Page 54 of Stolen Queen

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened back there," I say, trying to deflect. "I let my temper get the best of me. It won't happen again."

Elio sighs. "That's not what I'm asking. I want to know what's really going on with you."

"I'm just stressed," I lie, hating myself for every word. "With everything that's been going on lately, I guess it's finally getting to me. I'll get it together, I promise."

“Do you need a break? Vacation?”

I consider his question. With some time away from the family business, I could focus on getting Ava out of this mess. I could set her up with a new identity, give her enough cash to start fresh somewhere far away from Chicago. It's what she wants, isn't it? Freedom, a chance to live her own life?

The thought of never seeing her again makes my chest tighten, but I push that feeling aside. This isn't about what I want. It's about keeping her safe and giving her the life she deserves.

But I also know that could put eyes on me. I realize too late that my insults toward Rinella mean he’ll likely pay more attention to me. “I don't need time off."

Elio looks at me skeptically. "Are you sure? There's no shame in taking a break if you need it. I know when I took that week with Piper, it helped."

I roll my eyes. “That was your honeymoon.”

“So maybe you need to get laid.”

Maybe. But the only woman I want despises me. “I’m fine. I just don’t like Rinella. He’s a fucking weasel trying to takeadvantage of you…” I suck in a breath to stop myself from going on another tirade. “I’ll pull it together.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Alright, if you say so. But take the rest of the day off and get your shit together. We can't afford another scene like that."

As we pull up to Elio's place, I feel grateful that he’s not being harsher with me. I definitely deserve it.

"Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow,” Elio says as he exits the car.

I nod, watching him walk away. As soon as he's inside, I let out a long breath. Now, I just need to get back to Ava and figure out our next move.

I step out of the elevator and open the door. The penthouse is quiet, and for a moment, I'm terrified that Ava's gone. I rush to her room. Relief washes over me as I see her sitting on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She's here. She stayed.

Ava looks up at me, her eyes guarded. She doesn't say a word, just watches me with a mixture of hurt and defiance.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words catch in my throat. What can I say? How do I explain that I’m terrified for her safety? That the thought of losing her made me lash out?

The silence stretches between us. I know I messed up. I promised her freedom, then I threatened to lock her away. I suppose in that respect, I am like her father.

I take a step into the room, and Ava tenses. It's a small movement, but it feels like a knife to my gut. She's afraid of me now. Or worse, she hates me.

"Ava—”

She cuts me off with a sharp look. What right do I have to apologize, to expect her forgiveness?

I stand there, feeling lost and helpless. I want to make this right, but I don't know how. Maybe I can't. Maybe I've ruined whatever fragile trust we had built.

I step back from Ava's room, closing the door softly behind me. I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair. I've fucked up, big time.

But she’s still here. I have the opportunity to make it up to her. If she’ll let me.

As it turns out, she isn’t interested in anything from me. For the next five days, I dedicate myself to taking care of Ava. I cook her favorite meals, but she won’t come eat with me. She chooses to spend all her time in her room.

I bring her books and magazines, even more craft supplies, hoping to coax her out of her self-imposed isolation. But she refuses to speak to me. She doesn’t even look at me anymore. It’s gutting me.

I try to give her space, to be patient. But it's not in my nature. I'm a man of action, used to taking what I want. And what I want is for Ava to trust me again, to look at me the way she did before I fucked everything up.

By the fifth day, I've had enough. I need a new plan. When I arrive home after work, I storm into Ava's room, my frustration boiling over. She's sitting on the bed, her eyes fixed on the wall, refusing to acknowledge my presence.

"Ava, look at me," I demand, my voice strained. She doesn't move, doesn't even blink. It occurs to me that my attitude isn’t doing anything to help my cause. I suck in a breath, pulling my frayed emotions together. “I wish I could make you understand how dangerous things are for us now."

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