His Ruthless Queen

Copyright © [2023] by [A.N. Stauber] All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents Dedication Author's Note Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Epilogue Read On Acknowledgements About the Author This book is dedicated to my reader’s group. Chapter 40 is for you, if you know, you know. For all the good girls who like to be a little sassy, Scotty is ready to be your next book boyfriend… Author's Note CONTENT WARNING: This mafia story is NOT a clean romance. I do NOT condone any situations or actions that take place in this fictional story. AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you don’t have any triggers, please feel free to skip the rest of this message. This book includes but is not limited to: Profanity, alcohol, insinuations of eating disorders, kidnapping, knife play, and blood play. Prologue H e’s so pale. It’s sickly. He’s almost a shade of green. Seeing him so … vulnerable when he’s usually unbreakable makes my stomach flip. And not in a good way. I reach out, cover his hand with mine, and give it a squeeze. It’s cold, not like the usual warmth Scotty puts off. He’s not wearing his standard black suit—the Southie guard uniform. Instead, his chest is bare, with a large white bandage in the center. Beneath the bandage is what I imagine to be a stitched-up hole. I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before. My father shielded me from the life of a mobster. I shiver at the image I’ve conjured of what’s lying beneath the gauze. “Scotty,” I whisper, sniffling away the tears. It’s been twelve hours since my eldest brother, Callum’s, girlfriend, Haley, moved him to the guest room of their home, and well over a full day since he’s been shot. She said that Scotty couldn’t stay in the warehouse, and he was stable enough for transport. He even woke up for a little bit at some point. My other brother, Paddy, slept in here with him. But now it’s four in the afternoon and I’m being told he hasn’t woken since that first time twelve hours ago. He’s got a catheter in, and even though this is a guest bedroom … the smell. Jesus, the smell is like a hospital. Sterile and stiff. And he looks so … broken. I sniffle, trying to keep the tears at bay. He wouldn’t want me to be like this. Worried sick with fear. So, I tell myself he’s okay. His heart is beating despite being grazed with a bullet. I need to see him open his eyes to believe it, though. “Hey.” My voice cracks despite trying to keep a brave face. He doesn’t budge. Not even when I rub the back of my hand against the blond scruff growing on his cheek. “Wake up. Please? Wake up, baby.” Scotty doesn’t answer my pleas. My stomach flips. Haley said he’d be sleeping a lot. But I need to hear his voice to know that he’s okay. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” My hands land on the leg closest to me, and I shake him. “Stop.” His voice is gruff, thick from not speaking for nearly a full day. My heartbeat quickens, and the dreaded pit in my stomach lightens. I move my gaze up to his face, a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth when his golden brown eyes meet mine. He clears his throat. “It hurts, princess. Don’t shake me.” My hands recoil away from him as if he’s a venomous snake. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. I turn, my eyes wide with shock. “Sorry,” I say, sheepishly. He gives me his lopsided grin and my already rapidly beating chest spirals into a tailspin of flutters. If I were the one hooked up to these monitors right now, Haley would be in here thinking I’m going into cardiac arrest. “Water?” he asks, his gaze on the nightstand beside him where a cup rests. I nod, grabbing it and pointing the straw toward his mouth so he doesn’t have to strain. “You had me worried.” He swallows the water, then pulls away. “How long have I been out?” “Twelve hours. Do you remember what happened?” Scotty’s eyes darken while he concentrates. I don’t miss the way his face scrunches with determination and the way his hand comes up to touch the scruff on his face. “Someone was coming for Griffin. Italians.” I cock my head to the side. “How do you know it was Italians?” “They were speaking Italian.” His head turns to me, and he grunts. That sickly white shade is still there, but his eyes hold the sliver of pain he’s trying to hide from me. “Let me get you some more pain meds,” I say, standing from the chair I’ve hiked up beside his bed. Scotty shakes his head. “No, princess. Just sit with me a moment.” I move my head up and down, then rest my hand over his again. He’s so cold that it sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re here,” he says after a long beat of comfortable silence. “I’ve been in town for a few days. Left the site in Washington under management.”