Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 118

“Is that a garden, Uncle Kiki?” Caroline asks, pointing to a perfectly manicured circular patch of grass and crushed gravel off to the right hand side of the property.

“Nope. That’s the helipad.”

I want to vomit.

“Come on, you little gremlins. Ruslan will be waiting for us inside.” He gives me a wary look over his shoulder, but I glance away so I don’t have to meet his eyes.

I wish there was a helicopter waiting on the helipad so that we could make a quick getaway. I don’t even need to know how to fly the thing; I’ll wing it.

Or crash it.

Either one seems like a better alternative than facing Ruslan.

Reagan grabs my hand and starts towing me towards the marble staircase that leads up to the house. There must be some kind of motors powering the front doors, which is convenient, because I don’t see a spare army around to help out if we had to open them ourselves.

We walk inside and, predictably, the interior of the house is every bit as impressive as the exterior. I stare open-mouthed at the quadruple-height ceilings and the jaw-dropping skylight hanging over the foyer, atrium, whatever the hell you call these monstrosities.

As Kirill directs us under the skylight, I notice a line of people standing off to the side. All are dressed in uniform, their eyes fastened on the opposite wall as though they’re scared to look directly at us.

“This is the staff. If you need anything, feel free to ask.”

Kirill then proceeds to introduce each one in turn. It’s a blur of names and titles and responsibilities. A whole team of people that man the kitchen. Another group that takes care of the housekeeping chores. Gardeners, landscapers, maintenance for the plumbing and electrical and masonry and on and on. I’m winded by the time Kirill finishes making the introductions. He dismisses them with a wave of his hand and they file out, stone-faced and mute.

“Geez. Are they people or robots?”

He smirks. “Ruslan’s grandfather was of the mindset that the help should be seen and not heard. I guess it carried over through the generations.”

“Gross.”

“Ruslan!”

The smile drops off my face as Ruslan approaches from an arched passageway in the corner. His smile looks forced, but then again, maybe I’m overthinking. He spends a few minutes talking to the kids, answering their questions and generally avoiding looking at me. Honestly, it’s the best-case scenario.

I don’t think I can pretend today.

“How about a tour of the house?” Ruslan suggests.

“That’s not necessary,” I interject quickly. “Kirill’s already offered to show us around.”

Kirill turns to me with an expression that seems to read, Why the fuck are you putting me in the middle?

I send him back a look that hopefully conveys what I’m thinking, which is, You owe me!

“Ruslan can come, too!” Caroline suggests.

Dammit. If only “seen and not heard” could be applied to the children as well as the staff.

“That’s okay,” Ruslan demurs smoothly. “I have work to finish. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Probably have to take a train to get there,” I mutter under my breath.

Ruslan gives each kid a smile and disappears through the same passageway he appeared from. It’s impressive that he managed to do the whole welcome without ever once looking at me.

Not that I care.

It’s not like I want to look at him, either.

We spend the next hour touring the property with Kirill. He walks us around all three floors while the kids argue over their favorite features. Reagan’s particularly smitten with the spiral staircase that wraps around the glass-and-bronze elevators. For Caroline, it’s the theater room that comes with its own popcorn machine for each seat. Josh goes nuts when he discovers the game room, which is equipped with a billiards table, dart board, foosball set, and half a basketball court. All three kids fall in love with the indoor pool.

As for me?

I just follow the rest of them around, feeling like an outsider. An imposter in a world that has no room or use for me.

Except for the little life I’m growing right now.

Maybe this little life is the key. Maybe this baby can save us all. It’s a naïve thought, one that puts a huge burden on my unborn child.

Some mother I’m shaping up to be.

“You’ve been quiet,” Kirill says from beside me as the kids run amuck in the gardens. “You can’t avoid him forever, you know.”

“Really? ‘Cause you’ve just given us a tour of a nineteen-bedroom labyrinth that says I can.”

Kirill smirks. “Trust me. He’ll find you.”

A shiver runs down my spine; I’m just not sure what it means. My feelings are as confused as my future right now.

My new phone pings.

RUSLAN: My office. Now.

I hold my phone up so that Kirill can see the message. “He realizes he fired me, right? I no longer have to be at his beck and call.”

Kirill smiles sympathetically. “Some friendly advice? Go to him. It’s easier that way.”

“Pussy.”

Kirill rears back with a hand over his heart. “My goodness! The lady has the mouth of a sailor.”

“Where’s his office?”

“West wing. It’s the blue door at the end of the corridor. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Keep an eye on the kids, okay?”

He gives me a cheeky little bow and I make my way through the mansion. This place should come with map displays at regular intervals like a shopping mall. Four wrong turns and two helpful maids later, I find myself gawking at the blue door that Kirill mentioned.

Much as I hate to admit it, Kirill’s right: I can’t avoid Ruslan forever.

Though I sure as hell wouldn’t mind trying.

Come on, Emma. Just get it over with.

I don’t bother knocking. I just push the door open and find myself in an office that feels hermetically sealed off from the rest of the house. The whole space is spartan, cold, completely lacking in feeling or warmth.

It suits the man behind the desk.

“Sit.”

I flinch but I keep my tone light and breezy. “What, no ‘hello, Emma’? No ‘how are you, Emma?’”

“I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen.” He pulls out a familiar stack of papers. You have got to be kidding me. “Recognize this?”

“Oh, you mean the bane of my existence? How could I forget.”

He doesn’t react to that apart from flinging our signed contract onto his table so that I can confirm that it is in fact the bane of my existence.

“I’m not signing anything else,” I warn.

He laughs cruelly. “What would it matter even if you did? We both know you don’t honor your deals.”

“That is completely—”

He holds up his hand and, against all my better instincts, I find myself shutting up. Sienna would never let herself be shut down like that.

“You’re not required to sign anything further. But what you have signed still stands. The addendum to the contract still stands.”

I tense. “You mean—”

“You’re pregnant.” Something flashes across his eyes when he says it. “And as the contract states, you will be provided for. Congratulations, Emma. You got the security you were after.”

I grip the edges of my seat and bite down on my tongue. He’s making it seem like I concocted some diabolical plan to screw him over. A big, evil, mustache-twisting scheme to cheat him out of his money so that I can have a cushy life.

Doesn’t he get it? This massive mansion, the surrounding grounds, all the luxury—that’s not what I want. It was never what I wanted.

“Once the baby is born, you and the children will be moved to your own estate. None of you will ever want for anything ever again. But let me make one thing very clear: you are here in the capacity of a glorified surrogate. You are the baby’s mother, but that is all. You will get the benefits of my lifestyle. But you will not get me.”

With only a few words, he’s cut me down. I’m not a person anymore; I’m a walking womb. An incubation chamber.

I am nothing more than a means to an end.