Chapter 183

Chapter 183
Beatrice's POV:

I stood in the middle of the Vasquez mansion, surrounded by elaborate Italian-style decorations that made my stomach turn. White and gold ribbons draped across marble pillars, exotic flowers arranged in towering vases, and a fucking red carpet leading to the main hall. All this extravagance when Enzo had only been dead for two months?

The thought made bile rise in my throat as I made my way through the crowd of workers setting up for tonight's event. How could they celebrate anything when his body was barely cold?

I headed toward the kitchen, searching for Amelia among the chaos. I found her barking orders at a group of intimidated-looking caterers, her clipboard clutched tightly against her chest.

"Did you bring the batter?" she asked the moment she spotted me, not even bothering with a greeting.

"The delivery truck hasn't arrived yet," I replied, leaning against the granite countertop. "They said they'd be here within the hour."

Amelia sighed, checking her watch with an impatient tap of her foot. "Go wait outside for them. I need those ingredients before the guests start arriving." She shooed me away with a flick of her wrist. "And try not to get that dress any dirtier."

I headed back through the mansion toward the circular driveway. The front garden had been transformed into something from a bridal magazine—a white marble gazebo draped with sheer fabrics, surrounded by manicured hedges and hundreds of white roses. Everything screamed wealth, power, and privilege.

I glanced down at my once-white dress, now dulled to gray around the edges from my morning in the kitchen. At least my hair looked decent today, falling in soft waves past my shoulders, and my skin had lost that sickly pallor it had carried since everything happened.

The sharp click of heels against marble caught my attention. I turned to see Maria strutting toward me, her pink Versace dress hugging every curve, a diamond-encrusted headpiece glittering atop her perfectly styled hair.

"Well, look who it is," she called out, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Beatrice Romano, working as the help. How the mighty have fallen."

I forced myself to smile. "Congratulations on your engagement, Maria."

She circled me slowly, like a shark smelling blood. "You know what's funny? I remember when you thought Franco would actually choose you." Her laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "When you'd follow him around like a lost puppy."

"I'm just here to work," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "The kitchen's waiting for deliveries."

Maria leaned in closer, her expensive perfume invading my senses. "Don't pretend you're not dying inside. You wanted him to pick you, didn't you? Poor little Beatrice, always wanting what she can't have."

My hands curled into fists at my sides. "You betrayed your boyfriend for Franco. At least I have some dignity left."

Her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "Watch your fucking mouth. I'm going to be a Vasquez soon, and you're nothing but the help now." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And once I'm Franco's wife, I'll make sure you never set foot in this house again."

Before I could respond, Maria shoved me hard. I lost my balance, landing awkwardly on the gravel driveway. Pain shot through my palms as they scraped against the stones.

Laughter erupted from a group of girls watching nearby—Maria's friends, all dressed in designer clothes, all enjoying my humiliation.

"Make sure those desserts are perfect," Maria called over her shoulder as she walked away, her hips swaying dramatically. "It's the least you can do on my special day."

I pushed myself up, brushing gravel and dirt from my now-ruined dress, anger burning in my chest. The delivery truck chose that moment to arrive, sparing me from having to watch Maria's triumphant exit.

After directing the deliverymen to the kitchen, I followed them inside, trying to ignore the stares from staff who had witnessed my fall.

Amelia looked up when I returned, her expression shifting when she saw the state of my clothes and the scrapes on my hands. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," I muttered, washing my hands at the sink, wincing as the water hit the raw skin. "Just clumsy."

She didn't believe me—I could tell from the way her eyes narrowed—but she didn't push. "Start decorating these mini tiramisu cups. They need to be ready in an hour."

I nodded, grateful for something to focus on. As I carefully piped mascarpone cream onto the tiny dessert cups, Amelia worked beside me, her movements practiced and efficient.

"You know," she said after several minutes of silence, "Franco needs someone like Maria."

I glanced up, surprised by her comment. "What do you mean?"

"He needs the perfect mafia wife material," Amelia continued, her eyes fixed on the pastry in her hands. "Someone who follows family orders without expressing her own opinion. Someone who knows when to speak and when to shut up."

"Sounds more like a pet than a wife," I muttered, pressing chocolate shavings into the cream with more force than necessary.

Amelia sighed, setting down her piping bag. "Franco is... complicated. He has no father, so he's always wanted what he didn't have as a child. The stability, the family name, the security. He wants everything the Vasquez brothers had growing up."

The realization hit me like a slap. "That's why he took Salvatore's girlfriend... and why he's been trying to take over Enzo's territory since—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Exactly," Amelia nodded. "And now he's impressed Antonio with his new business ideas. Word is, he might even surpass Dante's position in the family soon."

I froze, the piping bag trembling slightly in my hand. Franco had been systematically taking everything the Vasquez brothers had—their women, their territory, and now potentially Dante's position as heir. It wasn't just ambition; it was a calculated plan to become everything he envied.

"I need to stop him," I whispered, more to myself than to Amelia.

"What did you say?" She looked up from her work, brow furrowed.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just thinking about how much more decorating we have to do."

But as I returned to my work, my mind was racing with possibilities. Franco had already taken too much—he'd taken Enzo from me, tried to manipulate me, and now he was making his move on the family power structure itself.

I couldn't sit back and watch anymore. I needed to stop him, and this engagement party might be the perfect place to start.