Chapter 181

Chapter 181
I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, my mind a thousand miles away. Amelia stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun, flour dusting her forearms.

"There you are," she said, not looking up. "I need you to take over the grill. I've got to start prepping the desserts for that special order."

I nodded absently and stepped up to the hot surface, grabbing the spatula. My hands moved automatically while my thoughts remained stuck on Diana's face. I barely noticed when the pancake I was cooking began to smoke, the acrid smell finally cutting through my distraction.

"Jesus, Beatrice!" Amelia swatted my hand away and flipped the charred disc into the trash. "That's the third one you've burned. What's going on with you today?"

I blinked, focusing on her annoyed expression. "Sorry. I'm just... distracted."

"Well, it looks like your mission is to make sure nobody eats in this place today." She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Actually, maybe it's better if you help me with the Vasquez order instead."

My heart stuttered at the name, a familiar ache spreading through my chest. "Why aren't we delivering from the bakery instead of going to the mansion ourselves?"

"Franco insisted we prepare everything fresh in their kitchen," Amelia explained, gathering ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, and the expensive imported vanilla that the Vasquez family demanded. "He wants the desserts made on-site for his engagement ceremony with Maria."

I grimaced. Of course Franco would insist on having me there personally. It was just like him to twist the knife further, to make sure I witnessed his triumph. The bastard probably thought I'd be jealous, that I'd care about him and Maria. As if I'd ever wanted him.

"When do we need to go?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I removed my apron and hung it on the hook by the door.

"This afternoon. We'll prepare everything here, then take it to the mansion." Amelia measured flour with precision, her movements efficient from years of practice.

I sighed, resigned to my fate. The arrogant bastard wanted me back in that house, forced to witness his celebration while I served him like a common maid. The thought made my blood boil, but what choice did I have? This job was the only thing keeping me from complete destitution. I'd already lost so much—my home, my dignity, and Enzo.

Three hours later, I found myself staring up at the imposing white mansion that had once been my home. The afternoon sun glinted off the windows, making them look like accusatory eyes. A pair of security guards—new faces I didn't recognize—escorted us inside, their expressions professionally blank but their eyes curious as they looked me over.

Walking through those familiar gardens, I felt a wave of nostalgia so powerful it nearly knocked me off my feet. The scent of the roses that Dante tended with surprising gentleness, the sound of the fountain where I'd once sat with Enzo discussing Italian literature, the warm aroma of traditional Italian lunch being prepared in the kitchen—it all reminded me of my time here. Of him.

"You okay?" Amelia asked, noting my hesitation as my fingers unconsciously reached for a white marble statue that marked the path to the kitchen entrance.

"Fine," I lied, following her up the service entrance steps. The marble was cool beneath my fingertips, solid and real in a way that memories weren't.

How could someone just disappear like that? Even after all this time, I couldn't quite believe Enzo was gone.

As we approached the mansion's side entrance, raised voices caught my attention. I glanced toward the sound and froze. Antonio Vasquez stood with Salvatore near the garage, their postures rigid with tension.

"He's your brother," Antonio said, his voice low but carrying in the still afternoon air. "I expect you to be at the ceremony."

"My brother is the one you beat to death," Salvatore replied coldly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "No matter how many bastard sons show up, I won't have another brother."

Antonio raised his hand to strike Salvatore, his face flushing with anger, but his son caught his wrist mid-air, stopping the blow with surprising strength.

"I'm not Enzo, Dad," Salvatore said, his voice dangerously calm as he held his father's gaze. "I won't let you hit me."

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment, a silent battle of wills playing out between them, before Salvatore released his father's wrist and turned away. That's when he spotted me, his amber eyes widening slightly in surprise, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face.

Antonio followed his gaze, his expression darkening when he saw me standing there like a ghost from a past he'd rather forget. Without another word, he stormed off toward the main house, his footsteps heavy with anger.

Amelia hurried inside after one of the staff, leaving me alone with Salvatore in the dappled shade of an olive tree. He approached slowly, his eyes taking in my uniform, my rain-soaked hair from the sudden shower that had caught us on the way in.

"Beatrice," he said, my name almost a caress on his lips, his voice softer than I'd expected. "You're drenched."

“Mr. Vasquez!” I mumbled and forced myself to give him a little bow as my emotions were all over the place when he approached me and gently held me by my elbow to walk me to the side.

“Umm! Don’t do that,” I said, freeing my arm from his grasp and shaking my head at him in disapproval. “Don’t get yourself in trouble by associating with me,” I said, not raising my face to look him in the eye when we were standing this close.

“That’s it? You think I will be dead too if I talk to you?” His voice was full of disappointment. “What happened to Beatrice, who didn’t care what others said or did?” he made me finally look up and give him a smile before a tear broke down my eye.

“That Beatrice ended up killing one of the finest and kindest men in her life,” I murmured in a voice full of guilt.

“And now I don’t want anyone else to die,” I said confidently, sticking to my ground, but I forgot Salvatore wasn’t someone who believed in restrictions.

He nodded his head before he cupped my face in his hands and crashed his lips over mine.