Blackmailed By My Own Mafia Husband

Bodyguards immediately stepped in front of the screen— blocking and stopping me.

I shoved against one of them.

“Move!” I screamed. “haven't you people done enough?”

Nobody moved.

The whispers grew louder.

“That's the boy from the scandal.”

“I thought the family said he was a victim. Pff! Look at that boy. Having fun with Astrid brother.”

“Maybe they made the whole thing up.”

“No wonder they're always involved in controversy.”

Every comment felt like another blow.

My hands were shaking, my vision blurred. And Astrid simply stood there watching satisfied.

Waiting for every last person in the room to see it.

Only when the video was almost finished did she signal for it to be turned off.

Then she walked toward me.

“Celeste,” Astrid said. “Why are you making such a scene? Everyone was curious about what actually happened, so I thought it would be helpful to show them.”

I stared at her.

She shrugged.

“The case is over. The investigation is over. Your brother is gone. At some point you have to stop acting like the entire world owes him sympathy.”

My hands clenched into fists.

Astrid lowered her voice.

“And honestly, if I were you, I'd be grateful. Most people would be embarrassed to have that video attached to their family name forever.”

The room went silent.

She looked directly into my eyes.

“Your brother made his choices. The rest of us moved on months ago. You're the only one still clinging to a dead story because it's the only thing that gets people to look at you.”

Something inside me snapped.

Astrid saw it and smiled.

A cruel smile.

The smile of someone who thought she had already won.

“Go ahead,” she said softly. “Get angry. Cry. Scream. That's what you always do when things don't go your way.”

I lunged forward before I even realized I was moving.

My hand connected with her face with every ounce of strength I had left.

The crack echoed across the hall.

And for the first time that entire night, Astrid stopped smiling.

Astrid cried out the moment my hand connected with her face.

The reaction was immediate. She stumbled backward as though the slap had nearly knocked her off her feet, then threw herself straight into Rocco's arms. The movement was so quick and natural that it looked rehearsed.

Rocco caught her instantly.

The moment he saw the red mark forming on her cheek, his expression darkened. His eyes lifted and settled on me.

“Celeste, have you completely lost your mind?” Rocco demanded. “Do you realize what you've just done? There are hundreds of people here. You attacked someone in front of all of them because you couldn't control your emotions.”

My hands were still shaking.

My chest hurt so badly that every breath felt strained.

A laugh escaped me.

Not because anything was funny.

Because I honestly couldn't believe what I was hearing.

“That's what finally gets your attention?” I asked. “They played that video again and let strangers tear him apart even after his death. But Astrid gets one slap and suddenly you're outraged?”

I pointed toward the screen behind us.

“Where were you five minutes ago, Rocco? Were you standing somewhere else? Did you somehow miss everything that happened? Or do you only pay attention when she's the one getting hurt?”

The room fell silent.

Several guests exchanged uneasy glances.

For a moment, something flickered across Rocco's face.

Then it disappeared.

His expression settled back into the calm, controlled look he always wore when he wanted absolute authority over a situation.

“I can deal with what happened here,” Rocco said. “I can make sure this video goes nowhere and that nobody discusses tonight after they leave. But that only happens if you stop creating problems.”

His gaze hardened.

“The agreement still stands, Celeste. You follow it, and this ends here. You keep fighting, and the consequences won't stop with you anymore.”

My stomach dropped.

Rocco took a step closer.

“The next person caught in the fallout won't be someone you can protect. Think carefully before you force me to make decisions neither of us will like.”

The threat hung in the air between us.

I felt sick.

Completely sick.

My throat burned.

Tears gathered in my eyes no matter how hard I fought them.

“Rocco,” I said quietly, “I want you to remember this moment as clearly as I will. Because I promise you, I will never forget tonight. I'll remember every choice you made, every word you said, and every time you stood there and watched while they destroyed my family.”

For the first time, he didn't answer immediately.

Something shifted in his eyes.

Something that almost looked like discomfort.

Almost.

Then Astrid buried her face against his chest and began crying again.

The hesitation vanished. Rocco wrapped an arm around her shoulders. And just like that, I disappeared from his attention.

Again.

---

I left the banquet hall alone.

A few blocks away, the streets became quieter. The crowd noise faded behind me, and for the first time all evening, I thought I might finally be left alone.

Then someone grabbed me from behind.

Before I could react, several people surrounded me.

My heart dropped.

“What are you doing?” I shouted. “Let go of me. Right now. If this is about the party, you've already gotten what you wanted.”

Nobody answered. They ignored every word.

I struggled.

I fought and demanded they stop. But they kept on beating me, kicking and slapping me.

By the time they finally left, I was sitting on the pavement struggling to think clearly.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message arrived.

"How does it feel to be beaten by Rocco's men? Oh, sorry. He said that's your punishment for hurting me."

I bitterly laughes. So, Rocco sent them to silence me.

...

After I got home, I didn't tell my father.

What was the point? We only had a few hours left.

A few more hours and we'd finally leave this city behind.

That was all that mattered now.

So I packed quietly and pretended everything was fine. Pretended I wasn't falling apart.

Three hours. That's all we needed. Three more hours. Then the pounding started.

The front door shook beneath a series of loud knocks.

My father and I exchanged a look.

Neither of us spoke.

I opened the door. A middle-aged woman immediately pushed past me.

She walked into the living room and looked around as if she owned the place.

“What took so long?” she complained. “I've been standing outside forever. Is this how you welcome guests?”

I frowned.

“Who are you? And why are you in my house?”

The woman ignored the question entirely.

Instead, she studied me from head to toe.

“Hm,” she said. “Not exactly what I expected. The face isn't perfect, and you're a little older than I'd prefer. Still, you'll do.”

A chill crawled down my spine.

Before I could respond, she turned toward the doorway.

“Arthur, come inside. Stop standing out there.”

My blood froze.