Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 10

I meet Ruslan’s steely gaze. “What happens if I say no?”

He shrugs as though this is just another job interview for him and he has a thousand other candidates lined up behind me. “If you say no, I’ll let you go with a generous severance package, a glowing recommendation, and no mention of the phone call.”

It’s a relief, but it doesn’t come close to comforting me.

“But if you say yes…” His eyes turn a dark, liquid gold. “It will definitely be worth your while. I have many skills, Ms. Carson, and they’re not limited to business.”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I’m sure he sees it.

He leans against his leather wingback. “It’s entirely up to you.”

I stare at the contract in my lap. It’s not a small decision by any stretch of the imagination. “Can I have some time to think about this?”

“You can have today off. I expect your answer by tomorrow.”

He’s not really giving me a whole lot of time, but I think we both know more time will only confuse me. Maybe it’s better this way.

I start to stand when he says, “One more thing, Ms. Carson.”

So I freeze, ass hovering over the seat. “Yes?”

“This stays between the two of us.” His expression turns deadly. I’ve seen that look on his face in the boardroom, right before he pounces on some poor fool who was stupid enough to question him. “If you tell a soul about the contract, the deal is off. No protection, no recommendations, no pension— and I have every means to utterly destroy your chances of employment in any capacity ever again. Am I making myself clear?”

I gulp hard. “Crystal.”

“Good. Then you’re excused.”

It’s the normal goodbye routine. He picks up his phone, his gaze drops, and just like that, I go back to being a nobody. No one would guess that a few moments ago, he was propositioning me for sex. For contracted sex.

I have a lot to process.

I grab my stuff and race out of the building, trying to remember the last time I had a day off. It still doesn’t feel like a free day; it feels like a weight sitting squarely on my chest. A weight that gets heavier and heavier with every passing minute.

I take the subway over to Central Park and find a bench in a shady corner. I pull out the contract folder and stare at the cover, gathering up the strength to start reading. Then, with a sigh, I dive in.

Twenty minutes later, I have a growing headache and a pro-con list that’s pulling me at both ends.

Pro: The money is amazing. I’d be able to actually take care of the kids without worrying so damn much every second of every day.

Con: I would be exchanging sex for money.

Pro: I’ll be able to pay off the loans faster.

Con: Ruslan Oryolov is an influential man with possible mob connections. All rumors, but in my opinion, there’s no smoke without fire.

Pro: He also happens to be a very, very, very attractive influential man with possible mob connections.

Con: He’s an asshole.

Pro: He’s an asshole who’s probably great in bed.

I close the contract after staring at the Non-Disclosure section of the agreement for what feels like an eternity.

If rumors of Ruslan’s supposed mob ties are to be believed, I would be exposing the kids to danger. It just feels like too big a risk. Which is why, when I put the contract back in my bag and get to my feet, I feel like I’ve made my decision.

It’s too crazy, too reckless, too insane of a deal for me to agree to. I can’t compromise myself that way and I can’t let this decision bleed into the kids’ lives. Isn’t it more important that they’re safe?

Okay. Done. Decision made. Goodbye forever, Ruslan Oryolov.

So why don’t I feel right about it?

7

RUSLAN

I’ve had a single question circulating in my head since seven minutes and twenty-three seconds after the top of the hour, when Emma walked out of my office with the contract tucked under her arm.

Will she surrender?

There’s a chance she’ll turn me down straight-up. I’m prepared for that. What I’m not prepared for is the nauseating churn in my gut when I consider her walking out my door for good.

Which is fucking bullshit, of course. What do I care about one woman in a city of millions? I could hurl my desk chair out of my office right this second and hit a dozen willing prospects on the way down. A dozen eager yeses who’d sign without bothering to read a single line of my love life contract.

Correction: not my love life, my sex life. I have no interest in love. I made that decision thirteen years ago when I saw what loving a woman would cost me.

I’ve dawdled away the evening, left aimless by the lack of an assistant. Without Emma to keep my life in line, I’ve simply canceled everything on my calendar, clearing a block of empty time to do nothing but obsess over what answer she’ll bring back to me tomorrow.

So I’m glad for the distraction when my father and uncle stroll into my office. Both are working members of Bane Corp., with offices in the building, though neither one bothers to actually come in very often.

That’s the secret to keeping up the appearance of legitimacy: sometimes, things actually need to be legitimate.

“Where’s your assistant?” Uncle Vadim asks, taking the left chair opposite my desk.

“She’s taking a sick day.”

My father, Fyodor, scans my desk. “You should have two assistants. For just such an instance.” He has just a hint of an accent, unlike my uncle, whose Russian bark is anything but subtle.

“It’s hard enough finding one competent assistant. I can’t imagine finding two.” I really don’t want to talk about Emma any more than I have to think about her, so I change the subject smoothly. “How about dinner? Kirill’s on his way here. He can pick something up for us.”

I text Kirill and tell him to bring food. Then I turn my attention to the elder Oryolov brothers.