Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

5. Ava

5

AVA

M atteo's lips claim mine, igniting a fire within me that takes my breath away. I’ve heard about attraction and desire but never experienced it beyond schoolgirl crushes. This… wow… this is like a tidal wave of sensation coursing through my blood to every nerve ending in my body.

Matteo's touch is gentle yet firm, his fingers tracing the curves of my body, making me feel like a woman for the first time in my life. It feels good and yet achy, too. Like something is building inside me, building to a torturous tension.

I’m vaguely aware of us moving inside. Of being laid back on my bed. Heat builds. Passion intensifies. A need I don’t quite understand grows, and I know he’s the only one who can fulfill it. I’m being pushed up and up, wondering where the top is. What will happen when I reach it?

His fingers slip inside my panties, touching me in my most intimate spot. I gasp, feeling overwhelmed by sensation over sensation… need, pressure… it goes on and on until…

I wake with a start, my body tingling. My room is quiet, the morning sun shining through my balcony doors. I'm alone in my bed, but the ghost of Matteo's touch still lingers on my skin.

Heat rises to my cheeks as fragments of the dream flash through my mind. Matteo's lips on mine, his hands exploring my body, the fire that ignited between us. It felt so real, so intense. I press my face into my pillow, equal parts mortified and exhilarated by the vivid images my subconscious conjured.

Or was it real? I've never had a dream like that before, never even imagined anything so… passionate. Sure, I’ve heard about sex, but what I was told didn’t prepare me for the rush of desire that consumed me. How could I dream about something I’ve never experienced? Had Matteo really been here? In my room?

I frown. The events of last night feel hazy and dreamlike, making me question what really happened and what my mind might have conjured up. Had I snuck out and gone to a club? Did last night really happen? I glance down and note that I’m in my clothes. The taste of mint lingers on my tongue, a reminder of the Rumplemintz shots Matteo ordered for us at the club. I can still feel the burn as it slid down my throat, the way it made me feel alive and daring for the first time in my life. No, that wasn’t a dream. And neither was Matteo’s kiss.

I close my eyes, reliving the moment Matteo's lips met mine. The kiss was everything I'd imagined and more, passionate, intense, electrifying. My body tingles at the memory of his touch, his strong hands holding me close as if he never wanted to let go.

But what does it mean? Matteo is my father's enemy now, part of the family that rejected me not once, but twice. I shouldn't be thinking about him this way. And yet, I can't deny the attraction I've felt since that first dinner at the D'Amato mansion.

There's something about Matteo that draws me in. His dangerous charm, his protective nature, the way he seems to see the real me beneath the facade I've been forced to wear. Last night, he gave me a taste of freedom, a glimpse of the life I've been denied. An overwhelming desire to experience it all again fills me. The idea that my life will become small and not my own is unbearable. But what can I do?

I rise from bed and go stand on the balcony, almost as if I expect to see Matteo standing below it like in some Shakespearean drama. Things didn’t turn out so well for Romeo and Juliette. I should heed that story’s warning and forget Matteo.

My bedroom door flies open and my sisters burst into my room, piling up on my bed.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Gianna, my ten-year-old sister, asks as she bounces on my bed.

“Just wanted to be comfortable.” I’ll need to change before I go down to breakfast. My mother likes us to look nice, as if that will hide the uglier side of our family.

I sit on my bed with my sisters, the only bright side to my life. Gianna keeps bouncing, and the movement sends a wave of nausea through me. My head throbs, and I wonder if this is the aftereffect of the drinks I had last night.

"Are you okay, Ava?" Bella, my sixteen-year-old sister, asks, her voice tinged with concern.

"I'm fine.” I smile to hide my discomfort.

Bella leans in closer, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure? You're really pale, and your eyes are all glassy." She backs up and holds up the sign of the cross. “You’re not sick, are you? I don’t want to get it.”

"I’m not sick. I just didn’t sleep well.”

Gianna pipes up, "Did you have bad dreams?"

If only she knew. The memory of my vivid dream about Matteo flashes through my mind, making my skin heat. I quickly shake my head, regretting the motion as it intensifies my dizziness.

"No, no bad dreams."

Sofia, my thirteen-year-old sister, narrows her eyes at me. “Are you still upset about not being engaged?”

“I’m not upset about not being engaged.” I’ve been stoic about the D’Amatos’ rejection.

“I would be. I’d do anything to get out of this place,” Bella quips.

“Their enforcer was nice,” Sofia says, referring to Matteo.

Bella waggles her brows. “You like him.”

“What?” I’m mortified. How can they tell?

“Matteo and Ava sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g—” Gianna sings.

I throw a pillow at her. “I do not like him.” Okay, so I do, but I don’t like being teased.

“Too bad you can’t marry him.” Bella leans to the side, looking at my cheek. “Does it hurt?”

Instinctively, I press my hand to my face. “No.”

My sisters exchange knowing glances. They've all been on the receiving end of Father's temper at one point or another.

“I know how to cheer you up.” Gianna stands on my bed and tries to clobber Sofia with the pillow I threw at her.

Sofia yelps and grabs another pillow to defend herself. Soon, all four of us are engaged in an all-out pillow war, playing and laughing.

For a moment, I forget about my hangover, about Matteo, about Father's anger. I'm just a girl having fun with her sisters, the way it should be. We chase each other around the room, ducking and dodging soft-stuffed projectiles.

As the frenzy dies down, we collapse onto my bed in a giggling heap. In this moment of connection, I wish I could tell them everything—about sneaking out, about Matteo, about my fears for the future. But I can't burden them with my secrets.

A soft knock at the door interrupts our sisterly moment. Our mother pokes her head in, her eyes immediately landing on me.

"Girls, go get dressed. Breakfast will be ready shortly,” she says.

My sisters file out, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders. Mom closes the door behind them and approaches my bed, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Let me see your cheek," she murmurs, cupping my face gently.

Her fingers brush against the tender skin where Father struck me last night. I think about how my lips feel swollen from Matteo’s kisses and hope it’s not noticeable.

Mom's eyes fill with sadness, but she quickly masks it with a reassuring smile. "It's not so bad. The redness has faded. Your father… he was just upset last night. You know how he gets when things don't go as planned."

I bite my tongue, fighting back the urge to argue, to point out that being "upset" doesn't justify hitting his daughter. But there’s no point. She won’t stand up for me or my sisters. I resent her for that, even as I know she’s as much a victim of my father as we are.

"He loves you, Ava," Mom continues, smoothing my hair back from my face. "He wants what's best for you, for all of us. Sometimes, he just… loses his temper. Especially with how the D’Amatos disrespect him. But he doesn't mean to hurt you."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Inside, I'm screaming. How can she defend him? How can she watch him hurt us, over and over, and still make excuses?

She glances at my attire. “You’re not wearing that to breakfast, are you?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll change.”

She leaves me to change, and fifteen minutes later, I enter the dining room wearing a prim skirt with a cashmere sweater, looking like the innocent schoolgirl my parents want me to project.

“Good morning,” I say, knowing my father expects his children to greet him first. My sisters are already seated, sitting quietly waiting for breakfast to arrive.

“Ava.” He glances at me. “I imagine you’re hungry. I hope you've had time to reflect on your behavior last night. It's important for a young lady to know her place."

My stomach churns at his words, but I keep my expression neutral. "Yes, Father. I understand."

He pats my hand. "That's my girl. Now, we have much to discuss. The D'Amatos may have rejected our alliance, but that doesn't mean we're without options."

Mom sits opposite my father at the table, her gaze darting between Father and me. "Vincenzo, perhaps we should let Ava rest a bit more before?—”

"Nonsense," Father cuts her off. "She's fine, aren't you, Ava?"

I nod, not daring to contradict him.

“Now, about Lazaro D'Amato. It seems his condition is more severe than we were led to believe. But don't worry, I have other prospects in mind for you."

My heart sinks as I realize he’s already planning to marry me off to someone else. He launches into a detailed analysis of potential suitors, each one sounding older and more repulsive than the last. I tune out his words, focusing instead on the open balcony doors and the taste of freedom I experienced last night.

As Father drones on about alliances and power moves, I think of Matteo. His kindness, his protective nature, the way he made me feel seen. I wish he’d whisked me away from all this. But I know that dream is impossible. In this world where my father rules supreme, there's no room for what I want.

I listen with growing dread as Father settles on reaching out again to an associate in New York as his first choice for me. The man is old enough to be my father, and the horror on my mother’s face suggests he’s not a nice man.

I study my mother. I see the faint lines around her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands as she fusses with her napkin. My mother looks tired and worn down. Like the life in her is dead. In her, I see my future. My stomach roils, and it’s not from the alcohol. It’s from knowing my life will never be mine. That as bad as it is now, it will probably get worse. I want to scream, to run away.

“I’ll make arrangements for us to go to New York next week?—”

“Next week?” I blurt out and then tense, waiting for my father’s wrath.

His eyes narrow.

I swallow. “I… I… was hoping you’d find someone in Chicago.”

“No. The D’Amatos think they’re better than us. This alliance with the Nardone Family will prove who’s more powerful.”

I fight back tears. The thought of leaving everything I know, my sisters, my home, even the small comforts I've carved out for myself here, is too much to bear. But more than that, I'm terrified of what awaits me in New York. A loveless marriage to a cruel man, a life of subservience and fear.

"Father," I begin hesitantly, "I… I'm not sure I'm ready for such a big move. Perhaps we could wait a little longer?"

His eyes narrow, and I brace myself for his anger. "Ready? You're eighteen, Ava. It's time you started acting like the woman you are, not some silly child. No wonder the D’Amatos don’t want you."

The words sting.

“Vincenzo, the D'Amatos didn’t?—”

“Are you contradicting me?” my father bellows at my mother.

She looks down. “No. Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” He turns his attention back to me. “You’ve been raised to be a good wife, Ava. I expect you to represent the Rinella family with pride.”

“Yes, Father.”

He nods in satisfaction and then details the plans for my departure. Inside, I’m reeling, desperate for a way out. How can I avoid this fate? Running away seems impossible. Where would I go? How would I live? Who could I trust?

The memory of Matteo flashes through my mind. He doesn’t like my father. And he was kind to me last night. Would he help?

I push the thought away. He only helped me last night because he understood how dangerous it was to the D’Amatos that I’d shown up at one of their establishments. He was protecting Elio D’Amato more than he was helping me.

Maybe I could fake an illness? But that would only delay the inevitable. Or perhaps I could try to reason with Mother, convince her to speak to Father on my behalf. But even as the thought forms, I know it's hopeless. She's never stood up to him before. Why would she start now?

As I sit at the breakfast table, my father droning on about my future, I’m dying inside.