Page 77 of Stolen Queen

"Vincenzo, these are serious accusations. Do you have any proof aside from some informant looking for a few bucks for his next hit?"

"Proof? I don't need proof.” He lunges at me, grabbing my shirt collar. "Where is she?" he demands, spittle flying from his lips. "What have you done with my daughter?"

It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull my gun and shoot him between the eyes. I push him back and straighten my shirt.

"That's enough," Elio says, his voice low and dangerous. "We understand your frustration, but turning on your allies won't bring your daughter back."

“Your father would be so fucking pissed at how you treat me.”

“You think so? Or would he be pissed at how you disrespect his son? Especially after all I’ve done for you.” Elio leans closer to him. “My men have had to help your sorry ass so many times, they wonder why I don’t just take your business. You and I both know my father would have done it already. Still wish I were more like my father?”

Rinella’s hands fist at his sides, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to take a swing at Elio. Could I kill him then? In defense of my boss? I hope he does, and I can kill him because if Rinella is this unhinged in front of us, what would he do if he ever got his hands on Ava again?

Rinella steps closer, his face inches from mine. "If I find out you've taken my daughter, Moretti, there won't be a place on thisearth where you can hide from me. I'll hunt you down and make you wish you'd never been born."

I don’t respond, following Elio’s orders.

After a tense moment, he steps back, his lips curled in disgust. "This isn't over," he spits before turning on his heel and storming out of the office.

As the door slams behind him, my mind immediately races to Ava. What if Rinella's suspicions lead him to her at my place?

I turn to Elio, who's watching me with a mix of concern and contemplation. "Should we have told him? About the D'Amatos protecting Ava?"

Elio shakes his head slowly. "Not yet. We need to play this carefully. Rinella's unstable, and we don't know how he'll react. For now, it's best to keep Ava's location and our involvement under wraps.”

I nod, understanding the logic. "What's our next move, then?"

"We meet with Lana and Lazaro while you keep Ava safe until we can figure out a more permanent solution. And Matteo," he adds, his eyes locking with mine, "we do this together. No more lone wolf acts, understood?"

I nod, but in my heart, I can’t promise him that I won’t do something stupid if it means protecting Ava.

29

AVA

Iwake up feeling nauseous again. The anxiety and queasiness in my stomach refuse to settle. I rush to the bathroom, barely making it before I'm sick. As I heave over the toilet, tears spring to my eyes. This is the third time today.

The cool tile feels good against my forehead as I slump against it. I can’t stop my mind from racing with anxious thoughts. What have I gotten us into? The stress of it all makes my stomach lurch again.

I drag myself back to bed, feeling utterly drained. My mouth is dry and I'm so thirsty, but I'm afraid to drink anything for fear it'll come right back up. The room spins a little as I lie down.

Hours pass in a haze of fitful sleep and trips to the bathroom. By late afternoon, I have nothing left in my system. My body aches from the exertion of being sick over and over. I curl up in bed, utterly spent.

I collapse into a troubled sleep, my mind swirling with fears and anxieties about our precarious situation. Visions of my father's rage, Matteo in danger, and an uncertain future plague my dreams. I toss and turn, unable to find peace even in sleep.

Suddenly, I feel a warm, comforting presence. A gentle hand rests on my forehead, slowly pulling me from the depths of sleep. I blink groggily, trying to focus my eyes.

Matteo's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. I struggle to sit up, feeling weak and disoriented. His strong arm supports me as I lean against the headboard.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

"I… I don't know," I manage to croak out, my throat dry and scratchy. "I've been feeling sick all day."

Matteo's hand moves to cup my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin.

"What time is it?" I ask.

Matteo glances at his watch. "It's just past noon. Have you been sleeping this whole time?”

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