His Princess: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  Contents

  His Princess

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  His Princess

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 251

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2021 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  His Princess

  I’m the princess of the Irish mob, but there’s a problem…

  The leader of the mob, my uncle, killed my father and I hate his guts. So when I get a chance to escape, I take it.

  The only place I can run is into the arms of Rider Rawson, one of the only cops in the city who isn’t corrupt. He was a friend of my dad’s and I know I can trust him.

  But I don’t expect him to be so tall, so handsome, so muscular.

  I’m supposed to stay at his home for one night only, but then he claims me in the most primal and possessive way a man can.

  I’m shocked. I’m just a nineteen year old curvy shy virgin who has no experience with men. Rider is six and a half feet tall, an ex-boxer who became a detective when his parents were killed by the Cartel.

  He’s a millionaire cop and must have women throwing themselves at him all day long…

  So why does he want me?

  Just as I’m trying to come to terms with his savage and alpha attention, the Cartel and the mob start hunting us, threatening to end our budding romance before it has a chance to begin.

  Can I get over my virginal shyness and accept that Rider wants me?

  Will I ever be able to be the woman he wants?

  And most importantly of all, are we going to get out of this alive?

  *His Princess is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  Chapter One

  Ruby

  I sit across from the man who killed my father, the man who also happens to be my uncle.

  I find it difficult to feel any familial affection for Aaron McCarthy. He grunts as he lights his cigar, running a hand through his mop of gray hair, with a few clinging reds still holding on.

  His office – my father’s old office – is large and spacious. My dad furnished it elegantly, but Aaron has gutted it and turned it into an idiot’s idea of what it’s like to be rich, with golden furniture, plush rugs that don’t match and framed signed prints on the walls, all of which clash.

  It’s an open secret in the Irish mob that three years ago Aaron conspired with the Cartel to take out my dad, Johnny. I’ve heard the guards whispering about it. I know that most of them disagree with how he went about gaining control of the mob, but with the Cartel’s manpower behind him, none of them can do anything about it.

  I was sixteen when my dad mysteriously died of a heart attack at dinner.

  He was my best friend as well as my dad, as sad as that sounds.

  I’ve never been good at making friends, and my connection to the mob has made it even more difficult.

  I’m the princess of the Irish mafia.

  People are wary around me, never letting their guard down, knowing that if they make the wrong joke and my family finds out, there will be hell to pay.

  My uncle runs the house like a dictatorship.

  I know if I speak first it’s going to put him in a bad mood, so I wait with my hands in my lap, even as pulsing rage moves through me.

  It’s preemptive rage, as I get ready for him to tell me no, the same way he always tells me no if it doesn’t involve something he wants.

  But I have to try.

  My writing became the most important thing in my life after Dad died.

  Finally, he sighs and rests his elbow on the table. “You wanted to see me?”

  I almost laugh in his face. I’ve been sitting here for at least a minute, waiting for him to get his power play over with.

  Of course, I’m here to see him.

  But I don’t let any of my anger cloud my expression, instead work to make myself smile as widely as I can muster.

  “Yes, uncle. I’d like to ask your permission for something.”

  I’m nineteen years old. I shouldn’t need his blessing for anything.

  But, while he’s never come right out and said it, I’m a prisoner here.

  All the doors are locked and the walls around the estate are guarded. When Dad was alive I could come and go as I pleased, but now whenever I try to leave the estate, the guards dream up some reason why I can’t…

  Later, they promise. Come back later.

  But it’s always the same answer.

  If I want to leave the estate, guards have to follow me, keeping a watchful eye on me to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing.

  That was never a danger before when I was in high school. Fear of my uncle kept me silent.

  But ever since graduation I’ve come to realize what a true prison this place is. I wish I could turn back time and tell a teacher about the predicament I was in, but that’s the past. It’s over. I can’t change it.

  I have to focus on the now.

  “My permission?”

  He sucks on his cigar, eyes glimmeringly with an evil glint. I can’t believe I never saw that when I was a kid, but Dad blinded me to all the nastiness of this life. His love made it easy to close my eyes to how messed up a lot of these mobsters are.

  “Yes.” I stare into his eyes, annoyed at how similar their pale green is to Dad’s, to mine. “I’ve finished my book and I’d like access to the internet so I can submit it to potential publishers.”

  I have to ask, to give him the chance to say yes, before I move to the next step of my plan.

  Uncle Aaron narrows his eyes at me. His lips twitch with the shadow of a smile. It’s not a real smile. I don’t think Aaron is capable of true human emotion. It’s more the way a bully amusedly smirks at his vi
ctim.

  “Oh?” He flicks some ash onto Dad’s table. I fight the urge to wipe it away. “And what is this book about?”

  The book is about the Irish mob and how it works from the inside, a thriller novel about a female detective who infiltrates it and becomes embroiled in a romance with a hostage.

  I’ve drawn on my own experience and long years spent eavesdropping on the guards.

  But I know if I tell Aaron the truth, he’ll never let me submit it anywhere.

  “It’s a fantasy romance,” I tell him. “About a court jester and a princess who fall in love.”

  He laughs coldly. “Is that how you’ve been spending your time, dear niece? That sounds very childish.”

  I bite down, warning myself not to react to his taunting. This is the way it always is with him, countless insults flung at me which I’m expected to meekly take.

  Which I do meekly take because let’s face it, I don’t really have a choice.

  I shrug. “It is. It’s silly. So I guess there’s no harm in submitting it, then?”

  He sighs and leans forward, his eyes turning hard. “You know the answer to that, Ruby. And don’t give me that naive puppy-dog look. I can’t let you traipse around, publishing books, because you’re smarter than you seem. You’ve hidden a message in that book somewhere. I’d bet my life on it.”

  I want to tell him his life is meaningless, so bet away.

  But I know that if I openly challenge him, he might graduate from kidnapping to something else.

  Uncle Aaron is a vicious man.

  So far he hasn’t turned his sadism on me.

  But he could.

  Easily.

  I swallow down my protests and nod.

  “Okay, Uncle Aaron. I just thought I’d ask.”

  “It was a stupid question,” he says dismissively. “And you know it was a stupid question? Now, was there anything else?”

  Rage boils up inside of me, moving through me like acid, eating away at my self-restraint. I want to leap out of my chair and scream at him, roar at him for killing my dad and keeping me prisoner and turning my life into a monotonous hell.

  Which is maybe better than other kinds of hells, but I still hate it.

  “Okay, uncle,” I say, standing. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

  I leave the office calmly, nerves making my chest tighten, my heartbeat thud against my ribcage.

  It’s time for plan B.

  It’s time to run away.

  Before my dad died, he sat me down one evening with a stern look on his face. I think he knew something bad was going to happen to him. Aaron had distanced himself and the Cartel was making their presence known in the city.

  I can still see the way he stared at me, his soft eyes turned hard, his hands clasped on the table.

  “If you ever need to go to the police,” he told me, “you seek out a man, Rider Rawson. He’s the best cop in this city. He knows how to handle complex situations. If you ever find yourself in a position where you need help, do not go to the police. You hear me? Don’t even dream of it. The Cartel will have contacts with them.”

  His voice deepened in a way I’d never heard before, his tone compelling.

  “I understand,” I murmured, too young to truly take his words to heart.

  I thought he was going to be around forever.

  I was so freaking naive.

  “This is his address.” He slid a piece of paper across the table. “Hide this, Ruby. Do you understand? Nobody can ever see it.”

  I’d kept his address folded up in a paperback stored under my bed for three years. I’d rarely given it any thought, falling instead into reading and writing, a way to escape Aaron and his crap.

  But then I figured out a way to escape, or at least a chance.

  A few weeks ago the safe alarm went off and Aaron ordered all the guards – even the ones at the gates – to rush into the house.

  It’s the sort of paranoid thing he does. He’s terrified of somebody sneaking in here and stealing his traitor’s money.

  It turned out it was a false alarm caused by a minor earthquake that trembled through the house. But it gave me an idea.

  Set off the alarm, sneak out, and head for the nearest exit, about a thirty-second window. Slip into the nearby forest and walk north, and keep walking north until I meet the road. Then I’ll find my way into the city and to Rider Rawson’s apartment if he still lives there.

  And then what?

  I don’t know.

  But I have to try something.

  I take a sip of my coffee and then lay the cup on the table, glancing at my bag near the door. I’ve only packed what I need – my laptop, my writing materials, the copy of Harry Potter Dad gave me when I was a kid, and of course some clothes – but it still looks heavy.

  I swallow down my nerves, pick up the ceramic cup, and aim it at the safe.

  “Fuck you, Aaron,” I whisper.

  I let it fly.

  It smashes against the safe loudly, and then, a moment later, the blaring alarm cuts through the house.

  I grab my bag.

  Chapter Two

  Rider

  Alex Garcia – my partner in the police for the last decade – laughs down the phone. I smirk as I stand at the window, looking down upon the city, as the sun reaches its zenith, glittering over the buildings and across the sea. The bridges leading out to the countryside, to the large estates of the elite.

  “I never thought I’d see the day, Rider Rawson using some of his vacation allowance. Goddamn, it must be a special occasion.”

  “It is,” I say, and then take a sip of my jet-black coffee.

  “I reckon you’ve got a secret girlfriend coming to visit or something. It’s the only explanation. I’ve never seen you take a day off.”

  “I did. Ten years ago, right to the day, in fact.”

  Alex quiets. “Oh, fuck.”

  I laugh darkly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Garcia. You didn’t know.”

  “Shit, I could’ve worked it out. Why’d you let me start making jokes about it?”

  I laugh again. “Because I knew you’d feel bad when you realized what day it is.”

  Alex chuckles, but some of the steam has gone from it now. “That’s some real sick shit, Rider, you know that?”

  “I know it. But it was worth it.”

  Today is the twentieth anniversary of the day my parents were murdered by the Cartel, the day that changed my life forever. I was twenty-three when Mom and Dad were riding the subway one night, minding their own damn business, when two Cartel lowlifes decided to have some fun with them.

  I was a boxer at the time, one fight from becoming the champ and already a big star – I had sponsorship deals, absurdly high pay for each fight, the chance to become a superstar – but I quit and joined the force the second I heard the news.

  They murdered them like animals, did sick twisted things to my mother, and I made it my mission to hunt the fuckers down.

  I did, eventually. They’re serving life right now.

  But once a man learns how fucked the streets truly are, he can’t abandon them.

  At least, I can’t.

  “So what’re your plans for today?” Alex asks, his tone more somber now.

  “I’ll visit their gravesite later on. For now, I’m going to work out like a motherfucker. My old man would have appreciated that. He was always pushing me to train harder. I’ll get some flowers for my mom. She always loved lilies.”

  “Alright, bro. Give me some heads up next time, eh?”

  “Nah, I like hearing you squirm. Try not to fuck up too badly without me there to bail you out.”

  “Ha, ha, ha.”

  We hang up on good terms, both of us chuckling, but the second the call ends my thoughts turn dark. Even if I managed to catch and imprison the bastards, there’s still a blazing fire in me, stoked today especially because soon – very soon – I will have lived longer on this planet without my parents th
an with them.

  I close my eyes and try to bring their faces to the front of my mind, but it’s more difficult than it has any right to be.

  I finish off my coffee and turn to my large penthouse – one of the benefits of living a separate life as a superstar boxer – and pace across the open-plan living room. I lay my mug on the obsidian kitchen island and stretch my arms over my head.

  A good solid workout.

  That always sets my mind straight.

  I pause when the buzzer cuts through the apartment.

  I haven’t ordered anything and nobody else uses the buzzer.

  Visitors arrange beforehand. I’m not expecting anyone.

  Perhaps it’s paranoia, but I’ve been a cop for twenty damn years.

  I grab my glock and move over to the door, ignoring the buzzer when it blares again.

  I look through the peep-hole, making sure this isn’t some trap.

  But the corridor is empty.

  Whoever’s buzzing isn’t being allowed up for some reason. I guess security must’ve stopped them.

  I press the intercom button. “Gary?”

  He’s ex-Army, one of the better members of the security personnel this building has to offer.

  “Sir, we have a lady here to see you.”

  “A lady?”

  I almost grunt out a laugh.

  I stopped looking for my lady a long time ago.