Page 7 of Stolen Queen

The memory of Matteo noticing my handmade necklace flashes through my mind. That brief moment of genuine interest in who I am, not just what I represent, sparks something in me.

I catch Matteo's gaze, his blue eyes filled with sympathy. My heart clenches. I don't want his pity. I want freedom, a way out of my life.

I straighten my spine, lifting my chin slightly. I will not break. I will not let them see how their words cut me to the core. I am Ava Rinella, and I will endure this as I have endured everything else.

Elio leans forward, his dark eyes fixed on my father. “I don’t understand this obsession you have to marry your daughter into my family. Have I not bent over backward to provide alternative gestures of the D’Amato family’s commitment to this alliance? Lazaro and Matteo have assisted you on the docks. I understand they negotiated an increase in profits from a supplier.”

“It’s the principle of the thing. It’s the deal I made with your father. You dishonor him by disrespecting me.”

"This… complication… doesn't change that fundamental alliance. We remain loyal to the spirit of partnership you had with my father."

My father leans back, his face unreadable. "You speak of loyalty, yet here you are, breaking a long-standing agreement."

"Circumstances change," Elio replies smoothly. "But like I said, our commitment to mutual benefit remains." Elio stands, signaling the end of the conversation. "We'll be in touch to discuss… alternative arrangements."

Lana and Matteo rise as well. As Matteo moves to exit, he passes behind my chair and I swear I can feel his fingers gentlyslide along my neck. I close my eyes, wishing I could go with him.

My father's face twists into a red mask of fury. "This isn't over.”

I sit frozen in my chair, holding my breath. My father’s anger isn’t something anyone wants to experience. Except, of course, for Elio D’Amato, but he’s as powerful as my father. Maybe even more so since it appears Don Caruso, the head of the Chicago Outfit, seems to like Elio. Something that makes my father insanely jealous.

“Those treacherous bastards. How dare they come into my home and make a mockery of our agreement!" He rises from his chair, his rage growing, filling the room as he paces.

"Father, perhaps this is for the best."

My mother and sisters gaze at me in shock. To be honest, I’m in shock. Why am I talking?

My father whirls on me. "What did you say?"

I swallow hard. "Lazaro… his reputation… perhaps I’m not suited for someone so unpredictable. This could be a blessing in disguise. We could find a better match, someone more stable, more?—"

The crack of his hand against my cheek echoes through the room. My head snaps to the side, and I'm nearly knocked out of my chair. Tears spring to my eyes from the force of the blow.

"You ungrateful little fool," Father snarls. "You think you know better than me? You think you have any say in this?"

I touch my stinging cheek, the taste of blood in my mouth where I've bitten my tongue. The brief flicker of courage has been replaced by the cold reality of my situation. I am nothing here, less than nothing.

"I'm sorry, Father." I lower my gaze, bowing to his authority. "It won't happen again."

Father's command rings out, harsh and final. "Go to your room, Ava. Now."

I flee, my cheek still stinging from his slap, not caring that I can’t finish dinner. I’m not hungry, anyway.

The grand staircase stretches before me, and I run up the steps, desperate to escape my father, my life. As soon as I reach my room, I shut my door, leaning against it and sliding to the floor. I don’t want to cry. When I cry, I feel weak. I know I’m powerless, but I don’t like to give in to it. I want to be strong.

I stand up abruptly, pacing the length of my room. I have a luxurious life, but as I look over my silk canopy bed, my designer clothes, they mock me. They’re not my choices.

My gaze falls on the vanity mirror, wondering who the girl… no, I’m eighteen, a woman… wondering who the woman is staring back at me. Her eyes are wild, her cheek red from where Father struck her. Is this really who I am, a meek, obedient daughter who can be silenced with a single blow?

There has to be more to me than this. More to life than serving a man who doesn’t really see me. I think of the brief moments of connection I've felt with Matteo, how he's noticed my handmade necklace. How he made me feel seen.

There is a person inside me. A person with dreams, desires, and talents screaming to be let out. But how?

The walls of my room close in around me, a physical manifestation of the prison I live in. I am trapped, not just by these four walls but by expectations, traditions, and the iron will of my father.

2

MATTEO

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