahead.

There, Astrid stood near the graves, slightly bent as she placed something down beside her. A small wrapped box. A dead cat. She was wiping her eyes carefully, like she had practiced the movement in front of a mirror.

My father’s voice broke again. “She said she needed the burial site. She said her pet died, and this was the closest available place. They told us to move.”

Something inside me tightened so hard it hurt.

I stood up slowly.

“Explain this to me,” I said. “You took my brother’s grave for a cat?”

Astrid turned.

And just like before, her expression changed immediately. Soft. Fragile. Controlled.

“Celeste,” Astrid said, her voice gentle, “you’re misunderstanding. I didn’t take anything from you. I was given permission for this space.”

She stepped slightly closer.

“I didn’t know it belonged to someone you cared about. I only found out after everything was arranged.”

Then her gaze shifted to my father and then to the urn in his hands. A faint smile touched her lips.

“Is that an urn?” she asked softly. “another stunt?”

My father stiffened.

Astrid tilted her head slightly.

“And honestly,” she continued, “I don’t understand why you’re making this so dramatic. It’s just a burial spot. People die every day.”

My hands curled into fists.

“You’re standing in front of my brother’s grave! And you’re calling it just a spot.”

“Celeste,” Astrid said, “you’re still doing this. You’re still trying to turn everything into a scene so Rocco will pay attention to you.”

My jaw tightened.

“That has nothing to do with this,” I said.

But she kept going. Her voice sharpened.

“I saw the video too,” she said. “And honestly, I didn’t see what you’re claiming. It looked consensual. Both our brothers are having fun in bed and you’re pushing a narrative that doesn’t match reality.”

My vision blurred for a moment. Not from tears. From restraint.

I stared at her, trying to understand how someone could stand in front of a grieving family and speak like that.

Is she real? Or is this what happens when someone learns there are no consequences anymore?

My nails dug into my palms.

I wanted to hit her! I wanted to scream until my voice broke. But instead, I pulled out my phone and called the cemetery office.

“I want the records for this burial plot,” I said. “And I want the person who approved the reassignment on the line.”

...

After a few minutes, the manager arrived.

The manager listened carefully after I explained everything, and for once, he didn’t hesitate or try to stay neutral.

He stepped forward and looked directly at Astrid.

“Miss, I understand your situation, I really do,” he said firmly. “But all burial plots here are booked in advance and assigned legally. We can’t just move someone else’s arrangement for personal reasons.”

He paused, then added more strictly, “If you need an urgent burial, we can offer alternative sections. Our staff will help you choose another space immediately. But this specific grave cannot be taken.”

Astrid’s face shifted fast.

She pressed a hand to her chest like she was wounded.

“But my cat just died,” she said softly, her voice shaking on purpose. “I didn’t know it would become such a problem. I didn’t come here to fight anyone. I just want to bury something I loved.”

She looked at me next, eyes glossy but sharp underneath.

“Celeste,” she added, “you’re really going to treat me like this over a dead pet? Don’t you think that’s a little cruel? I didn’t do anything to you.”

I didn’t even fully look at her at first.

I just walked forward and carefully lowered my brother’s urn into the prepared space.

My hands trembled, but I didn’t stop.

“You keep saying words like cruel,” I said quietly. “But you keep standing in the middle of other people’s graves like you belong here.”

I looked up at her fully now.

“So tell me,” I added, my voice low, “who exactly is being cruel here?”

Her expression tightened instantly. She opened her mouth, then closed it again like she didn’t expect me to push back.

And then she suddenly swayed, her knees buckled.

And she collapsed right there.

A small gasp went through the staff.

Before I could even react properly, the air changed again. Heavy footsteps.

Rocco.

His voice came first.

“Get that filth out of this cemetery.”

My chest clenched so hard it hurt.

Filth.

He walked straight to Astrid like everything else didn’t exist. Like the ground I was standing on wasn’t even real to him.

He bent down and lifted her into his arms.

My hands curled into fists so hard my nails cut into my skin.

I stepped forward fast, blocking the bodyguards before they could move toward my brother’s urn.

“Don’t you touch that,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Don’t you dare take it.”

One of them hesitated, but Rocco didn’t even look at them.

He just spoke again.

“Move her,” he said coldly. “And take whatever is disturbing this place out of my sight.”

My heart dropped.

I turned to him fully now.

My voice broke, but I forced it out anyway.

“Rocco,” I said, “do you even know what is inside that urn?”

I swallowed hard and added again, louder, “That’s my brother. My 22 year old brother.”

But he didn’t even flinch.

He stood there holding Astrid like she weighed nothing. Like I was the one making noise for no reason.

“And?” he said flatly. “Why would I care about your story right now?”