Page 17 of Stolen Queen

I throw a pillow at her. “I do not like him.” Okay, so I do, but I don’t like being teased.

“Too bad you can’t marry him.” Bella leans to the side, looking at my cheek. “Does it hurt?”

Instinctively, I press my hand to my face. “No.”

My sisters exchange knowing glances. They've all been on the receiving end of Father's temper at one point or another.

“I know how to cheer you up.” Gianna stands on my bed and tries to clobber Sofia with the pillow I threw at her.

Sofia yelps and grabs another pillow to defend herself. Soon, all four of us are engaged in an all-out pillow war, playing and laughing.

For a moment, I forget about my hangover, about Matteo, about Father's anger. I'm just a girl having fun with her sisters, the way it should be. We chase each other around the room, ducking and dodging soft-stuffed projectiles.

As the frenzy dies down, we collapse onto my bed in a giggling heap. In this moment of connection, I wish I could tell them everything—about sneaking out, about Matteo, about my fears for the future. But I can't burden them with my secrets.

A soft knock at the door interrupts our sisterly moment. Our mother pokes her head in, her eyes immediately landing on me.

"Girls, go get dressed. Breakfast will be ready shortly,” she says.

My sisters file out, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders. Mom closes the door behind them and approaches my bed, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Let me see your cheek," she murmurs, cupping my face gently.

Her fingers brush against the tender skin where Father struck me last night. I think about how my lips feel swollen from Matteo’s kisses and hope it’s not noticeable.

Mom's eyes fill with sadness, but she quickly masks it with a reassuring smile. "It's not so bad. The redness has faded. Your father… he was just upset last night. You know how he gets when things don't go as planned."

I bite my tongue, fighting back the urge to argue, to point out that being "upset" doesn't justify hitting his daughter. But there’s no point. She won’t stand up for me or my sisters. I resent her for that, even as I know she’s as much a victim of my father as we are.

"He loves you, Ava," Mom continues, smoothing my hair back from my face. "He wants what's best for you, for all of us. Sometimes, he just… loses his temper. Especially with how the D’Amatos disrespect him. But he doesn't mean to hurt you."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Inside, I'm screaming. How can she defend him? How can she watch him hurt us, over and over, and still make excuses?

She glances at my attire. “You’re not wearing that to breakfast, are you?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll change.”

She leaves me to change, and fifteen minutes later, I enter the dining room wearing a prim skirt with a cashmere sweater, looking like the innocent schoolgirl my parents want me to project.

“Good morning,” I say, knowing my father expects his children to greet him first. My sisters are already seated, sitting quietly waiting for breakfast to arrive.

“Ava.” He glances at me. “I imagine you’re hungry. I hope you've had time to reflect on your behavior last night. It's important for a young lady to know her place."

My stomach churns at his words, but I keep my expression neutral. "Yes, Father. I understand."

He pats my hand. "That's my girl. Now, we have much to discuss. The D'Amatos may have rejected our alliance, but that doesn't mean we're without options."

Mom sits opposite my father at the table, her gaze darting between Father and me. "Vincenzo, perhaps we should let Ava rest a bit more before?—”

"Nonsense," Father cuts her off. "She's fine, aren't you, Ava?"

I nod, not daring to contradict him.

“Now, about Lazaro D'Amato. It seems his condition is more severe than we were led to believe. But don't worry, I have other prospects in mind for you."

My heart sinks as I realize he’s already planning to marry me off to someone else. He launches into a detailed analysis of potential suitors, each one sounding older and more repulsive than the last. I tune out his words, focusing instead on the open balcony doors and the taste of freedom I experienced last night.

As Father drones on about alliances and power moves, I think of Matteo. His kindness, his protective nature, the way he made me feel seen. I wish he’d whisked me away from all this. But I know that dream is impossible. In this world where my father rules supreme, there's no room for what I want.

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