Beatrice Bartoni Novels & Stories

If anything, this second picture, though much older, looked so much like the picture of someone who had been declared missing many years ago. And over the years, no one had mentioned anything about it, at least from the little I knew. Which brings me back to that lingering question from when Ronata had mentioned they had hurt someone close to her. Was Beatrice her lost sister who was never mentioned or found? And if that was true, does that mean her daughter, Becky, was the one who got hurt? If she had a daughter whose age I am yet to uncover, then why would she present Rita as her daughter when, in reality, from the reports so far, she had never treated her as one?

The moment my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. **Alpha Lorenzo Bianchi - POV** I watched Gabriel dance with the woman on the dance floor, stealing furtive glances at the girl seated a few chairs away from me. Ever since that incident, I had buried myself in work to avoid women, but she felt different. It had been an hour since she walked into the bar, and I couldn’t shake the feeling she ignited something deep within me. Unlike the other women here, she wasn’t dressed provocatively, yet there was something undeniably pretty about her that drew me in.

“Lucia is not fit to be a wife anymore. She’s unstable. Weak.” “She’s your wife,” Beatrice shouted. “She’s my mother.” “You’ll understand when you’re older.” But Beatrice didn’t want to understand. Not then. Not ever. And exactly thirty-three days after Lucia was forced to pack her life into a single suitcase and disappear, her father had remarried. To her. Valeria D’Amico. Antonia’s mother. Beatrice closed her eyes and felt the fury rise like bile. She could still see her stepmother’s perfectly painted lips curled in a smug smile that day at the garden wedding. Could still hear her laugh—the way it lilted through the halls like a victory bell.

"Donald sir, she looks really beautiful. Welcome to our lovely abode. I'm Beatrice Suarez. You can call me B.S for short." Beatrice is such a beautiful and lovely lady. She's chubby and cute, she's a red hair and she smells really good, more like natural spices, no, she's got this lovely scent that makes you crave for food. It's really a nice scent that reminds you of home and of your mum. She is really bright and bubbly, full of so much energy. She's in her early forties and she's really one who's fun to be with. She helped Mr Julio take our luggage in.

Alexander stiffened at Beatrice’s words. Distrusting his wife, he asked cautiously, “I can’t guess. Just tell me—what is it?” Beatrice lifted her chin, triumphant. “The Butterfly Dress that Buffon Leonardo, the Italian designer, has refused to sell for twenty years—I managed to snap it up for Catherine. Am I not wonderful?” Winnie’s face darkened at once. She clenched her teeth. She had dreamed for years of wearing that dress, but her mother had bought it for Alicia instead. Jealousy surged so hotly she couldn’t hide it.

“Though now I’m curious why I’m being grilled for innocent small talk.” “There was nothing innocent about those questions.” Her voice cuts sharply, her eyes widening now just before the bathroom door swings open. A tall woman steps in, and I recognize her. Beatrice. One of the shareholders of House of Valemont. I school my face into neutrality as she sweeps Vivienne into an embrace. “Hello there, Vivienne. You look beautiful.” Vivienne’s switches to full charm mode, her smile blooming warm. “Thanks, Beatrice. You look lovely too.”

a harsh whisper hissed from the copy alcove twenty feet away. I didn’t look up from my pinky nail, but my lips curled into a smirk. The speaker was Beatrice, a woman in her late forties whose wardrobe consisted entirely of beige pant suits and resentment. Beside her stood high-and-mighty Clara, who had been passed over for the senior executive secretary role three times in the last five years.

She was wearing a high-collared knit dress, the fabric stiff and abrasive against the fresh mark on her neck—the one Damian had left only hours before in the dark of her apartment. Beatrice Cross sat at the head of the mahogany table, her silver hair pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to stretch the skin of her forehead. She was a woman built of sharp angles and cold reputations, and her eyes hadn't left Aria since she had walked into the room.

“The bastard even refused me entry to my own daughter’s funeral and kept you as far away from me as he could.” I stared down at the plates, wondering how my life might have been different. “I wish you could have gotten to me. Those years were hell.” His gaze locked onto me, his brow furrowed. “I tried. I lost over a dozen men trying, half of them to the man lying in this house.” My eyes widened. “Domenico?” He nodded. “He was younger then, still working his way up. The anger in him…there is good reason they call him la Bestia, mia bella.”

It had been few weeks since they returned from Korea, everything back to normal. Tina returned to high school, and Mia also let go of her feelings for Cade. She wanted to start her life afresh. Beatrice had already named the boutique, it was called. "QUALITY'S COLLECTIONS". ***** Beatrice focused her gaze on her laptop as she stared at the financial records of the company. She wasn't working at her boutique, she hired a manager to look after it, she was working at her dad's company. As the CEO.