The Mafia's Thirteenth Bride

Ivy

“You call this coffee!”

I flinched at uncle Richard’s voice. My hands trembled as I stood before his desk. The cup sat between us, steam rising from the dark liquid.

“I'm sorry, uncle Richard…” 

“Sorry?” He stood slowly, his chair scraped against the hardwood floor. “You’re always sorry, aren't you?”

“I didn't mean…”

“Shut up!” He picked up the cup and threw it. The hot coffee splashed across my chest, soaking through my thin dress. I gasped at the burning sensation but couldn't scream.

“Clean that up,” he said coldly. “And make it again. Properly this time.”

“Yes, uncle Richard.” 

I dropped to my knees and started wiping up the spilled coffee with the hem of my dress. It was already stained and faded anyway. One more stain wouldn't matter.

This was my life. For thirteen years. 

I was eight when my parents died in a fire outbreak. Uncle Richard took me in, promising to care for me until I turned eighteen and he’e return my inheritance when I came of age.

I am twenty-one now and I’d never seen a penny.

After cleaning the floor, I hurried back to the kitchen. Aunt Margaret was there with Celeste, both of them were laughing at something on Celeste’s phone.

“Look at this,” Celeste said, turning the screen towards her mother. “Five thousand likes already. Everyone loves my new Chanel bag.”

A Chanel bag bought with my money.

“You look stunning, darling,” Aunt Margaret cooed. “That color is perfect on you.” 

I moved quietly toward the coffee maker, trying not to draw attention. But Celeste’s eyes found me anyway.

“Oh my God Ivy. You're soaking wet. Did you spill something again?” She wrinkled her nose. “You're so clumsy. It's embarrassing.” 

“I'm making fresh coffee for Uncle Richard.” I said quietly.

“Well, hurry up. And when you're done, the bathrooms need cleaning. The guest bathroom is disgusting.” She added.

“Yes, Celeste.” I said.

“Don't yes Celeste me. Say yes, Miss Celeste. Show some respect!” She threw a slap across my face.”

I bit my tongue to stifle a scream. “Yes, Miss Celeste.” 

She smiled looking satisfied, and returned to her phone. I measured out the coffee grounds carefully this time, my hands were still shaking. Getting it wrong would earn me another beating.

When it was ready, I poured it into a clean cup and carried it back to Uncle Richard’s study. He was on the phone, his face red with anger. 

“I don't care what it takes,” he was saying. “I need more time. Another week, that's all I'm asking.” 

He slammed the phone down and glared at me. “Well? Don't just stand there. Bring it here!” 

I set the cup on his desk carefully, making sure not to spill a single drop. 

He took a sip. Then another. I held my breath, waiting.

“It's cold!” He growled. 

My heart sank. “But I just made it…” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” His brows raised.

“No, Uncle Richard, I just…” 

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me forward so hard I stumbled. The cup fell, spilling coffee all over his desk and papers.

“You stupid, worthless girl!” He stood, still gripping my wrist. “Do you have any idea what you've just done? Those papers were important!” 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…”

“Sorry isn't good enough!” His other hand came up and struck my face three times. My cheek exploded in pain. I tasted blood where my teeth cut into my lip.

“You ruin everything you touch,” he snarled, throwing me backward. I hit the bookshelf, books tumbled down around me. “You parents must be rolling in their graves knowing what a disappointment you turned out to be.” He said coldly.

Years burned my eyes but I blinked them back.

“Get out of my sight. And don't come back until this mess is cleaned up.”

.I scrambled to my feet and ran from the room. Books were still falling behind me. In the hallway, I pressed my hand to my bleeding lip and tried to catch my breath. 

“Daddy's really mad today, huh?”

I turned to find Celeste leaning against the walk, examining her manicured nails. Today they were painted deep red.

“He’s stressed about money,” she continued. “His gambling debts are getting worse. Mother’s worried he might have to sell the house.” She looked up at me and smiled. “Your house, technically. But you signed it over to him, didn't you? When you were too young to know better?”

I hadn't signed anything. Richard had forged my signature. But no one would believe me if I said so.

“Anyway,”Celeste said, pushing off the wall. “I need you to do my laundry. I'm going out tonight and I need my black dress. The Versace one.”

“I have to clean Uncle Richard’s study first.”

“So? Do both. It's not like you have anything else to do.” She started to walk away, then paused. “Oh, and ivy? Try not to bleed on my dress. That stain on your lip is really gross.”

She disappeared down the hall, her daughter echoing behind her.

I made my way back to the study with cleaning supplies. Uncle Richard had left, probably to drink himself to stupor in the living room. I cleaned up the spilled coffee and picked up all the fallen books.

My whole body ached. My face throbbed. My chest still burned from the coffee he’d thrown at me. But I kept working. Because if I stopped, if I sat down even for a moment, I might not get back up.

When the study was spotless, I went to do Celeste’s laundry. Then I cleaned the bathrooms. Then I started preparing dinner, even though I knew I wouldn't be allowed to eat with them. I would have to scrap the pots later for leftovers.

At eight o’clock, the family sat down to eat. I served them roasted chicken with vegetables and mashed potatoes. Aunt Margaret had taught me to cook years ago, not out of kindness but out of necessity. They had chased all the maids making me replace them.

“This is delicious, Ivy.” Aunt Margaret said, but her voice held no warmth.

“Thank you, Aunt Margaret.” I whispered.

“You can eat in the kitchen when we’re done.” She smiled as though she was doing me a favor.

“Yes, Aunt Margaret.”

I stood in the corner while they ate, my stomach cramping with hunger. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. But I’d learned to ignore the pain. Hunger was just another constant.

They talked about Celeste's modeling career, about a new campaign she might book, about a party they were planning. They talked about everything except the fact that they were living in my house, spending my own money, and wearing my parents clothes.

When they finished, I cleared the table. There were scraps left on their plates. A piece of chicken skin, and some cold mashed potatoes. This would be my own dinner. I have eaten worse.

I was washing dishes when Uncle Richard appeared in the doorway.

“Ivy. My study. Now.”

My hands froze in the soapy water. What had I done wrong this time?