Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 117

My eyes go wide and I look right at Reagan, who actually flinches back. “Honey, I could never be angry with you. You’re one of my two favorite nieces.”

That one usually gets a smile. Today—nothing.

“Whoa. Tough crowd.” I take a deep breath and hold my hand up, palm facing Reagan. “I solemnly swear that I will not get mad at Reagan for whatever it is she’s done.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Reagan says earnestly. “I said something bad.”

I try not to smile too hard. “Oh, sweetheart, did you say a bad word? Because I’ll tell you right now, it’s okay. We all slip sometimes. Just don’t do it again.”

Her frightened stance doesn’t change. “I didn’t say a bad word. I… I told a secret.”

I’m not overly concerned. I mean, we’ve been cooped up in here for days. The only person they’ve really hung out with lately is Kirill and he already knows my secret.

“What secret, Rae?”

Beep, beep, beep.

“Oh, hold on—that’ll be Kirill. Josh, honey, can you let him up?” I turn my attention back on Reagan. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Her chubby little cheeks sag under the weight of her remorse. “I told Ruslan about the baby in your belly.”

For a second, I don’t react. Then I laugh. “How can you have told Ruslan? You haven’t seen him in days.”

Caroline shakes her head. “He came over last night.”

I frown, my eyes swiveling towards Josh. “He did, Aunt Em. You were in the bathroom puking.”

Slowly, it starts to sink in. Reagan told Ruslan that I had a baby in my belly. While I was throwing up in the bathroom.

Last night.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

“I’m really sorry, Auntie Em.” Reagan’s eyes are watery with tears and I realize that my reaction is not helping.

“I-it’s okay, baby,” I insist, even though I’m dying inside. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you mad at me?”

How can I be mad at a five-year-old? Who expects a five-year-old to keep that kind of secret? Or any kind of secret? I should’ve known this was coming sooner or later. I just wish it hadn’t been quite this soon.

“Of course not. Not mad. Not mad at all.” My voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. I need to calm the fuck down. “Why don’t you guys head into the kitchen? Lunch is on the counter.”

They scurry along and I start pacing frantically.

Ruslan knows. Why hasn’t he confronted me about it? Why hasn’t he reacted? Is he going to punish me? Trap me? Give me the silent treatment until the baby pops out?

I stop short when the elevator doors open and Kirill walks in. So that’s why the sudden change of location.

Be cool, Emma. Be cool.

“Hey.”

God, I sound stiff.

Kirill raises his eyebrows. “Where are the kids?”

“Just having lunch. The smell of meat makes me want to puke so I’m just staying out of the kitchen ‘til they’re done.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell you to start packing. The car will be here at nine tomorrow morning to take you to the Oryolov Estate.”

I give him a polite nod. “And why are we being moved there?”

His expression is ridiculously convincing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was all run-of-the-mill stuff happening here. Standard protocol for victims of kidnappings, extortion attempts, and the like. “The kids will have free run of the place. There’s huge gardens and a pool and—”

“This is a trap!”

So much for being cool.

Kirill startles. “Um…”

“He knows. That’s why he’s moving us.”

He sighs. “Five-year-olds, I assume?”

“You weren’t gonna tell me. You were just gonna give me a bunch of bullshit excuses for why we were moving.”

He shrugs, not even bothering to deny it. “I figured if Reagan hadn’t told you, then—”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends, Emma. But I still have a job to do. Part of that job involves keeping you safe. And this move will accomplish that.”

“Bullshit. He’s never gonna let me out of that place. I’ll be a prisoner for life.”

“Emma—”

“No! Don’t you ‘Emma’ me. I should have known better than to trust you.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is low and gentle. “I’m afraid this is nonnegotiable.”

I scowl at him helplessly. “He asked me for a month; I gave him a month. That’s all I’m prepared to give.”

“That’s for you and Ruslan to decide together.”

I snort incredulously. “Right. Because Ruslan’s totally the kind of guy who believes in mutual decisions and compromise.”

“I know this is hard—”

“I need to get the kids out of here.”

“You need to keep the kids safe,” he reminds me. “And staying with Ruslan is the easiest way to ensure their safety. You know that. I know you know that.”

I turn away from him with a sniffle. It doesn’t really matter what I know.

The decision has already been made for me.

14

EMMA

When Kirill said estate, he really meant estate.

The place is ginormous. It’s sprawled over acres, surrounded by fifteen-foot walls that pale in comparison to the grounds they protect. It’s hard to believe we’re only an hour from Manhattan. The lush greenery of Oyster Bay Cove feels like another state entirely.

Once we pass the first layer of security, which involves Fort Knox-esque levels of steel gates and grim-faced security guards, it’s a three-minute and twenty-seven-second drive to the mansion, which I know because Caroline dutifully counts off every one of those seconds.

Who takes that long to get to their front door from their front gate?

Ruslan Oryolov. That’s who.

Not that I’m impressed. Oh, no. I’m disgusted. This kind of wealth is… It’s obscene. It’s ridiculous. It’s egotistical. It’s—

“Whoa, this is so cool!” Josh breathes in awe.

I don’t hear another peep from the girls. Any time they’re rendered speechless, I know for sure they’re blown away.

Whatever. This kind of luxury and excess may work on the kids. But it will not work on me. Until—

Oh my God! Is that the house?

“We’re going to be staying there?” Reagan squeals. “It’s like a castle!”

“Castle” is a much more appropriate word. I shudder to think what this property must have cost. Whoever said “Billionaire’s Row” was back in the heart of the city clearly hasn’t seen this behemoth.

“You guys better stick close to me,” I mutter as the car comes to a stop. “I don’t want any of you getting lost in there.”

“Maybe in the evening, I can take you guys down to the stables to see the horses,” Kirill suggests.

“There are horses!” Caroline screams in delight.

I plug a finger in each eardrum, though it’s too little, too late. My ears are still ringing when I get out of the car and turn to the intimidating structure in front of me. White Corinthian columns, scowling gargoyles, doors big enough to let in half a dozen Trojan Horses side by side… this place is absurd in every way.