Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 132

Idiot.

I’m just about to apologize when one of the maids walks in. She’s wearing a deadpan expression as she hands me a piece of mail stamped with an official seal on the flap.

“It arrived a few minutes ago, ma’am. By registered courier.”

I accept the intimidating white envelope with a slight nod and the maid disappears almost instantly. That whole “staff must be seen and not heard” rule in this house is no joke.

I tear open the seal and pull the papers out. My fingers go cold first. Then my arms. Then the rest of me.

This document was drawn up by lawyers representing Beatrice and Barrett Carson.

My own damn parents are suing for custody of the children.

I try to breathe through the panic. As naïve as it sounds, I didn’t think they would take it this far. But apparently, Beatrice wasn’t kidding when she accused me of being a shitty guardian.

I feel so stupid for letting it come to this. I thought that, because Kirill and Ruslan were handling it, I didn’t have to worry any longer. I’d just kinda relaxed, assuming that the temporary custody I had of the children would stick.

They were safe from Ben at least.

But now that my parents are trying to get custody, what might that mean?

Lord knows they have the money and the connections. Barrett plays golf twice a month with a prominent New York City judge and Beatrice is on the boards of half the society clubs in the city. They’re also pissed off enough with me to see this through.

My head spins and the pounding only gets worse.

What am I gonna do?

How do I fight this?

Is there anyone in my corner?

“A-Aunt E-E-Emma? Are you ok-kay?” Josh’s voice cracks through my haze of worry. But I can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. I don’t hear Caroline or Reagan when they chime in, either.

I want to reassure them but I can’t seem to find my words. Maybe because, before I can reassure them, I have to reassure myself.

I glance towards Josh. I can’t tell him; he carries too much already. The girls are far too young to understand. So I just shake my head instead and try to get to my feet.

I need to read through this document. I need to know what I’m dealing with.

I need to…

… stop moving.

Is the kitchen spinning or is that just me?

“Aunt Emma!”

“No!”

“She’s falling!”

Oh, God…

The spinning turns the world into a whirlwind of color and then, just like that—

All the colors fade to black.

25

EMMA

You know you’ve hit an all-time low when you come to from a fainting spell and all you can think is, Well, that was restful.

That sense of ease lasts for about three seconds before the silence clogging up my ears gives way to squeals and cries and anguished yells that I’m not capable of processing just yet.

I try to open my eyes but they’re still heavy, still clinging to the need for darkness. Someone’s touching me… my arm? My right arm, yes. No, not touching—nudging. Whoever it is is trying to prod me awake.

Something cool hits my face. It’s not unpleasant but I’d rather do without it, to be honest. I like the warmth of the darkness and I don’t want to be reminded of the cold when I wake up.

“Hey, kids, let’s move aside, okay? Give her some room to breathe.”

Now, that voice is soothing.

Ruslan’s? Is that his? My ears are still ringing so the actual tenor of the voice is lost to me. I can’t identify the speaker and I don’t want to know who it is enough to open my eyes. So I lie there, taking it all in.

Every other sensation is heightened. I can feel the scurry of little panicked feet. I can sense the rasp of heavy breathing. I can smell cheesy goodness in the air.

Dammit, I must have ruined dinner. And the kids love mac and cheese.

Bad guardian. Bad mother. Bad person.

“Emma.”

There’s that voice again, calm and soothing. Please let it be Ruslan. I have no idea why I want him right now. Especially considering I just left his office wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

The last few months set a bad precedent. He caught me every time I fell and now, I seek out that comfort and security without even realizing it.

“Emma.”

Maybe it is him. Maybe seeing me passed out on the floor has reverted him back to the man he used to be before he believed I’d betrayed him. Maybe I’ve gotten my wish. Maybe the gods have decided that I’ve suffered through enough and they’re taking pity on me by bringing my Ruslan back.

Yeah freaking right.

Maybe pigs will fly, too.

“Emma, can you hear me?”

The voice is gaining in character. Definitely not Ruslan. A tear slips down the edge of my closed eye. Why is it that sometimes every kind little gesture that he doesn’t do feels so much worse than the cruel and awful things he does do?

“Is she gonna be okay, Uncle Kiki?”

Of course. Kirill. That makes more sense.

“I-is Aunt Emma g-g-gonna d-die?”

“No, of course not. She just needs some rest, that’s all. I’m gonna make sure she’s okay.”

“Where’s Ruslan?”

Probably skulking off somewhere, cursing the day he laid eyes on me.

I force my eyes open, if only to convince the kids that I’m gonna be okay. I’ve already yelled at them unfairly today. I don’t want to burden them with any more trauma than I’ve already given them.

Honestly, maybe my parents have a point. They might be better off without me.

“Auntie Em!”

“Look, she’s awake!”

I open my eyes to find four hazy faces hanging over mine. The girls look relieved but Josh’s eyebrows are pulled together uncertainly.

“Okay, kidlets, let’s move to the side again. I’m gonna pick her up and take her upstairs.”

I try to groan in protest—You’re better off without me; just leave me here where it’s dark and warm and quiet—but before I’m ready, Kirill scoops me up into his arms. I’m not even doing the moving myself but the vertigo hits all the same. Any hope of arguing goes up in smoke.

I’m vaguely aware of Kirill saying something to the kids. He must be telling them to stay in the kitchen and finish their dinner because, when he takes me upstairs, no one follows us.

By the time he places me down on my bed, I’m mostly in control of my faculties. I can see and hear normally. The pounding in my head has subsided and the ringing in my ears has eased.

Kirill passes me a glass of water. “Here. Drink.”