Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 101

EMMA

I’m compiling a comprehensive mental list of all the things you shouldn’t do when you’re on the run from a violent mob boss. Note that these rules are especially important when you have three kids in tow, including an impatient six-year-old and her very loud five-year-old sister, all while looking like an Egyptian mummy because you’re wrapped from head to toe in gauze to cover up the thousand and one bleeding cuts you got when your deadbeat brother-in-law pushed you through a glass coffee table.

Rule number one: don’t tell the five-year-old you’re leaving town on an adventure. Because she will tell every single person she makes eye contact with.

Rule number two: don’t call your best friend and admit to all the secrets you’ve been keeping from her for the last six months. Because she will freak the hell out and threaten to call the cops.

Rule number three: don’t bring all three kids to Walmart to buy the emergency supplies you need to tide you over on this great escape. Kids have no sense of what constitutes an emergency and they will try to buy unicorn Snuggies, light-up Slinkies, and their bodyweight’s worth of Pop-Tarts.

So far, I’ve broken all three rules. This little “adventure” is off to a great start.

“Caro, Rae, for the last time, you can’t buy—”

“Excuse me, hon?” someone says. I jerk around, totally rattled by the unfamiliar hand on my shoulder. He flinches off me. “Whoa there. Just sayin’ hello, darling. No need to fret.”

I squint at the man standing next to my loaded cart. I may have gone a little overboard with the supplies. It’s stuffed to the brim with toiletries, sleeping bags, canned foods, extra clothes for each of the kids, a flashlight and a backup flashlight…

I just wanted to be prepared. Then again, can you ever be prepared to uproot your entire life? Your kids’ lives?

“Uh, yeah, hi, hello,” I say distractedly. I scan the surrounding area. I’m currently standing in the dried foods aisle, but two of my three wards are nowhere to be found. “Josh! Where are your sisters?”

My eight-year-old points towards the next aisle. “Over there. I’ll get them.”

Before I can tell him to stay put, he’s gone, too.

Great.

Now, I’ve lost all three.

And apparently, I have an audience. The man who startled me is still there, standing by my cart, looking shamelessly at its contents. “Looks like you’ve got half the store in there,” he chuckles, scratching at his thin brown beard.

I force a smile. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He puts his hand on the handle of my cart. “Miss, do you need some help?”

My heartbeat kicks up a notch. What if this guy works for Ruslan? Does he look like mafia or Bratva or whatever the hell Ruslan calls himself? Is he dangerous?

He’s certainly large enough to do some damage. And he’s got those sharp eyes. Dangerous eyes. Although, come to think of it, I didn’t exactly listen to my better instincts last time I came into contact with a certain pair of dangerous amber eyes.

It’s kinda how I got in this whole mess to begin with.

“I don’t need any help. But thank you for asking.” I try to push my cart down the aisle but he doesn’t remove his hand and the wheels squeal in protest.

I turn to him warily but he gives me only a sympathetic smile. “It’s just that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t help someone in your position.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you. But it’s really not necessary.”

He leans in a little closer and the scent of tuna hits me like a truck in the night. Oh, yuck. My eyes start watering.

“You really shouldn’t be out in your condition. With three kids, no less.” Speaking of—where the hell are they? “You should be at home with your feet up while someone else does all the heavy lifting.”

“Trust me: if I had someone else, I would absolutely be home with my feet up.”

Or if I had a home to do that at.

The man’s eyebrows rise. He’s got bushy ones to match his mustache. “So no husband? A boyfriend, maybe? A gal-friend?”

Alrighty. I wasn’t a fan of this conversation even before he asked about my relationship status. I’m certainly not up for it now.

“I really should be going.”

I rip the cart out from underneath his hand and pray that he doesn’t follow me. I hustle into the next aisle and spot Josh at the end of it with the girls holding each of his hands. Gritting my teeth, I beeline straight for them.

“Guys. We had a deal. I agreed to bring you because you all promised me you would listen and never leave my side, remember?”

Reagan and Caroline exchange a glance. “Actually,” Caroline says, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “you only brought us because Aunt Phoebe couldn’t get off work and that motel is scary.”

“Super-duper scary!” Reagan chirps.

I can’t exactly blame them. That godawful motel scares the shit out of me, too, and I’m almost twenty-seven years old. But it was the cheapest and most remote hideout that Phoebe could find for us on short notice.

“Yes, yes, I know. But please, can we listen to Auntie Em anyway?” I beg. “Can we stay by my side? Pretty please?”

Reagan and Caroline giggle. “Okaaay.”

I give their heads a nervous tousle and then gesture for them to follow me towards the checkout counters. I scan the crowds as I step up to the cashier.

I can’t see Mr. Tuna Breath anymore. Thank God for that. But every time I glance at the kids, I also catch Josh staring at me. I give him what I hope is a reassuring wink but he doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Hey,” I whisper while the girls bicker about something or the other. “Don’t look so worried, J. This is gonna be an adventure.”

He frowns. “I’m not five, Aunt Em. That’s not gonna work on me.”

I sigh. “Kiddo, I know this isn’t ideal—” I give the cashier a tight smile and start loading the conveyor belt with our stuff. “—but it’s necessary. You know that, right?”

He nods stiffly. “Yeah, but I don’t get why we can’t just call Ruslan and ask him for help. He would help us.”

Every time one of them mentions his name, it feels like a knife to my heart. Or a glass shard in my thigh. Turns out, the two feelings are extremely similar. I would know.

“We’re gonna have to do this without Ruslan, buddy.”

“But why?”

Because he hates my fucking guts now and he didn’t care about me enough to want to hear my side of the story.

“It’s complicated.”

“I hate when grown-ups say that.”

I run a frustrated hand down the side of my face. “Yeah. I felt the same way once.”

We manage to get through the checkout and then I herd the kids up and order them to form a straight line beside me. “Like ducklings. We’re gonna walk fast, okay?”