My Sister’s Mafia Husband Begged When I Finally Left

After my sister died, I signed a five-year contract marriage with her mafia husband, paying my family's blood debt in her place.

I poured five years of my life into the Falcone family, and all I got was a husband who only wanted me for his bed and a child who saw me as his enemy. It was time to let go.

"Christine, are you certain you want to leave the family?"

Don Corrado asked me in his private study, his commanding voice echoing off the walnut-paneled walls.

"There's still a week left on the contract."

I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the blood-red rose garden in the estate, my voice quiet and flat. "Five years was long enough, Don. I've fulfilled my obligations."

"I owe the Falcones nothing."

This marriage was my penance.

My father's fatal mistake had created a debt of blood between our families, a debt that would be paid in full by these five years of marriage.

For five years, I had been the perfect underboss's wife and a capable mother, dedicating my life to Horton and his son with nothing to show for it.

But at least the contract was almost over. I was finally going to be free.

Before the Don could speak, a sharp crack echoed from the garden, followed by the sound of a windowpane shattering.

Shards of glass sprayed inward, slicing into my arm. I pressed a hand to the wound as warm blood seeped through my fingers.

I turned to look at the garden. Luca was standing there, gripping a small golf club.

He struck a pose like a little man, his delicate features twisted with a venom that was chilling in a boy his age.

"Crying to Grandpa again? I guess you didn't get the message last time. Maybe I should shut you up for good and send you to Hell to join my mom!"

I stared at him in disbelief, the humiliating scene from my birthday party flashing through my mind.

It was my twenty-fifth birthday.

Ever since I arrived at the Falcone estate, I had never truly celebrated a birthday of my own.

This time, I had quietly ordered a small cake for myself and even dressed up a little.

My neck felt bare, so I casually picked a necklace from the vanity, forgetting it was the one my sister had loved most.

When Luca saw it, he was completely enraged.

He walked over to the birthday cake and blew out all the candles. Then he pulled several black roses from a vase and stuck them into the cake, one by one.

He had turned my birthday into a mock funeral.

He stepped back, admiring his "creation" with satisfaction.

"You think you deserve to be celebrated? My mom would still be here if it weren't for you, you're a curse! Remember this: from now on, this isn't your birthday. It's your death anniversary."

Then, under the stunned gazes of all the family members, he grabbed a bottle of champagne from the table and poured the cold liquid over my head, utterly destroying my last shred of dignity.

Unexpectedly, I didn't cry. I just quietly left and went to my small bedroom.

I felt unnaturally calm, perhaps because I had no expectations left to be shattered.

But Luca followed me, my silence making him even more brazen.

"What, you're upset now? Pathetic," he cursed, his tone a perfect imitation of a seasoned gangster. "When I grow up and take over the family, the first thing I'll do is have you thrown out to feed the fishes!"

I couldn't understand where the child I'd spent five years raising had learned such vile language.

Now, I didn't want to care anymore. I had truly had enough.

"You won't have to," I told him softly. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Then I went to the study to tend to my wound. As I was bandaging it, I heard something shatter upstairs.

A chill shot up my spine.

I rushed upstairs to find the antique fountain pen I cherished snapped in two, its deep blue ink splattered like blood across my precious manuscript, devouring the words.

That pen was the only thing my mother had left me.

I knelt on the floor, carefully gathering the fragments of the pen and the ink-ruined pages.

I didn't cry when the women of the family deliberately ignored and humiliated me at parties.

I didn't cry when Horton only remembered I existed when he wanted to use my body, treating me like a cheap substitute for my sister, Seraphina.

I didn't even cry when the family elders openly discussed what to do with me after the contract expired, talking as if I were a piece of furniture to be discarded.

But now, seeing the broken pen my mother had left me...

My composure completely crumbled.

Hot, desperate tears finally streamed down my face.

That pen was the last memento from the only person in the world who had ever truly loved me.

Luca stood in the doorway, watching my pain as if it were a work of art. A cruel, satisfied grin spread across his face.

"Hurts, doesn't it? To have the one thing you care about destroyed? This is for my mom. Now I'm going to destroy everything you love, one by one. Murderer!"

In that instant, I finally snapped.

I shot to my feet, grabbed his arm, and yanked him in front of me. "Pick up every single piece and put it back together for me! Now!"

He must have never seen me so unhinged, because Luca just froze. But before he could speak, a powerful hand suddenly clamped around my throat, slamming me against the wall.

"Are you fucking insane?" Horton's eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me, his hand gripping my chin. "You dare touch the heir to this family over a broken pen and some scrap paper?"

I was pressed against the cold wall, forced to look up at the man I once thought would protect me.

To him, it was just cheap trash. But to me, it was the most precious thing in the world.