Page 51 of Stolen Queen

"I'm not stupid," I say, my voice quavering. "I know it's dangerous. "

“Then you’re reckless.”

I’m hurt, but also angry. I’m not a child. I’m not willful or impulsive—well, except when it comes to kissing Matteo. But other than that, I’m not one who does things without thinking. It’s something I’ve learned growing up with a domineering father who is quick to punish.

"I didn't have a choice.”

“The hell you didn’t.” His gaze drifts to the bag I picked up at the drugstore half a block down the street. “If you needed something, you could have asked me."

I scoff. "How exactly was I supposed to do that? You took my phone, my wallet. I had no way to contact you."

His jaw tightens. “If you didn't have your wallet, how did you manage to pay for anything?"

“I had some money in the pocket of my jeans the night you kidnapped me. I always try to have a few bucks on me… just in case.” After last night, I’d stopped seeing him as my kidnapper and more as my protector. Not anymore.

A flicker of surprise crosses Matteo's face. Despite my nervousness, I feel a small surge of pride. For once, I'd managed to outsmart someone who thought they had complete control over me.

"You searched me, but you didn't think to check my pockets?" I can't help the hint of smugness in my voice.

Matteo's eyes narrow. "What exactly did you need so urgently that you risked everything to go out?"

I hesitate for a moment, then decide to be blunt. Reaching into my bag, I pull out a box of tampons and hold it up. "This.”

Matteo's reaction is almost comical. His face goes from confusion to realization to embarrassment in a matter ofseconds. He blanches, his eyes widening as he takes an involuntary step back.

“Some things can't wait, even when you're keeping someone captive."

Matteo’s phone rings. “Fuck.” He steps toward the door, I suppose to make sure I don’t leave again. “Moretti,” he says into the phone.

I can’t hear the conversation, but I know it’s not good. His face scowls even more. His gaze flicks to me. "I understand. I'll be there soon," he says before hanging up.

Without a word, he grabs my arm and starts tugging me back toward my room.

I stumble along, confusion and fear battling inside me. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer, his grip on my arm tightening as we reach the door to my room. I realize what’s coming. He’s going to lock me in the room again.

My first impulse is to beg him not to lock me up. But my anger seems to outweigh my desperation.

He pushes me into the room.

I whirl around on him. “You said you’d show me freedom, good things in life, but you’re a liar. You want to control me, just like everyone else. You’re no different from my father.”

Matteo's eyes flash dangerously. "I'm nothing like your father.”

“Oh, really?” I hold up my hand, ticking off one by one how he’s the same. “Lock me away. Take away my phone and money. Manhandle me?—”

“I’ve never hit you. I never would.”

I hold out my arm where he’d gripped me to drag me to my room. “I guess we’ll see if bruises form.”

He looks stricken, and I almost feel bad for it. Almost, but not quite.

“You’re an asshole, just like him.”

His jaw clenches. "You're acting like a spoiled brat who doesn't understand the dangers of the world you were born into."

His words sting, but I stand my ground. "I understand more than you think. I've lived with those dangers my entire life."

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