Married to the Mafia Heir, Working Three Jobs to SurviveChapter 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?"