Chapter 169

Chapter 169
I stood frozen outside Heartfelt Café, watching Matteo help Diana into her dress inside his car. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest. Poor Matteo—he'd lost his brother, and apparently his girlfriend had cheated on him with Franco. I could sympathize with his pain, even though my own wounds were still raw from everything that had happened.

When our eyes met through the windshield, I offered him a small smile, hoping to convey my understanding. A peace offering of sorts, a sign that despite everything, I didn't blame him for what had happened with Enzo. But instead of acknowledging me, Matteo deliberately turned to Diana, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, his eyes sliding toward me to make sure I was watching.

The message couldn't have been clearer if he'd skywritten it across the morning sky.

He wants me to know I'm no longer welcome in his life.

My smile crumbled as a wave of rejection washed over me. I'd been stupid to think there was anything left between us after everything that had happened. He'd moved on, and I was just an unwanted reminder of everything that had gone wrong in his life—his brother's death and his family's fracturing.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to fill the hollow space expanding in my chest, I forced myself to walk into the café. The bell above the door jingled cheerfully, a sound that seemed to mock my misery. I wasn't here for Matteo anyway. I was here to quit this miserable job and start rebuilding my shattered life somewhere far from the Vasquez family's shadow.

Marisa greeted me as soon as I entered, her expression apologetic. The dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't been sleeping well. "Beatrice, I'm so sorry about yesterday. My father—he wasn't himself. He's been under a lot of stress with the business and—"

"I'm here to quit," I interrupted, keeping my voice steady despite the hollow feeling spreading through my chest. The words felt good to say out loud, one small act of control in a life that had spiraled beyond my grasp.

Her face fell, genuine disappointment flashing across her features. "Oh."

"Can you take me to your father?" I asked, glancing around the café nervously. I didn't want to be standing here when Matteo and Diana came in.

Marisa nodded, leading me through the bustling café toward the kitchen. The familiar scent of Italian spices and freshly baked bread made my stomach growl, reminding me I hadn't eaten breakfast. Not that it mattered now. Food had lost its appeal since the night Enzo died.

Marisa's father was lounging in the corner of the kitchen, flipping through a newspaper while Marisa appeared to be doing all the actual work. He looked up with a scowl when we entered.

"Father, Beatrice wants to speak with you."

He set down his knife with deliberate slowness, wiping his hands on his apron before turning to face me. His eyes, so similar to Marisa's, held none of her kindness. "So, the princess returns." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Decided honest work is better than whoring for the Vasquez boys?"

I flinched at his crude words but stood my ground. "I'm quitting."

His expression darkened instantly, like storm clouds gathering over a summer sky. "No, you're not."

"Excuse me?" I blinked in surprise, certain I'd misheard.

"Your mother took money from me. Until that debt is paid, you work." His tone left no room for argument, each word like a nail being hammered into a coffin.

"What debt? My mother doesn't owe you anything." My voice rose slightly, drawing curious glances from the kitchen staff.

He laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "That's not what she told me when she begged for an advance on your salary." He stepped closer, his bulk intimidating as his breath hot on my face. "Either you work it off, or I call the police on both of you for fraud."

My stomach dropped. We couldn't afford police attention, not with our Rossi connections potentially being exposed. A police investigation would be disastrous.

"I'm sorry," Marisa whispered beside me, looking genuinely distressed. "I didn't know."

Her father shot her a warning glare before turning back to me. "Now get out there and wait tables. I don't want you in my kitchen anymore."

"But I've been helping in the kitchen since—"

"Not anymore," he snapped, cutting me off. "Take table seven. They just sat down." His smile turned cruel. "I believe you know them already."

With no choice, I grabbed an apron from a hook near the door, tied it around my waist, and headed out to the dining area. I'd never waited tables before, but how hard could it be? Just take orders, bring food, and try not to cry when customers were rude.

As I approached table seven, my steps faltered. Matteo sat there with Diana, their hands intertwined on the table. My heart hammered against my ribs as I forced myself to continue forward, each step feeling like I was walking through quicksand.

"Welcome to Heartfelt Café," I said mechanically, the rehearsed greeting tasting like ash in my mouth. "Can I take your order?"

Matteo's eyes widened slightly before a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "Well, look who it is." He turned to Diana. "Me and my girlfriend over here would love to order the best of your menu."

“Oh! I didn’t know you work here,” Diana seemed to be caught off guard. She looked at Matteo and then at me in confusion. I also noticed how tired she looked. There were a few bruises on her neck as if somebody had tried to strangle her.

“How would you know? Her job is to sleep with bastard, so seeing her here might be a little confusing,” Matteo’s comment rooted from when I slept with Franco for him.

"What can I get you?" I asked, proud that my voice didn't shake despite the trembling of my hand around my pen.

“A loyal and decent lover, who isn’t running around taking pictures of someone else just because she is jealous,” He continued to pass a taunt at me.

Diana fidgeted with her napkin. "I'll have the Italian roasted vegetable salad," she said quietly, avoiding my eyes as if ashamed to be witnessing my degradation.

“Go on! Take My baby’s Order!” Matteo snapped his fingers at me when ordering. I had mixed emotions, but I showed none because I knew it wouldn’t matter to anyone.

“Blueberry pancakes for me,” Matteo ordered with an attitude.

I gave him a nod, and just when I was about to walk away, he said something that made me scream internally. “I wonder if she planned it all to hand over Enzo’s place to Franco.”