Stolen Queen (Dynasty of Deception #4)

13. Ava

13

AVA

I glance at the front door, my heart racing with the possibility of escape. It's right there, tantalizingly close.

No. I can't run again. It didn't work last time, and it won't work now. Matteo caught me so easily before, and I have no doubt he'd do it again. Plus, where would I even go? Home to my father's wrath? To strangers who might be even worse?

I swallow hard, reminding myself that for now, at least, I'm safer here with Matteo than anywhere else. He hasn't hurt me. He's been… kind, in his own way, bringing me food, giving me things to do. It's more consideration than I ever got at home.

As we enter the kitchen, I make a conscious decision. I'll stay. I'll play along. Maybe if I can get him to trust me, to let his guard down, I'll have a better chance at real freedom later. It's not ideal, but it's the only plan I've got.

I step into Matteo's kitchen, my eyes widening at the sleek, modern appliances and gleaming countertops. It’s a kitchen made for someone who likes to cook. As Matteo busies himself gathering ingredients, I let my gaze wander beyond the kitchen.

The open floor plan reveals a spacious living area, bathed in the evening light from floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of Chicago's skyline is breathtaking.

Plush, charcoal gray sofas face a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Abstract art pieces add splashes of color to the otherwise neutral palette.

I focus on a few framed photographs on a nearby shelf. They're mostly of Matteo with Elio, Lana, and Lazaro, with others I don't recognize. They're smiling, looking like any normal family. It's hard to reconcile this image with the ruthless reputation I've always heard about. But I suppose people could say that about my family’s photos. My father looks like a docile middle-aged man in them, not the ruthless criminal he is.

The place is undeniably beautiful and speaks to wealth and taste I hadn't associated with Matteo before. It makes me realize how little I actually know about him beyond his reputation and our few encounters.

Matteo moves around the kitchen with ease, pulling ingredients from a massive refrigerator that looks like it could hold enough food for a small army. I watch as he retrieves pots and pans from cabinets, noting how everything seems to have its perfect place.

I slide onto one of the plush leather chairs at the island and watch him prepare our meal. Part of me wants to pepper Matteo with questions about his life, about why he's doing this. Another part wants to stay silent, to not give him any more power over me than he already has. What if I annoy him and he locks me back in my room?

The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. I find my eyes tracing the lines of a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve, wondering about its significance. His hands, so capable of violence, now wield a chef's knife with impressive skill, dicing vegetables at lightning speed.

I bite my lip, trying to quell the curiosity bubbling up inside me. I shouldn't care about his tattoos or his cooking skills. I shouldn't notice the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration or how his blue eyes seem to dance when he glances up and catches me staring.

"See something you like?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I quickly avert my gaze, heat rising to my cheeks. "I'm just surprised. I didn't expect you to be so… domestic."

Matteo chuckles. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Princess."

The nickname before felt condescending, but now it sends an unexpected thrill through me. It’s irritating because I shouldn't feel anything but resentment toward this man. I push it away, turning my attention to the activity at hand.

The delicious aroma filling the air reminds me of the meals I've been eating for the past week. "Have you been the one cooking my meals?"

Matteo looks up at me. Then, to my shock, he lets out a rich, genuine laugh. It's a sound I've never heard from him before, and it transforms his face, softening the hard edges I've come to associate with him.

"Who else did you think was cooking for you, Princess? My personal chef?" He shakes his head, still laughing. "Yes, I've been cooking your meals. I hope you’ve enjoyed them."

"I just… I guess I didn't expect you to be able to cook like that."

Matteo raises an eyebrow. "There's a lot you don't know about me. I've always enjoyed cooking. It's… calming." His admission catches me off guard. It's such a normal, almost vulnerable thing to say.

"I can't cook at all," I confess. "Since I was sixteen, I’ve been told how to manage a cook for when I get married and have to run a home, but I was never taught how to cook."

Matteo's expression darkens for a moment, but then he softens again. "Well, that's a shame. Cooking is a valuable skill. And it can be quite enjoyable."

I nod, feeling strangely at ease in this moment.

“Here. Why don’t you come help me? I’ll teach you.” He looks at me expectantly.

I accept Matteo's offer, sliding down from the stool.

“First, you need a glass of wine.” He pours two glasses of red wine. He hands me one, and I take a sip. It's good. While I'm underage, wine is often served with our family dinners. Starting at fourteen, I was allowed to have some, I imagine as part of the process to cultivate me into a sophisticated Mafia wife.

“We’re making pasta primavera." He stands behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His arms reach around me, his hands covering mine as he shows me how to hold the knife properly. I'm acutely aware of every point of almost-contact between us, my skin tingling not unlike how it did when we kissed.

"Curl your fingers under, like this," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "It'll protect you from cutting yourself."

I nod, forcing myself to focus on the task, not the sensations he’s rousing in me. But as we chop vegetables together, his hands guiding mine, I lean back slightly, craving more contact.

"Your turn.” Matteo steps aside to let me take over. I miss his warmth immediately. It’s frustrating and confusing. This man kidnapped me. Why do I feel so drawn to him?

As Matteo and I work side by side in the kitchen, I begin to relax. The sizzle of vegetables in the pan, the rich aromas of garlic and herbs, the gentle clink of utensils, it all blends into a soothing experience. He’s right. Cooking is calming.

"You're a natural," Matteo says, his voice warm with approval. Like a dumb schoolgirl, my cheeks heat at his praise.

As we plate the pasta, adding a sprinkle of fresh Parmesan and a garnish of basil leaves, I step back to admire our handiwork. It's not perfect. The vegetables are a bit unevenly cut, but it's something I helped make. The only other times I’ve felt like this are when I make jewelry.

“Let’s eat out here. You grab the wine.”

I pick up our wine glasses while Matteo carries our plates to a dining area. We sit, and I take a bite of dinner, a meal I helped create. It’s delicious.

I look up at Matteo, unable to hide my smile. "It's good.”

Matteo grins back at me, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Of course it is. You made it."

As we eat, the conversation begins to flows easily. We talk about favorite foods, childhood memories of family dinners, and the best restaurants in Chicago. For a while, I almost forget who we are, captor and captive, criminal and Mafia princess. It’s so surreal. Just hours ago, I was locked in a room. Now, I'm sharing a meal with my captor, one that we cooked together.

I feel confused about our situation. He’s locked me up. Sometimes, he’s cruel. But other times, he’s kind and sweet. I don’t understand the point of all this.

Matteo takes a sip of his wine, his blue eyes studying me over the rim of his glass. "So, Ava, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do when you're not being held captive by dashing criminals?"

I laugh at his audacity. "Dashing? That's debatable.”

He grins, and I’m glad I didn’t offend him.

I poke at my pasta. I don’t really like talking about myself because there really isn’t that much to me. My life has always been whatever my father says it should be.

“I don’t know.”

He arches a brow. “I see you’ve made a new necklace. It’s lovely. Simple but elegant.”

I press my hand over it, surprised he noticed. “Thank you.”

“Did I get you the right supplies? Or do you need more? I can pick some up tomorrow.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. I want you to be comfortable here. I know the circumstances aren't ideal, but…" He trails off, but I’m not sure why. It’s almost as if he’s confused about our situation as well. Weird.

"What about you? What does the great Matteo Moretti do when he's not… well, you know… extorting or breaking kneecaps?"

He lets out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not as one-dimensional as you might think. I enjoy cooking, obviously. And reading after a long day of extortion and kneecap breaking."

As we continue to talk, I'm surprised by how easy it is to converse with him. He's witty and charming, with a depth I hadn't expected. We discuss books we've both read, our favorite places in Chicago, and even our dreams for the future, something I’ve never considered much as my life has never been my own. Even now, as his prisoner, my dreams feel like pie-in-the-sky. But he doesn't say or do anything to quash my desire to travel and experience life away from the confines of the world I live in. But even as I share that, I know that my future is squarely in his hands right now. What does he want with me?

I take a deep breath to shore up my courage. The wine has loosened my tongue, and the comfortable atmosphere we've created emboldens me. "Why did you really take me? You said it was to protect me, but… why?"

Matteo's eyes meet mine. "It's complicated, but I guess it started that night at the club, when you first snuck out."

My cheeks flush at the memory, but I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I saw you there, looking so out of place and vulnerable. And I realized how easily someone could take advantage of you." His jaw tightens. "Plus there’s the fact that your father is a total asshole who plans to send you to a sadist. I couldn't let that happen."

Warmth spreads through my chest at his words.

“You’re na?ve about the world.”

I start to protest, not liking being told I’m like a child, even though I know he’s right.

“But,” he continues, “you have a spirit about you. I knew it was a matter of time before you’d try to sneak out again. So I, uh…” His cheeks flush pink, which intrigues me. Is he embarrassed?

“I watched over you. I'd come by at night to make sure you were safe. When I saw you trying to sneak out again…" He shakes his head. "I wasn’t surprised, and I’ll admit, I was a little bit proud of you even though I knew it was an idiotic thing for you to do."

"You've been watching over me?" I’m stunned by this revelation.

Matteo nods, his blue eyes intense. "I can’t seem to bear the thought of your being hurt. Whether by some random creep at a club or by your own father. I know taking you wasn't right, but I… I just wanted to protect you."

His words send a thrill through me. The idea that this powerful, dangerous man has been looking out for me, caring about my safety, is both terrifying and exhilarating. It’s like having a fairy godfather. Even as I think that, I wonder if I am falling victim to Stockholm syndrome. For all I know, this is an act. And yet, I don’t think so.

“I thought… I don't know what I thought." I shake my head, looking down at my food. I hoped talking would make my situation clearer, but I’m more confused than ever.

“What did you think?”

I shrug. “I don’t know… retaliating against my father or you wanted to… take me for…”

Matteo reaches out, his hand covering mine on the table. “This isn’t business, Ava. For me, it’s personal.”

My gaze shoots up to his. “Then why lock me up?”

He withdraws his hand and picks up his wine. “I’m sorry about that. But this situation is dangerous for both of us. When you didn’t react well, I didn’t feel I had a choice, but it was selfish. It was to protect me. But I’d rather not lock you up.”

“So, what happens now?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I won't let you go back to your father. And I certainly won't let you be shipped off to that bastard in New York. But your being here, that’s problematic. Your father will kill me. Elio will likely make me send you back."

I shudder at the thought of returning to my father and being sent to New York to marry a stranger. A stranger with a terrible reputation.

“For now, you need to stay here, hidden.” His gaze is intense, his words more a command than a statement. “Until I figure this out, this needs to be our secret.”

I understand why Matteo has taken me. I’m even grateful to a certain extent. But it’s clear to me that my situation hasn’t really changed. I’m still at the mercy of a man’s decisions about my life.

“What about what I want?”

He tenses. "What do you want?”

“I… I want freedom. I want to make my own decisions. I want to experience life. I want to travel, to meet new people, to figure out who I am."

Matteo leans forward, his gaze never leaving mine. "What if I told you I could give you that?"

My heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I could show you a different life. One where you make your own choices."

A flicker of hope ignites within me.

Matteo reaches out, his hand covering mine again on the table. “I can show you just how good life can be, if you’ll let me.”