Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

11. Ava

11

AVA

I sit on the edge of the bed, my shoulders slumped in defeat. Matteo's footsteps fade down the hallway, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of my new reality. I'm trapped. Going home isn't an option anymore. Not after what Matteo told me.

I imagine my father's face contorted with rage. The sharp sting of his hand across my cheek. His thunderous voice echoing through the home as he berates me for daring to defy him. He’d lock me in my room… or maybe down in the basement, treated like a prisoner.

It's not just my father’s punishment that terrifies me. It's what comes after, my father shipping me off to New York like cattle, into the arms of a man old enough to be my grandfather. A man with a reputation that makes my skin crawl.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the images flooding my mind. A sob escapes. Is this really all my life will ever be? Passed from one man's control to another's, never having a say in my own fate?

I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But what good would it do? I'm powerless. Matteo says he saved me. From what? I don’t feel safer. My life is smaller now than it was at home.

Matteo Moretti. The thought of him sends a shiver down my spine. I can't deny the spark I felt when we kissed, the way my body responded to his touch. But no matter how much I might be drawn to him, I can't forget what he's capable of. This is the same man known for his ruthlessness, his penchant for violence. The stories I've heard about Matteo Moretti make my blood run cold. How many people has he killed? How many lives has he ruined?

Then there’s his reputation around women. He’s a player, only using women, sometimes more than one at a time, for his own perverted desires. And I'm at his mercy, completely vulnerable to whatever he decides to do with me.

“Or you can stay here. Under my protection.”

He claims he's protecting me, but how can I trust him? What kind of savior locks up the person they're trying to protect? No matter how he tries to justify it, the fact remains that I'm not free. He's taken away my choice, my autonomy. Just like my father always has.

The thought makes anger flare in my chest. I'm tired of men thinking they know what's best for me, of being treated like a pawn in their games. Matteo may act charming, may claim he has my best interests at heart, but how is this any different from what I've always known?

I'm trapped, yes, but that doesn't mean I have to be passive. I've spent my whole life bowing to the whims of others, playing the dutiful daughter. Look where that's gotten me.

No more.

I may be Matteo's prisoner, but I refuse to let him control my spirit. He thinks he's won, that I'll be docile and grateful now that I've "chosen" to stay. He couldn't be more wrong.

I have nothing left to lose. Matteo has taken my ability to go home from me. He’s taken my freedom. For a moment, he took away my spirit, leaving me feeling utterly defeated. He can control my body, but not my mind. Why not push back against Matteo's arrogance, his assumption that he knows what's best for me?

I march to the door, pounding on it with my fist. "Matteo!"

There's no response, but I know he must be nearby.

"You can't keep me locked up forever!" I yell. "I'm not your prisoner or your pet.”

I wait for a reaction. I half expect him to burst in, angry at my defiance, telling me again how ungrateful I am. But the silence stretches on.

Fine. If he won't face me, I'll make sure he hears exactly what I think of his so-called protection.

"You're no better than my father!”

Did I piss him off? Has he given up? Because over the next few days, I remain confined to this room while Matteo comes and goes like clockwork, bringing meals, but he barely speaks a word. One day, he brings me new clothes… nice ones. Like they were chosen with care. Soft, expensive fabrics in styles I would have chosen for myself. How does he know my tastes so well?

Another day, he leaves me jewelry making supplies. These acts of kindness confuse me. If Matteo sees me as nothing more than a prisoner or a bargaining chip, why go to such lengths? There has to be more to it, some ulterior motive. But since he says very little to me anymore, I can’t decipher what he’s thinking or planning.

Each time the door opens, I brace myself, hoping for some kind of interaction, an explanation, anything. But Matteo's face remains impassive as he sets down trays of food or other items he’s gathered for me.

The meals are always delicious, far better than anything I've had before. I wonder who his cook is and why I never hear them in the apartment.

As the days pass, my frustration grows. What game is Matteo playing? Is he trying to win me over with luxury, make me complacent? Or is there genuine care behind his actions?

I wish he would just talk to me, explain himself. My mind races with possibilities, each more far-fetched than the last. Is he grooming me for some sinister purpose? Using me as leverage against my father? Or could he truly believe he's protecting me?

I stand at the window, my fingers tracing patterns on the cool glass. Outside, the world bustles with life, people hurrying down sidewalks, cars zipping past. My heart aches with longing to be out there. What I wouldn't give to feel the sun on my face, to breathe in fresh air, to simply walk down the street without fear or constraint.

The click of the door handle jolts me from my reverie. Matteo stands in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb. “Have you learned to fly? We’re on the sixty-fifth floor.”

I flinch and turn to him. “Just looking at the view.” I glance around the room, wondering if maybe I can try to make my escape.

“You can’t see much from the window at night.” He straightens. “You must be hungry. Let me get you some food.” He leaves, and I feel his absence acutely. These few words are the most he’s said to me in awhile. As much as I hate him for keeping me prisoner, I hate the silent solitude more.

He returns with a pasta dish that smells delicious.

Resigned to my life for the moment, I sit down, putting the cloth napkin in my lap. I note how he’s dressed in an expensive suit, different from the slacks and shirt or jeans and T-shirt I normally see him in.

"Why are you so dressed up?" I ask, desperate for conversation, even if it’s with my captor.

He glances down at his suit. "I was at a wedding. Lazaro D'Amato's." He sits across from me as if it’s the most normal thing. Like two people sharing a meal, not a prisoner with her warden.

“For ten minutes, you were engaged to him. Are you upset that he’s married someone else?” he asks me.

I wonder if he’d be jealous if I said yes. No. I’m just another commodity to him. I shrug, acting like I don’t care as I poke my fork in my penne pasta.

“I bet you’d have rather married Elio. He’s a bit more stable emotionally.”

I look up, wondering why he’s so interested in my thoughts about the broken engagements with Lazaro and Elio D’Amato. "Should I feel jilted that they both broke off the engagement after meeting me?” Okay, so it was a hit to my ego that two men took one look at me and decided to marry someone else. But I like to believe they did it because they found true love, not because there’s something wrong with me. Then again, Matteo has had me locked up here for… well, I’m not sure how long, but except for the one moment I tried to seduce him, he hasn’t shown any interest in me. The man known for fucking any woman with a pulse, but he stays clear of me.

“It’s not you, sweetheart. They married for love,” he says.

I sip my water, acting like I don’t care.

“What do you think about marrying for love?” It’s such an odd question to ask me.

“I think that’s not an option for me. My father?—”

“Your father isn’t here now.”

I look up at him and find my voice. I don’t want to face my father, but I have no doubt he’s looking for me. That he’ll eventually find me. “But he will be. The D'Amatos shouldn't have let their dog off the leash. When my father finds out you kidnapped me, there'll be hell to pay."

He snorts at my brazenness. "You really think your father's going to find out?"

I lean forward, hoping I look fierce. "He won't stop until he does."

He smirks. "By that time, it will be too late. Your father will have no choice but to accept that you don't belong to him anymore."

What does that mean?

Before I can say anything, he cuts me off. "Face it, Ava. You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us."

Fear grips me. "What… what are your intentions with me?"

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "Ava, I swear to you, I would never force myself on a woman. That's not who I am.”

“So, why am I here?” What is his endgame? Why won’t he tell me?

“In time, you’ll want to stay. You’ll want me.”

I study him, still not sure what he means and getting angry at this whole situation. "And what happens if I never want you?"

He laughs. It’s not an evil laugh, but it’s still annoying that he finds me amusing. He stands and goes to the door, not answering my question. As he reaches for the handle, he pauses and looks at me over his shoulder.

I glare back at him, wanting him to see that he won’t break me.

Once he leaves, I blow out a breath. What just happened? What does he mean by, Face it, Ava. You're mine now ?

Does he really think in time, I’ll want to stay with him? Is he thinking I’ll fall victim to Stockholm Syndrome? Why would I want to stay when my world is just in these four walls? When he barely talks to me?

The way he left, he truly believes that someday, I’ll want him. Did I enjoy my evening with him the night he found me at the club? Yes. Do his kisses set me on fire? Yes. But that doesn’t mean I want him.

But perhaps he’s given me the opening to finally get free. If I can show him I want him and want to stay, perhaps he’ll let me out of this room.

I smile as I scoop up some of the fabulous pasta. I now have a plan. And when I’m free of this place, I’m going far away where no one can find me. Not my father. Not Matteo.