Claimed by her Mafia Doctor

Chapter One

“If I die, burn my body and put my ashes in an urn, then travel to Egypt ," Danny said, clutching his chest theatrically. "Bury me close to the pyramids. After you do that, donate all my properties to the less privileged,”

I scoffed, tossing the huge curtains I was about to wash, into the laundry basket at my feet.

“First, you're not dying," I stated. "Mom’s old hospital would be sponsoring your heart surgery as a tribute to her memory. Secondly, I don't have a dime to buy a lipgloss, let alone take a flight to Egypt. And thirdly, we are the less privileged, Danny . All you have is your box of coloring pencils,”

Danny purred, his cute pink lips popping out like red cherries.

“you didn't have to rub it in like that, you just ruined my few seconds of feeling like a legend,”

I smiled, even though I was exhausted. I reached down and lifted the heavy basket from the ground.

Danny was only eight, but he had an old soul, and unfortunately, an old heart too. It was failing him, it was like a ticking time bomb, we didn't know when it'd explode. If it wasn't for the hospital’s intervention, I wouldn't have known what to do or how to go about it.

“When will they let you use the laundry machine, you keep hurting your fragile fingers when you wash with your hands," Danny pointed out, a small frown on his face. "They're so mean,”

“Sshhh,” I hissed, looking at the door. “Don't say that. We have a roof over our heads because of them, and we eat,”

“When you say roof, do you mean the cupboard we squeeze ourselves into every night?" Danny countered, his little voice rising. "When will the man you were promised come for us?”

I let out a long quiet sigh and shook my head at him. Even after a year, he hadn't adjusted to our new reality. The man I was promised to was the son of my mother's best friend, she promised me to him on my mom's burial. It was probably out of pity, she said we'd get married once she comes back from Germany. I've only met up with him thrice, and he often made me feel terrible.

Danny thinks he's some kind of prince charming that would come save us but, he was just like the rest of them. Vain and shallow-minded.

I couldn't blame my brother, he was still a child trying to process how he went from a spacious room with game consoles to a drawer.

It wasn't that hard for me to adjust though, until last year, I was a nun protected by the evil of the outside world. The convent was a quiet sanctuary, a place I never thought of leaving until my mom died. I never went back for my brother's sake.

I didn't know what else to say to him, so I lifted the basket and walked out of the house. There Sterling's home though not as big as our old home, was luxurious in its own way. There was a natural spring close to the garden at the back of the house. This was my personal Laundromat. Heaven forbid I use the Sterling's precious laundry machine to make my work easier.

They had often hammered it into our ears that we were just charity cases, and piles of garbage they can't get out.

So to end our keep, I became an unpaid servant. I cleaned the huge house, washed the dishes, prepared meals and manually did the laundry for a family of four.

By the time I finished washing, a couple of hours had passed.

My hands were burning, my butt hurt. I had sat on a rock for hours. I still managed to drag myself back into the house, I headed straight to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

My steps faltered the moment I opened the kitchen door.

Mr. Sterling was leaning on the kitchen sink, a disgusting yet familiar evil grin plastered across his wrinkled face.

I internally traced the sign of the cross, though it had never helped me in this situation. The only time I'm ever free from his clutches is when I spend my entire days in the little flower shop I inherited from my dad. But today was Friday though, the day I wasn't allowed to go to the shop.

“The quicker you walk in here, the faster I can get out of your beautiful hair,” he said, licking his disgusting lips.

I still couldn't believe that this was my father's best friend.

“My hands hurt,” I whispered, looking around to see if anyone was close, by anyone I mean Danny.

“Waste another minute of my time, and I'll take away your visitation rights," Mr. Sterling roared. "The criminal you call a father would never see you or Danny again,"

He always had new things to threaten or blackmail me with, and sadly, he was a man of action. I've suffered severely in the past for going against his wishes.

I couldn't afford to stop seeing my father, we were the only reason he was still holding on in prison.

Without another word, I walked into the kitchen and closed the door, then went on my knees in front of him.

I unzipped his pants, hooking my fingers in the elastic band of his boxers. He let out a loud groan I had learnt to mentally silence because it disgusted me.

I pulled the already wet fabric down, the tiny, scaly animal between his legs sprang to life. I held it and began to stroke as fast as I could. I wanted this nightmare to end as soon as possible so I could get on with other things.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and shut his eyes tightly. I applied pressure, my mind elsewhere.

He was twisting and yanking my hair so hard I felt my scalp burning but I didn't make a sound, I had gotten used to the pain. It was the sad reality of my life.

“I wonder how your mouth would feel, tightly wrapped around me,” he said.

My breath hitched. A dreadful feeling washing over me.

Aside, getting off with my panties, and forcing me to use my hands, he had me never asked for anything else.

The thought of it alone was traumatizing enough. I would never let him get to that point.

Desperate to get rid of him, I squeezed tightly and stroked even faster, wishing his release would come as soon as possible.

Finally, he let out a loud groan and began to jerk. The next second, the white fluids filled my hands.

Suddenly, a sound came from the door. My heart almost left my chest.

There was no one there, but the door was open. I could remember closing it.

I stood up as fast as I could, and began to wipe my hands with a rag. I walked out of the kitchen and disposed of it before washing my hands thoroughly in the bathroom. I scrubbed my hands until they turned red and the skin was almost peeling off.

My eyes were glistening with tears, I let them fall. I wouldn't be in this situation if that night didn't happen. My dad had told me he didn't do it, he didn't kill my mother. I believe him, but who did? Who shot my mom seven times on her head while she was begging on her knees?