Page 56 of Stolen Queen

I groan in frustration, flopping back on the bed. Why does he have to be so infuriatingly charming? So attentive one moment, then cold the next? I want to hate him for keeping me here, but then he goes and does something unexpectedly sweet.

I'm acutely aware of how precarious my situation remains. My father is out there still looking for me. Matteo isn’t wrong that for me to truly be free, I have to give up being Ava Rinella and leave Chicago. To do that, I need a foolproof plan. Until I have that, I have no real choice but to stay. It's safer here with Matteo than out there alone, which is why I didn’t leave five days ago after Matteo went off on me and threatened to lock me up again.

I leave the confines of my room. I find Matteo by the window, his broad shoulders tense as he stares out at the city below. The amber liquid in the glass he's holding catches the light, and I wonder how many he's had.

I clear my throat.

He turns, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine. For a split second, I see a vulnerability there that takes my breath away. But it's gone in an instant, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

"I… I appreciate what you're trying to do here. But I'm still not sure I can trust you."

He nods slowly. "I understand. Trust takes time." His calm acceptance throws me off balance. I expected anger, not this quiet resignation. If that’s the case, why was he so pissed before?

"The other day… when you came home and I wasn’t here… you were so angry. Why?"

Matteo's gaze sharpens. "Why didn't you leave then when you had the chance?"

I wasn’t expecting that question. Why didn't I leave? The answer terrifies me. “I didn’t want to leave… then.” I add the ‘then’ to let him know that the feelings I had then aren’t what I feel now. “I like being with you when you’re not an asshole.”

His lips twitch upward slightly.

“Despite what you think, I do understand the danger. I get that I have nowhere to go and no resources to get there. I am at your mercy.”

He looks pained at my last statement. “You don’t owe me?—”

“The point is, I understand my situation better than anyone. That’s why I stayed then.”

“And now?” Matteo asks.

I shrug. “Like I said, I don’t know if I can believe you. For now, I want to stay, but I want the option to leave with a new identity.”

He nods, but I can see he doesn’t like it. “Fair enough.” He finishes his drink. “Are you hungry?”

I nod.

For the first time in nearly a week, I have dinner with him. We converse, but it’s stilted. The chasm between us is still wide.

After dinner, he asks if I want to watch a movie with him. Feeling sick of being in my room all the time, I agree.

I settle onto the couch next to Matteo and watch as the opening credits ofThe Godfatherroll.

Matteo grins at me. "Ready for a crash course in Mob life, Princess?"

I roll my eyes but still smile back. "Please. I practically grew up on this movie."

"Oh, yeah?" He raises an eyebrow. "Favorite quote then. Go."

"'Leave the gun, take the cannoli’," I shoot back without hesitation.

Matteo laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes my heart skip even as I try to guard against his charm. "Not bad.”

As the movie plays, we banter back and forth, often discussing the parts of the movie that could be true and those that seem far-fetched. Matteo shares a few stories of life imitating art in his own Mob experience.

“Don Corleone’s kids aren’t full Italian,” I say. “Don’t they have to be full Italian to be made in the Mafia?”

“First, Michael’s son became an opera singer. And today, half-Italian is okay. The movie took a few liberties. Tom Hagen, the consiglieri, isn’t Italian at all.”

I watch a little bit more, curious as to why Matteo would even like the movie. “This is your life. Why watch a movie?”

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