Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

2. Matteo

2

MATTEO

I grip the steering wheel tight, pissed as hell at Vincenzo Rinella, the fucker.

Elio broods next to me in the passenger seat while Lana is in back, looking at something on her phone.

"We should have put that pompous bastard in his place," I growl, breaking the silence.

“He’s not wrong to feel slighted,” Elio says. “We’ve jerked him around and not long ago blamed him for our troubles.”

“He treats his daughter like shit.”

Through the rearview mirror I see Lana’s head lift up, looking at me with an arched brow.

“He treats everyone like shit,” Elio says.

I want to argue, but I know he's right. Still, the image of Vincenzo's smug face lingers, along with the memory of Ava's defeated expression as we left. My grip on the wheel tightens further.

"What's got you so worked up, Matteo?" Lana asks.

I frown. "You can't tell me you're okay with how that asshole spoke to you back there."

Lana shrugs, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Rinella? Please. He's all bite and no bark."

Her dismissive tone grates on my already frayed nerves. "Are you serious right now? He treats women like?—”

"Like what?" Lana cuts me off, her voice sharp. "Like every other man in this business treats women? It's nothing new, Matteo. I know it. Ava knows."

“Elio doesn’t. I don’t.”

She sighs. “Only because I don’t allow it.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Elio says with a glance back at her. “But she’s not wrong. We give our women more respect than everyone else, Matteo. You know that.”

"It should bother you. You're smarter than half those idiots put together."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "And what good would getting all worked up do? You think Rinella's going to suddenly see the error of his ways if I throw a tantrum? It’s the opposite. I’ll be dismissed as being a weak, emotional woman."

"It's not about throwing a tantrum," I argue, my frustration mounting. "It's about standing up against that fucker." It occurs to me that I want her to do what I know Ava can’t. I want Ava to see strength in a woman and realize she has value in this world.

"I stand up for myself every day," Lana snaps back. “Usually against the lot of you.”

I open my mouth to argue further, but Elio cuts in. "Enough, both of you. We have bigger issues to deal with than Rinella's misogyny.”

I clench my jaw, biting back the retort on the tip of my tongue. But I can't shake the anger simmering beneath my skin. Lana might be able to brush off Rinella's insults, but I can't. The memory of his sneering face, the way he dismissed Ava… it makes my blood boil.

“I’m just saying he needs to be taken down a peg or two.” I shake my head as I turn onto the long driveway leading to our estate. "We've bent over backward to accommodate the Rinellas, and he still has a fucking hard-on to sell his daughter to Lazaro. I imagine it will be worse when he learns the truth about why Lazaro can’t marry Ava.” I’d been surprised that Elio opted not to mention that Lazaro was currently planning to wed his pregnant girlfriend. They tried to soften the blow by telling Rinella Lazaro was too unhinged to get married. Sure, he has some anger issues and he still has some memory lapse from three years of amnesia, but he’s a good person. He’s kicked a lot of ass in his life, but never a woman’s. He could marry Ava.

But he’s fallen for Diana, and while Elio could force the marriage between Lazaro and Ava, it would be an asshole thing to do since Elio himself chose love over duty when he broke his engagement with Ava to marry his wife, Piper. Hell, he’s allowed Lana to get engaged to a cop—or ex-cop—out of love.

"Oh, spare me the righteous indignation. It's not like we've been saints in this whole affair,” Lana snipes at me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"Two jilted engagements in less than six months? We haven't exactly covered ourselves in glory here."

“Plus we blamed him for Hartley’s fucked-up game,” Elio reminds me.

I glance through the rearview mirror again, noting Lana’s tensing at hearing Hartley’s name. She’s a strong woman, but I imagine the nightmare she lived at his hands still haunts her.

“Thank fuck he’s behind bars. Why they had him in a mental hospital, I’ll never know,” Elio finishes.

Why we didn’t kill him, I’ll never know. Lana and her soft spot for her fiancé’s, Henry’s, ethics is to blame, I suppose.

"That doesn't give Vincenzo the right?—”

“I think you need to get laid,” Lana quips from the back seat. “You’re way too uptight about all this. We’ll deal with him like we always do.”

I pull up to the house and kill the engine, but I don't move to get out.

“You coming in?” Elio asks as he opens the door.

“No. I think I’ll get laid,” I growl, annoyed at Lana.

Lana and Elio leave the car and enter the house. I peel out of the driveway, not ready to return home. Hell, maybe I will get laid.

I head to one of our titty bars, but not to work. On nights like this, it’s a place where I can lose myself, where the rules of the outside world don't apply.

As I step through the heavy black doors, the thrum of bass-heavy music washes over me. The air is thick with the scents of perfume, sweat, and desire.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with his presence," a sultry voice purrs. I turn to see Candy, one of the club's regulars, sauntering toward me. Her red lips curl into a predatory smile as she runs a perfectly manicured hand down my chest.

Before I can respond, another voice chimes in. "Don't hog him all to yourself, Candy." This time it's Jasmine, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief as she sidles up to my other side.

I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease as I let myself be enveloped in their attention. Maybe I’ll take them both. This is exactly what I need, a distraction from the chaos of family work.

“What’s open?” I ask, referring to private rooms we have in the club.

Both women’s eyes light up. They know I’ll pay well. “VIP.”

I lead the way, ignoring the fact that instead of building excitement, my dick is limp. In the room, Candy cups my cock and I know something is way off. Candy's touch, which would normally send a thrill through me, feels hollow. Jasmine's holding up her tits, offering them to me, and it leaves me cold.

"What's the matter, sugar?" Candy purrs, her lips brushing my ear. "You seem tense."

I shrug off her hand, taking a step back. "Actually… Not tonight, ladies."

Jasmine pouts, her dark eyes flashing with disappointment. "That's not like you, Matteo. Come on, let us help you relax."

But I can't. My mind is a whirlwind, and at the center of it all is Ava Rinella. Her face swims before my eyes, drowning out the club's neon glow. The way her eyes lit up when I asked about her jewelry, as if no one had ever taken an interest in her passions before. The utter defeat in her demeanor as her asshole father barked at her. Fucking hell. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have shot him between the eyes right there at the dinner table.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge Ava from my mind, but it's no use. Ava's allure is impossible to dismiss, a siren song calling to me even here.

"Sorry, girls," I mutter, already turning away. "Maybe another time."

I push through the crowd, ignoring the disappointed looks and inviting smiles. I head to the bar deciding that booze, rather than sex, is what I need. I hold my finger up, and the bartender immediately slides a double whisky in front of me and leaves me the bottle. I down the shot wondering what the hell is wrong with me? Ava's Elio's cast-off, Lazaro's almost-bride. She's barely more than a kid, for Christ's sake. Why has she wormed her way into my system?

When I’d last seen her before tonight, she’d been on her balcony, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow over her. She’d been so fucking beautiful. Like a goddess. But she was off-limits.

Since then, I convinced myself that my attraction to her was a one-time infatuation, a reaction any man would have to a beautiful woman. But from the moment I saw her in her father’s parlor tonight, that pull was back as strong as ever.

I replay the evening. The way she tries to hide, to go unnoticed, but it’s impossible for her to be invisible. There’s more to her than meets the eye. The fire of her essence is being extinguished by her father, and I’d do anything to free her from her father’s oppression, to give her freedom so she can set the world on fire.

But I can’t. Her father wants her to marry a D’Amato, and both those opportunities are gone. Oh, sure, I’m a member of the family, my mother having been a D’Amato, but in this world, that doesn’t count. She married my father, Joseph Moretti, who’d worked for Elio’s father before he and my mom retired to Florida. I’m in the family. I have some level of power, but I’m not a D’Amato as power runs through the male blood.

Tell that to the embers of desire that have roared back to life tonight. The ones that have me damn near plotting the end of Vincenzo Rinella and setting Ava’s spirit free. God, if only I could. For a fleeting moment, I allow the idea of it. Of my walking out of the Rinella home with her on my arm. Showing her the world. Giving her the dreams that live hidden inside her.

Hell, maybe I’ll free all four of his daughters. The way he parades them around like prized cattle, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, makes my stomach churn. Sure, it’s par for the course in this world, but something about the way Vincenzo does it, the casual cruelty in his voice when he talks about his own flesh and blood, sets my teeth on edge. They should all be free to live their own lives.

But Ava, my sweet, beautiful Ava… I want to keep her. And yes, I see the irony of wanting her to be free while also wanting to keep her. Maybe I don’t have the same power and influence as Elio or Lazaro, but I’d be good to her. Respect her. It’s way more than any other bastard her father wants to sell her off to. I can’t stand the idea of her married off to some cruel asshole who sees her as nothing more than a pretty face and a way to cement an alliance. Trapped in a loveless marriage, her spirit slowly crushed into non-existence… the thought of it makes me want to put my fist through something.

I hear a few men whistle and turn to see what’s caught their eye. A petite figure slips through the crowd, her wide eyes taking in the scene. She looks like Dorothy having just arrived in Oz. She’s in jeans and a hooded jacket, but even with the hood pulled low over her face, I'd recognize that graceful walk anywhere.

My heart nearly stops.

Ava Rinella.

Here, at a gentlemen's club.

My instinct is to whisk her out of here, but she’s not mine to protect, not mine to want. But the thought of her being here, in the den of sin and debauchery, alone…

No. I can't let that happen.