Chapter 175

Chapter 175
Beatrice’s POV:

My fingers ached as I wiped down another table, the cheap cleaning solution stinging the small cuts that seemed to multiply daily since I'd started working at Heartfelt Café. The morning rush had finally thinned out, leaving behind scattered napkins, half-empty coffee cups, and the lingering scent of desperation that seemed to cling to this part of the Bronx.

"Beatrice, table four needs clearing," Amelia called from behind the counter, her voice honey-sweet for the customers but laced with impatience for me.

I nodded, pressing my fingers against my temple where a dull throb had been building all morning. These headaches had become my constant companion since everything happened. Since Enzo.

Amelia was watching me with that look—pity mixed with satisfaction. She was only ever nice to girls she thought were pitiful, probably because it made her feel superior. A month ago, I'd been living in a mansion. Now I was scrubbing tables for minimum wage, and she was loving every second of my downfall.

"You don't look well," she said as I passed her on my way to table four. "You're not going to faint again, are you? I can't afford to send anyone home today."

"I'm fine," I muttered, gathering sticky syrup-covered plates.

The bell above the door chimed, and I glanced up, a reflex I couldn't shake. Every time it rang, some stupid part of me hoped it would be Dante or Salvatore coming to say there had been a terrible mistake. That Enzo wasn't dead. That I could come home.

But it never was.

I carried the dishes to the kitchen, where Marisa was scrubbing pots with vigor. She looked up as I entered, her eyes brightening.

"Hey," she said softly. "How's it going out there?"

I shrugged. "Same as always. Amelia's enjoying watching me stumble around with a headache."

Marisa frowned. "You should take something for that. I have aspirin in my purse."

"Thanks, but I've already taken two. It doesn't help." I leaned against the counter, lowering my voice. "I need to borrow some money. Just a few dollars."

"What for?" Marisa wiped her hands on her apron.

"I want to call Dante from the payphone on the corner. My mom took my cell phone after..." I trailed off, not wanting to rehash the fight we'd had.

Marisa's expression softened. "Bea, I don't think that's a good idea. We're neither here nor there, you know? Not part of their world anymore, but not really normal people either."

That hit hard because it was true. We existed in this strange limbo—cast out from the Vasquez family but forever marked by our association with them.

"I just need to ask him something," I insisted.

Marisa sighed and reached for her purse, but before she could open it, Amelia stuck her head through the doorway.

"Beatrice, there's someone asking for you."

My heart skipped a beat. "Who?"

"One of the Vasquez boys," she said, a hint of fear and reverence in her voice.

I wiped my hands quickly on my apron and followed her out. My stomach knotted when I saw who it was. Matteo sat slouched in a booth by the window, his expression dark and unreadable. He'd lost weight since I'd last seen him, his cheekbones more pronounced under his olive skin.

He didn't look up as I approached, even though I knew he sensed my presence. I forced my face into a smile that felt brittle enough to crack.

"What can I get for you, sir?" I asked, the formality feeling strange on my tongue.

His eyes finally lifted to mine, and the coldness there made me flinch.

"I bet it's hard walking through the tall grass every day instead of riding in luxury cars," he said, his voice low and mocking.

I gripped my notepad tighter. "This life is good for me."

He snorted. "Sure it is." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You heard they found another body in the grass, right? Some girl, all cut up."

My blood chilled. I'd heard whispers about it, but no one would tell me details. Maxwell's threatening glare had kept me from exploring the tall grass at night, though curiosity burned inside me.

"I don't know anything about that," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

"No? I heard you are the one who—" He paused as he stared behind me after the cafe door opened and somebody walked in. I turned around only a little to see Salvatore walking in and staring deeply into my eyes.

"How are you, Beatrice?" Salvatore asked, using my name rather than treating me like a nameless waitress.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, though nothing could be further from the truth.

Salvatore slid into the booth across from Matteo, who glared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you this question, brother!" Salvatore replied coolly.

"It's not right to take your anger out on someone who means no harm," he continued, nodding toward me.

"I don’t know what you are talking about. I only came here to enjoy breakfast." Matteo grunted, maybe not liking the idea that his brother had come here and was lecturing him.

“She has been through a lot. Don’t make it any harder for her.” Salvatore spread his hand out on the table and steadily held the pepper shaker.

“We have been through a lot, Salvatore. We lost our brother,” Matteo complained, not happy that his brother didn’t acknowledge his suffering.

"We lost our brother because of Franco," Salvatore corrected, his voice sharp. "And she lost her brother and everything else. Don't forget that."

I stood frozen, stunned by Salvatore's defense. He didn't look at me as he spoke, but I could feel the truth behind his words. He knew what had happened hadn't been my fault, even if everyone else blamed me.

"Go," Salvatore said to me without turning his head. "We need to talk privately."

I nodded and started to leave, but Matteo's voice stopped me.

"Don't work too late," he called after me, a warning in his tone. "Dangerous things happen in the grass after dark."

I hurried back to the kitchen, my heart pounding.

“What happened? You didn’t take the orders?" Marisa asked me as she walked into my view, her hands behind her pack and tying the apron.

“I couldn’t. The Vasquez brothers are here,” I stated in a murmur, but the way her face lit up confused me.

“Salvatore is here.” She asked out of the blue, making me watch her face in silence until she explained, “He is a regular here. He leave—s big tips,” she smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah! He is outside with Matteo,” I said, pointing at the door.

Marisa had a huge smile plastered over her lips when she rushed out of the kitchen like a butterfly. I couldn’t help but notice her mood change every time Salvatore’s name was mentioned to her.