Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

1. Ava - Five Months Later

1

AVA - FIVE MONTHS LATER

I 'm sitting in the parlor, idly flipping through a travel magazine, imagining a world in which I am free to explore and be who I want to be. Not that I know who she is. But wouldn’t it be nice to find out?

I vaguely notice the knock on the door. My father’s booming voice greets his visitors. It’s only as the voices grow louder that I realize he’s bringing them here.

I barely have time to rise and smooth my dress before they sweep into the room.

Elio D'Amato follows my father, his dark eyes intense and focused. He's dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, exuding an air of authority. Five months ago, I was engaged to him. I was nervous about it, and yet, there’s something about him that made me feel safe. I wouldn’t have been free to be myself, but I feel like he would have been kind.

But right after our first meeting, he called off the wedding and he’s now married to someone else. But then his missing younger brother, Lazaro, returned and my father and Elio arranged for me to marry him.

Lazaro’s reputation scares me, but having recently met him, I feel again that being with the D’Amatos is the best option for me. They’re a kind, close-knit family. At least, that’s what I think. Compared to all the other families my father can marry me off to, the D’Amatos seem the nicest. And they’re here in Chicago, not in New York where my father was planning to send me before Lazaro returned.

Lana. Elio’s sister enters close behind him, her chin lifted high. There's a fierce determination in her gaze that both intimidates and intrigues me. I wish I could go through the world like she does. Especially the world we live in where men control and dominate the women. Lana isn’t simply a pretty face raised to serve men. She’s strong and has responsibilities in the D’Amato family business.

My breath stalls when I see Matteo Moretti saunter into the room behind Lana. A roguish grin plays at his lips. He winks at me, and I feel a blush creep up my neck. I don’t know what it is about him that always has me tongue-tied. He’s handsome, for sure, but so are Elio and Lazaro.

My father's voice is jovial as he offers them a drink. I wait to be seen and dismissed, all the while wondering why the D’Amatos are here. Does this have something to do with my recent betrothal to Lazaro? And if so, why isn’t Lazaro with them?

The thought of Lazaro sends a pang through my chest. He's kind, but there's no spark between us. Not like the electricity I feel when I see Matteo. It's so strange, since I've only met him twice. But each time, it feels like my insides light up.

Part of me wants to stay, to be included in whatever discussion is about to take place. But I know my place. Be pretty. Be quiet. Be invisible.

My father is normally a stern, cold man, barking out orders for everything. But with the D’Amatos here, he’s all smiles. “I hope you’ll stay for dinner. We have much to discuss.”

"That's very kind of you, Vincenzo, but we wouldn't want to impose,” Elio says. There’s something in his expression that suggests this isn’t a friendly visit to hash out a business deal.

"Nonsense!" My father claps Elio on the back, a gesture that seems friendly but I know is meant to brook no argument. "I insist. There’s much to talk about."

My father's eyes find mine, and I straighten my spine instinctively.

"Ava, my dear," he says, his tone deceptively warm. "Why don't you help the staff prepare for our guests? Show the D’Amatos how you’ve been raised to be a perfect Mafia wife."

Lana makes an almost imperceptible expression of distaste. Matteo, however, doesn’t hide his disdain for my father. It almost feels like they don't like how my father talks to me. I find it fascinating that none of them seem to like my father, and yet they play this game of trying to forge an alliance.

But my father’s words aren’t a request. They’re an order, so I nod and smile, making my way out of the parlor. As I pass Matteo, our eyes lock for a brief moment. There's something in his gaze that makes my heart quicken. I wouldn’t call it a new sensation. I’ve had crushes on boys at school. And yet, there’s something different about the feeling as well.

In the kitchen, I relay my father's orders to our chef, who immediately springs into action. As pots clang and the staff rush about with greater fervor, I lean against the cool marble counter, trying to steady my nerves. I know what this dinner means. It's not just a meal, it's a power play. My father is reminding the D'Amatos of our family's strength, our resources. And I'm just another piece on his chessboard to be moved and sacrificed as he sees fit.

The weight of expectation settles heavily on my shoulders. I'm supposed to be the perfect daughter and next, the perfect wife. What would happen if I didn’t want to play by the rules anymore? Yeah, right. Like I have a choice. I’ve thought about running away, but my father would find me. And when he did, who knows what he’d do to me? I shudder at the possibilities.

As the staff plates the meal, I make my way to the dining room. I wait with my mother and three sisters for my father and his guests to enter the dining room. Matteo is seated next to me. He smiles at me, and I turn my gaze away, feeling embarrassed at all the crazy sensations coursing through my body from his attention.

“You have a new necklace on. Did you make that one too?” he asks.

I freeze, my fingers toying at the delicate pendant at my throat. New feelings emerge. Feelings of surprise and also pleasure that he remembered I make my own jewelry. I haven’t seen him in several months. Our conversation then had been brief. And yet he remembers. Matteo had actually paid attention to me.

"I… uh… yes.”

Matteo's smile widens. "It’s beautiful."

Again, my heart hammers as I stare into his amazing eyes. Perhaps that’s what draws me in. He’s dark-haired like his cousins, but unlike the D'Amatos' hazel eyes, Matteo’s are a striking blue.

“Thank you for noticing.” I’m smiling like a silly schoolgirl.

"I notice more than people think," he says, his blue eyes twinkling.

Warmth spreads through my chest. It's been so long since anyone has shown genuine interest in me, in what I like to do. I want to hug him, to thank him for seeing me.

“Ava!" My father's sharp voice cuts through the moment.

I flinch, the warmth instantly replaced by a chill. "Yes, Father.”

My father glances at Elio. “Don’t worry, Elio. She doesn’t waste her days on childish hobbies anymore.”

I look down, remembering how after the dinner months ago at the D’Amatos’, when Matteo first noticed my necklace, my father came home and had all my jewelry supplies thrown away. He’d been angry that I’d given the impression that I was a lazy girl when I was supposed to appear like a dutiful wife, devoid of hobbies except for wanting to please my husband.

When I look up, Matteo’s gaze is on my father and it’s full of heat. Almost as if he’s angry at my father.

Elio sits across from him, his jaw clenched, eyes hard as flint. "I'll get straight to the point, Vincenzo. Lazaro will not be marrying Ava."

I suck in a breath, both happy and disappointed. Happy because I’m afraid to become a wife and disappointed because marrying Lazaro was my passport to leaving my family.

I grip my fork tightly, trying to keep my face neutral even as my mind races. What does this mean for me?

Father's eyes narrow dangerously. "And why is that, Elio? Are you going back on our agreement? Again?"

"Circumstances have changed," Elio replies coolly. "Lazaro is… not in a position to marry anyone right now."

My heart sinks even more as I realize what this will mean. Father will probably send me to New York now, to one of his old associates. The thought of being shipped off to some stranger, far from everything I've ever known, makes my stomach churn.

Father's face darkens with anger and his fist slams down on the table. The glasses rattle, and I flinch involuntarily.

"You dare come into my home and break our agreement?" he snarls at Elio. "The D'Amatos' word means nothing, it seems."

I hold my breath. I want to disappear, to sink into my chair and vanish from this nightmare.

Matteo leans toward me, his shoulder lightly pressing against mine before he straightens. I glance at him, wondering what he’s doing. His gaze is brief, but in his eyes I see compassion.

Lana, with her usual dismissal of men’s anger, says, “Lazaro's… temperament makes him unsuitable for marriage right now. It wouldn't be safe for Ava?—"

"Safe?" Father spits. "You think I care about safe? I care about the alliance your father promised me. I expect it to be kept."

Father turns his cold gaze on me, and I shrink back. He glares then at Elio. "You’ve fucked me over more than I should have put up with already. Ava will marry into the D'Amato family, as agreed.”

"No.” Elio glances at me and his expression softens, as if he doesn’t like how this might make me feel. “I’m sorry about this, Vincenzo, and I can assure you that we’re prepared to move forward with this alliance, but not through marriage.”

As the argument rages on around me, I slip inside myself, retreating into the corners of my mind where I can escape the reality of my life. But there’s no missing the heated exchange going on around me. I catch snippets of their conversation—"unsuitable" and "temperamental"—all words used to describe Lazaro. Or “innocent” and “too young,” used to describe me without actually addressing me. It is as if I am not even in the room. I glance at my mother, whose head is bowed. Resentment builds that she doesn’t advocate for me, protect me or my sisters.

My chest tightens as a familiar frustration wells up inside. How many times have I been here before, sitting silently while my father debates my worth, my future, my very existence with the D’Amatos? Each meeting with them seems to end the same way—my being deemed unsuitable in some fashion or another.

I want to scream, to stand up and demand they acknowledge me as a person, not just a bargaining chip. I yearn for recognition, for independence. I want to make my own choices, to pursue my own passions.

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 gently slide 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.