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Married to the Mafia Heir, Working Three Jobs to Survive
Novelix
new
Completed
"On Thanksgiving, I transferred fifteen thousand dollars for the family dinner and told my daughter-in-law to arrange it. She served a table full of cabbage. I looked at all those green leaves and put down my knife and fork. ""Bring back the old housekeeper and give her a thousand-dollar rehiring bonus. The family's heir can't even get a decent meal in his own home?"" She clutched at her hem and still wouldn't pay. I was so angry I raised my hand to slap her. But the moment I did, her thoughts suddenly rang in my ears. [You old bitch! You could break my hand, and I still couldn't come up with a thousand dollars!] [Before the wedding, they said the house and car were gifts. They're both financed, and I have to work three jobs to pay them off.] [At the family's charity galas, she says she gives me forty-five thousand dollars a month. I only get a hundred and twenty!] [She gave me just eight dollars for groceries, and she expects me to put together a fifteen-thousand-dollar feast!] My hand stopped in midair. Loans? A hundred and twenty? Eight dollars? When my son married, I'd personally authorized enough money to buy the river-view condo and Mercedes outright. I'd paid the association fees, insurance, and gas separately, too. I was the Donna. I controlled the family's docks and nightclubs, yet I hadn't known my own daughter-in-law was going hungry. Who had actually been living off my money?"
Chapters (3)
Chapter 1
On Thanksgiving, I transferred fifteen thousand dollars for the family dinner and told my daughter-in-law to arrange it.
She served a table full of cabbage.
I looked at all those green leaves and put down my knife and fork.
"Bring back the old housekeeper and give her a thousand-dollar rehiring bonus. The family's heir can't even get a decent meal in his own home?"
She clutched at her hem and still wouldn't pay.
I was so angry I raised my hand to slap her.
But the moment I did, her thoughts suddenly rang in my ears.
[You old bitch! You could break my hand, and I still couldn't come up with a thousand dollars!]
[Before the wedding, they said the house and car were gifts. They're both financed, and I have to work three jobs to pay them off.]
[At the family's charity galas, she says she gives me forty-five thousand dollars a month. I only get a hundred and twenty!]
[She gave me just eight dollars for groceries, and she expects me to put together a fifteen-thousand-dollar feast!]
My hand stopped in midair.
Loans? A hundred and twenty? Eight dollars?
When my son married, I'd personally authorized enough money to buy the river-view condo and Mercedes outright. I'd paid the association fees, insurance, and gas separately, too.
I was the Donna. I controlled the family's docks and nightclubs, yet I hadn't known my own daughter-in-law was going hungry.
Who had actually been living off my money?
...
At twenty, I pushed a food cart outside the Newark docks, selling meatball sandwiches.
Over forty years, I opened restaurants, took over nightclubs, and eventually gained control of several freight routes through the port.
Now, every mafia boss in the neighborhood had to address me as Donna Isotta Balestri.
But my son Leonzio couldn't run the business or keep his men in line. He was the heir, yet I still couldn't retire.
I'd planned to wait until I had a grandson or granddaughter.
Then I'd keep the child close and start their lessons with the books and the family rules.
But after all his searching, my son had married a woman who gave me nothing but headaches.
She did no work and spent without hesitation.
I allotted her forty-five thousand dollars every month, yet she never had so much as a smile for me.
She'd even openly said she didn't want children. She wouldn't give the family its next heir.
I'd thought that if I kept taking care of her, she'd eventually grow up.
But after three years, even her basic greetings to me, the Donna, had become increasingly halfhearted.
The stack of bills delivered to my study only grew thicker.
Private Swiss spa treatments, limited-edition handbags, custom jewelry, private Pilates lessons.
She could spend all forty-five thousand dollars without leaving a single cent.
I'd asked my son, "Does she really need all this?"
He'd rushed to explain.
"Mom, Nelia couldn't even afford new shoes growing up. She's finally part of our family. Let her enjoy herself for a few years."
"She's never lived like this before. If you say something, she'll think you're looking down on where she came from."
The housekeeper also said Nelia had a bad temper and refused to discuss anything.
After hearing it enough times, I'd stopped asking.
I'd only hoped my son would eventually see her for what she was, divorce her, and find another wife.
Under our family rules, my daughter-in-law, Nelia Venn, was responsible for Thanksgiving dinner.
But when I texted her about the menu, she didn't answer.
She ignored my question about when dinner would be served, too.
In the end, I transferred fifteen thousand dollars directly into the household account my son managed.
"It's just family tonight, but the Balestri table needs at least a decent cut of meat."
That afternoon, my husband, Vittore, and I arrived early at our son's condo.
There wasn't even a basket of bread on the table. The oven was cold.
Nelia didn't get home until nine that night, hurrying in with her face pale from the cold wind.
I glanced at the mud on the soles of her shoes.
I remembered a membership charge for a private riding club on her bills.
She'd left the family's Donna and her husband hungry for four hours, yet she'd had time to go horseback riding?
For the sake of the holiday, I held my tongue.
But when the food came out, I was stunned.
Cabbage sauteed with garlic.
Cabbage stewed with potatoes.
Cabbage tossed with pasta.
Clear cabbage soup.
...
Ten dishes, and not so much as a piece of bacon.
After serving them, Nelia said nothing and went straight to the chair farthest from mine.
At last, I slapped the table and stood.
I was about to ask if she'd deliberately set out to insult me.
Then a voice suddenly sounded in my ears.
[Here we go again.]
[The money she gives me won't even buy a turkey, and she expects a whole table of good food?]
I froze.
Vittore had gone to the bathroom. My son had gone to the wine cellar to get wine.
No one at the table had spoken.
Nelia kept her head down. Her lips didn't even move.
But the voice came again.
[What are you still staring at?]
[She won't part with the money, but she's got a rule for everything.]
[I used to pick up enough extra night shifts to afford roast beef and lobster.]
[The warehouse and delivery depot have both been late paying us lately. How am I supposed to buy a turkey?]
At last, I was certain. I was hearing Nelia's thoughts.
But if she received forty-five thousand dollars a month, why was she working nights?
I slowly sat back down and asked her.
"Didn't you get the money to prepare dinner?"
Chapter 2
Nelia didn't answer.
She lowered her head further, her knuckles white around her fork.
But her resentment came through loud and clear in her thoughts.
[How can she even ask? Doesn't she know how little that money can buy?]
My temper flared again.
Fifteen thousand dollars wasn't enough?
I was just about to press her.
My son came back from the cellar with two bottles of red wine and set them on the table with a smile.
"Mom, don't be upset. The wine's had time to breathe."
He turned sideways, blocking my view of Nelia.
"She got the full amount ages ago. Not a cent less."
"She's on a detox program at a private spa."
"The consultant told her to stop eating meat for now. She thought you'd want to eat healthy, too, so she changed the menu to vegetables."
A private spa?
How much would the membership fees be this time?
I stared at Nelia.
Her hair covered half her face. The back of her neck was sunburned, and she hardly looked like she'd just come from a spa.
My son bent down and leaned close to her ear, lowering his voice.
"Think before you speak. You know Mom cares about the family's reputation more than anything."
I was close enough to hear every word.
Before I could ask, her thoughts sounded again.
[He's using the family name to shut me up again.]
[So I can't even mention money at this table.]
[If he thinks a woman who earns an hourly wage is beneath an heir like him, he shouldn't have married me in the first place.]
[Without spa treatments and custom dresses, I'm an embarrassment to her?]
[Then she can damn well give me the money.]
My expression darkened as I listened.
But it was Thanksgiving, and I didn't want to ruin dinner.
Vittore returned from the bathroom. His expression darkened at the sight of all that cabbage.
Leonzio quickly urged Nelia to get up.
"Nelia, pour Mom and Dad some wine."
"It's a family dinner. Don't keep everyone waiting."
He had to tell her twice before Nelia stood.
She came over to pour the wine, her movements stiff, her head still lowered.
My son reminded her again.
"Nelia, call her Mom."
She finally looked at us, exhaustion in her eyes, her voice as hoarse as if she'd been up all night.
"Mr. Balestri. Donna."
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard.
I gave her forty-five thousand dollars a month, and on Thanksgiving she still used our formal titles as though we were strangers?
Vittore's face darkened, too. He held his wineglass without raising it for a long time.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I flung the wine from my glass straight onto the floor.
My son froze. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"Hands."
"What?" They both looked at me.
I stared at Nelia. "Put your hands on the table."
She hesitated, then drew both hands out from under the table and laid them on the tablecloth.
For three years, her bills had included a private manicurist and expensive hand cream shipped from Switzerland.
But these nails were cut right down to the skin, and her cuticles were split.
A red mark crossed the web between her thumb and forefinger, as though rough packing straps had rubbed it over and over. I'd had the same injury hauling supplies for my food cart years ago.
I stared at the mark. "Where did you get that?"
She suddenly curled her fingers.
My son's expression changed as he cut in: "She rubbed it raw working out. She's been using exercise equipment lately; it's nothing."
Nelia clenched her hands tighter.
[I'm sorting packages at the depot until three in the morning, and he calls it working out.]
[I stand at the convenience store register until my legs swell, and he calls it toning up.]
[He gives me eight dollars for dinner, then claims all fifteen thousand went into my pocket.]
[Do they need me to keep my mouth shut just to protect their reputation?]
The delivery depot? A cash register?
A sudden chill ran down my back.
On one side was the heir I'd raised myself. On the other, a daughter-in-law who wouldn't even call me Mom.
Which one was lying to me?
Chapter 3
I kept staring at the red mark on Nelia's hand, ready to ask more.
Leonzio stepped in front of her again. "Mom, let's eat first. It won't taste good cold."
"Step aside."
I looked at him. "I asked what happened to her hands."
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the doorbell rang twice in quick succession.
My son immediately went to answer it.
Fiora Bellomo stood outside.
She'd been our live-in housekeeper for twenty years.
She was in her early forties, her hair neatly curled. She looked more pampered now than when she'd worked at the estate.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Donna."
She looked into the room with a smile. "I knew you were getting together tonight, so I roasted a turkey."
"Leonzio's loved my herb stuffing since he was little. I may not work at the estate anymore, but I haven't forgotten your family."
Fiora had worked for the Balestri family for twenty years, handling the kitchen and looking after our daily needs. She'd never given me a reason to worry.
Two years earlier, in the second year of Nelia's marriage, I'd been told that Nelia had fired her because a live-in housekeeper's salary was too high.
At the time, I'd thought this woman couldn't even tolerate someone cooking for her, yet never spent a cent less herself.
Now that Fiora had brought us a turkey without being asked, I couldn't be rude.
I could only set my questions aside for the moment.
She put an insulated roasting pan on the table and lifted the lid.
The scent of butter and rosemary rose from it, making the cabbage look even more meager.
My eyes fell on her hands.
Pale skin, soft fingertips, pale pink polish. Not a single crack.
Then I looked at Nelia in the corner, her hands rough, her cuticles split, that injury still between her thumb and forefinger.
The former housekeeper looked more like the pampered wife of the family's heir.
What fraudulent spa was taking Nelia's forty-five thousand dollars every month?
My chest tightened, but I didn't let it show.
"Sit down. Since you're here, eat with us," I told her.
She accepted without protest, sat beside my son, and deftly cut off a turkey leg to put on his plate.
"Leonzio, eat the skin first. It won't stay crisp once it's cold."
She'd watched my son grow up. At the time, I didn't think twice about that familiarity.
With the turkey, the table finally looked like Thanksgiving.
I turned to Nelia.
She huddled in the farthest chair, staring at the roasting pan. Her throat moved slightly.
[A month.]
[I haven't eaten meat in a whole month.]
[Even smelling it makes me hungry.]
[If I take a turkey leg, will she say I don't even know how to behave at the family table?]
I paused, my hand still around my fork.
No meat for a month?
Forty-five thousand dollars every month, and she couldn't afford one serving?
Or was she dieting again?
I'd gotten my start selling food. I couldn't stand seeing anyone go hungry with food right in front of them.
I cut off the other turkey leg and put it on her plate.
"Eat."
She looked up at me, disbelief flashing in her eyes.
[Is it really for me?]
[Or is she waiting for me to make a mistake so she can lecture me again?]
She didn't even pick up her knife.
I had to keep my face stern and urge her.
"It's on your plate because it's yours to eat."
Only then did Nelia lower her head and cut into the turkey leg. She didn't leave even the scraps along the edge of her plate.
She hardly looked like a woman accustomed to fine dining.
Something seemed wrong.
I saw Fiora's fork pause. The corners of her mouth turned down, and she seemed to glare fiercely at Nelia.
But a moment later, her smile was back.
"The whole neighborhood knows how much you love your daughter-in-law, Donna."
I assumed I'd misread it.
In the time it took to say those few words, only a bone remained on Nelia's plate.
How long had she been hungry?
I put down my fork and looked at her, unable to keep quiet any longer.
"We can save money elsewhere. We don't cut corners on food."
"Fiora worked at the estate for twenty years. I trust her with the kitchen."
"It's my call. She's coming back."
"Nelia, pay her a thousand-dollar signing bonus today. From now on, she'll take over the kitchen."
"If word gets out that the heir can't get a decent meal at home, who will take us seriously?"
Fiora's eyes lit up, though she protested. "Donna, I'm just coming back to help. You don't need to give me so much..."
I waved a hand. "Twenty years of loyalty is worth that much."
Nelia didn't answer.
She stared at the bone on her plate without moving.
One second. Two...
Fiora's smile slowly stiffened. She turned to look at me.
Her meaning was clear: Nelia wouldn't pay.
Vittore took a sip of wine and tried to smooth things over.
"It's a holiday. I'll pay the bonus."
I raised my hand to stop him.
"No."
Spending my money was one thing, but bringing the housekeeper back would make her own life easier.
She spent forty-five thousand dollars without a thought.
Now she couldn't part with a thousand dollars?
I stared at her and spoke each word distinctly.
"Nelia will pay this."
Everyone at the table looked at her.
But she only pressed her lips together and remained silent.
I raised my hand to slap her. She didn't move away.
But her thoughts now sounded close to tears.
[You old bitch! You could break my hand, and I still couldn't come up with a thousand dollars!]
[I earned this cabbage unloading goods at the wholesale market until nine.]
[Why should I have to pay your housekeeper a bonus?]
[A hundred and twenty a month for me, but you hand out money to everyone else like it's Christmas!]
