Stuck with the Billionaire Cowboy

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Hi sweetheart!

I have a small peek into Serafina that I’d like to share this week! 

Enjoy! 

Chapter 2: Serafina

Pulses dance a rumba in my chest as I push through the gym door, Lucas' card a solid weight against my palm. The cool evening air does nothing to chill the flush on my face or slow my racing heart. I'm out, but the heat from his gaze lingers, branding me with every heavy step toward my car.

I slide the card into my pocket like a stolen treasure. My fingers tingle from the contact, and it's not just from the rough texture of the paper.

My white Maserati waits, sleek and silent — my momentary escape from a life that's more a cage than anything else. I click the fob, and she chirps back at me, lights blinking a welcome. I slide into the driver's seat, smooth cream leather embracing me like a long-lost lover.

I pull out the business card once again. Gym Owner – a title that carries weight, much like the belts that hang on his gym walls, each a testament to his skill.

"Owner, huh?" I muse to myself, tracing the embossed letters. The card is simple, no frills or fancy fonts.

His image flashes in my mind — that rugged jawline, the dark tousled hair that begs for fingers to run through it. Those rock-hard muscles that beg to be touched. And those grey eyes, damn, they're like hooks, pulling you into depths you know you should avoid. It's more than physical; there's a pull, an invisible thread tugging at something deep within me.

My mind's a whirlwind, images of Lucas' gym replaying like a highlight reel. Those belts — damn, they looked good on the wall. Symbols of power, strength... freedom. Each one tells a story, and I can't help but wonder about the fists that fought for them. About his fists.

I fire up the Quattroporte's engine. It purrs, a predator ready to pounce, and for a second, it drowns out the chaos in my head. I grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, feeling the connection to something tangible, something real.

This is the only way. I have to be my own protector. The constant attacks from the Fabietti family have made it clear that I can no longer rely on my family's power and influence to keep me safe. I must learn to protect myself, even if it goes against my family's wishes of staying hidden. Out of harm's way.

Lucas is more than a pair of grey eyes I could get lost in; he's my ticket to survival. The best boxer in the city, they say. And I need to be the best if I want to make it through the battles that come with my family name.

Whether I like it or not.

But before shifting my car into drive, my fingers dance over the screen of my phone, a waltz of necessity over want. His number is already saved — an act of rebellion or foresight, I'm not sure which. The message has to be just right; nothing that betrays the tremor in my hands or the pounding in my chest.

Serafina:

Hey Lucas, this is Serafina. I’m interested in taking those one-on one boxing lessons. Let me know your availability.

Send.

It's out there, floating in the digital ether, a plea wrapped in indifference.

I lock the phone before I can second guess the words. The Maseratis don't show weakness, especially not to men who have no part in our world. Even if his eyes did linger a little too long, even if his smile did stir something reckless deep within.

I throw the car into gear, and she leaps forward, responding to my touch like we're one being. As I drive away, streetlights streak by in a blur.

I don’t get very far when, out of my peripheral vision, I catch the screen's glow as it springs to life with his reply, the tiny vibration against my palm sending a jolt straight to my heart. I let my car's system vocalize the text. "Tomorrow, 6 AM sharp. Don't be late, Serafina." Lucas's message is curt, professional, but my name at the end feels like a secret handshake.

I continue to drive, watching the city blur past me, a mosaic of shadow and light. I grip the steering wheel tighter, each turn taking me further from Lucas's gym – and closer to the life I’m chained to.

Numbers, figures, ledgers. That’s where I’ve lived for as long as I can remember, in the cold precision of accounting for my family. But numbers never screamed like my mother when they came rushing into our home without so much as a warning, didn't bleed like Papa's face. No, numbers don't teach you how to survive.

I dream of days where my life is consumed by simplicity. By plants. I imagine my hands in soil, not bloodstained money. Fenestrated and variegated foliage, not vendettas. But dreams are luxury, and I'm a Mancini – and I intend on defending our family, no matter my personal cost.

I’ll be dammed if I’m ever going to let someone make me feel as helpless as I did that day.

Tomorrow, I step into the ring. Lucas's world. Where fists speak louder than last names, where I can be just Serafina, not a pawn in a mafia chess game. Where my curves will do more than attract powerful men my family insist I marry. Where my not size-zero jeans have no place to be judged by the girls in college that constantly sized me up before even getting to know me.

Had they known who my family really was back then, they would have never dared looking at me that way. But I managed to persuade my family to let me experience college like any other girl all those years ago, reasoning that it would be my only taste of a "normal" life.

Being the youngest of five siblings and the sole daughter, I fought tooth and nail for that inch of freedom. A burning desire for that freedom still consumes me, a relentless beast gnawing at my insides that I desperately try to choke down like bile.

The sun dips low, painting the horizon in hues of orange and purple, by the time I pull into my family's estate. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, an anxious rhythm to match the flutter in my chest. Excitement buzzes under my skin at the thought of tomorrow's lesson, mingling with a thread of trepidation. Lucas—my boxing coach, or so I must keep reminding myself.

No need for the skipped heartbeat when his name crosses my mind.

Stepping out of the car, I let the evening breeze kiss my heated cheeks. The scent of lavender hangs heavy in the air, a perfume meant to soothe. But it can't quite calm the storm within me—the whirlwind of emotions swirling deep within me. From the anxiety of keeping the boxing lessons a secret from my family, to the way my heart skips a beat whenever I think about Lucas.

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It’s been one week since the release of Stuck with the Billionaire Cowboy, and all I have to say is WOW! 

The love, the positive feedback, even the words of encouragement to keep writing mean so much to me. Thank you every one of you who has either written directly to me, or submitted a review - I simply couldn’t do what I love without you. 

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This grumpy billionaire is my brother's best friend and the man I love to hate.

I have always hated Dalton McAllister, my brother's best friend.

Years of tension hint that opposites not only attract but could ignite.

When his private jet touched down, it shattered the solitude of my secluded oasis.

My escape plan from my ex and the dangerous men he owes money to.

Now, stuck together by circumstance, our proximity begins to reveal secrets. 

Blurring lines and awakening a longing that’s always lingered just beneath the surface.

A call from my ex leaves me rattled as the threat from my past inches closer.

Dalton learns the truth of why I’m here, and anger and accusations grip him.

Now, I must prove my innocence and convince him:

I’m not here to settle my ex’s debt with his money.

But when that threat shows up at my door, that chance may slip away.

Amongst the chaos, this island becomes both our playground and battleground.

And my childhood rival might just become the lover and hero I didn't know I needed.Gimme this book!

XOXO,

Jade Styles