The Donna Hears Thoughts — Her Son Wants Her Dead

I'm Vivian Russo. They call me Donna. I built the Russo Family from a Brooklyn food cart to a nine-figure empire — and my only son is lazy, spoiled, and married to a girl I can't stand. Every month I wire her thirty grand. Every month she looks worse. This Sunday, I handed her ten thousand for Family dinner — and she served me boiled cabbage. I almost slapped her. Then I heard her thoughts. Three jobs. $880 a month. A husband who married her as a decoy. A housekeeper wearing her name. And a son waiting on my grave.