Page 11 of Stolen Queen

“You touch her again and I’ll cut your hand off and shove it up your ass.”

“You and what—” The man’s words stop short and color drains from his face. “Mr. Moretti.”

“That’s right.”

Oh, my God. It’s Matteo.

“Since you know who I am, you know I’ll make good on it.” Matteo's expression is deadly serious.

“Come on, J.D.,” the man says with a nod to his friend. They rush off without looking back.

I swallow as Matteo steps closer to me, tall and imposing, his blue eyes blazing with something that looks like fury. The atmosphere around us shifts, the air crackling with tension.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a quick glance to the men who have found another woman.

I nod, unable to find my voice. A thousand questions race through my mind. What is Matteo doing here? How did he recognize me? And most importantly, what's he going to do now?

I stare up at Matteo, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it over the pulsing music. His presence is both comforting and terrifying. Here, in this unfamiliar world where I'm so out of my depth, he's a lifeline to the familiar. But he's also a reminder of everything I was trying to escape tonight. I know he doesn’t like my father, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take me out of here and hand me over to my father.

"Thank you," I manage to say, my voice barely audible over the din of the club. "For… for stepping in."

Matteo's eyes soften as he looks at me, but tension remains in his jaw. "Are you sure you're alright?" He leans closer so I can hear him.

I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. The scent of his cologne envelops me, a heady mixture of spice and something distinctly Matteo.

"What are you doing here, Ava?" Matteo's voice is low.

I lift my chin, trying to summon some of the defiance that drove me here in the first place. "I could ask you the same thing."

A ghost of a smile flits across his face. "I come here sometimes. To unwind." His eyes narrow as he takes in my oversized hoodie and jeans. "But you… you shouldn't be here. It's not safe."

The words sting, even though I know he's right. "I just wanted… I needed to get out. To breathe."

“And you can breathe here?” Amusement dances in his eyes.

It annoys me that he finds humor in my fish out of water situation. “Where I can’t breathe is at home. I want to do something that isn’t orchestrated by my father. Something I choose. I want my own experience, even if just for one night."

He watches me for a moment as if he’s considering. “I can understand that. But this isn’t a place for you to have an experience. Are you aware of what those men wanted?”

“They were flirting?—”

“They wanted to fuck you.”

I flinch. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know about sex. Granted, it’s all academic. Mostly, my mother tells me it’s a duty. Men enjoy it and women endure it.

But I don’t want Matteo to know just how out of my element I am. “Maybe I wanted them to.”

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens to the point I’m surprised it doesn’t break off. “Is that your goal? Devalue yourself?—”

“My value isn’t in my sexuality.” I’m proud of myself for saying that. I feel like it’s something Lana D’Amato would say.

“Tell that to your father.”

I swallow, knowing he’s right. A horrifying thought strikes me. "You're not… you're not going to tell my father, are you?"

The fear must be evident in my voice because Matteo's expression immediately softens. "No. I'm not going to tell your father."

Relief washes over me, but it's quickly followed by confusion. "Why not? I know he’s mad about Lazaro backing out of the marriage. It could be a way to get into his good graces.”

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