Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 157

But one minute passes, then two, and Emma still hasn’t gotten around to turning over the first page. Given how bad her hands are trembling, I don’t think she’s read more than the first line of the first page, actually.

“R-Ruslan…”

“Emma.” My palms massage the backs of her arms as I nudge her forehead with mine to make her look at me. “Breathe, kiska.”

“It’s my parents, isn’t it?” Her hands are not the only things shaking. Her voice is dangerously wobbly, too. “They found a judge to overturn the order and—”

“No.”

She blinks at me helplessly. “No?”

“They’ve dropped their case entirely,” I inform her. “These documents are from the court stating that you and you alone have permanent custody of the kids. It’s over, Emma. You won.”

It takes a minute for those words to sink in. Her eyebrows inch upwards as her mouth opens wider.

“I… won?” she says, as though she’s trying on the words for size.

“You won.”

She clutches my forearm. “So no one can take the kids from me?”

“Not a damn person alive.”

Emma looks down at the papers again. “I can’t believe it. It’s finally over.”

She deserves this moment. She deserves to feel this kind of overwhelming relief. Fuck, I’m feeling it and I haven’t even been in these kids’ lives a whole year yet.

“We should celebrate!” she decides eagerly. “Let’s take the kids out for lunch—just the five of us. What do you say?”

“What I say is, why go out when you have a five-star chef on hand to prepare us a picnic in the gardens?”

She grins. “I’ll round up the munchkins.”

Half an hour later, we’re sprawled across the South Gardens on a giant picnic blanket weighed down with sandwiches, pastries, cookies, cakes, and on and on. The girls of course went right for the sugar, which might have something to do with why they’re currently doing cartwheels across the grass.

“Hope they sweat out all that energy by dinner,” I mutter.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” Emma giggles and runs a hand through Josh’s hair. He glances between the two of us with curiosity but he doesn’t say anything.

“When do we start our new school again?” Caroline asks as she skips over to us. “I have an outfit all ready for the first day and I can’t wait to wear it.”

I smile. “Fortunately, the first day of school is around the corner. Even more fortunately, you don’t have to worry about what to wear each day. Because you three will have a uniform.”

Caroline and Reagan plop down onto the edge of the blanket. “A uniform?” Rae repeats as she reaches for her sixth or twelfth cookie of the afternoon. “What’s that?”

“It means that everyone in the whole school wears the same clothes,” Josh explains for me.

Emma nods. “Ruslan and I checked out the school yesterday. It’s amazing! And the uniforms are pretty cool, too. You’ll have blue skirts and white shirts and on special occasions, there’s even a tie.”

“You went to the school?” Josh asks as the girls ooh and ahh about the dress code.

“Mhmm. It’s different from the one that Ruslan had in mind for you guys but I think you’ll love it a lot more.”

“How come it’s different?” Reagan chimes in.

This kid. She knows when to listen and when to ask the hard-hitting questions. I see investigative journalism in her future.

I answer before Emma can. “Because your aunt wants the best for you. And I overlooked certain things when I picked Horace Mann. But with her input, we decided on the best choice for you guys. And that’s Chilton Academy.”

She purses her lips as she considers that. “Ruslan,” she asks at last, “are you our dad now?”

Emma nearly chokes on her glass of orange juice. She puts the glass down but Reagan’s eyes are fixed on me.

Forget journalism. She needs to go into enhanced interrogation.

Emma puts her hand on Reagan’s knee. “Rae, sweetheart—”

“I suppose I am now.”

Emma stops short. I probably should have spoken to her first before answering Reagan’s question but, hell, you don’t always have the time to discuss everything. And this feels right.

“I thought so,” she hums knowingly.

Emma’s eyes are fixed on me but I keep my gaze on Reagan, Caroline, and Josh. “I’m new to this whole fatherhood thing,” I admit. “And I’m probably gonna make a lot of mistakes along the way.”

“We’ll help you,” Josh offers softly.

Emma’s bottom lip gives a little quiver. “I know you will, Josh,” I say with a smile. “And even with that help, I’ll still fall short. But one thing you can be sure of—I will never let anyone hurt you guys. I’m gonna keep you safe and if anyone tries to hurt you three… well, I’ll just have to kill them.”

I probably should have rephrased the end of that sentence. Emma lets out a shocked little gasp but the kids look delighted. Josh is smiling and Reagan and Caroline giggle.

“He’s talking metaphorically, angels,” Emma says, throwing me a fierce glare. “Right, Ruslan?”

I nod as solemnly as I can. “Something like that.”

Then the girls jump on top of me, squealing with delight, and, a few seconds later, I hear Emma’s laughter join theirs.

We don’t usually train in the evenings, but tonight, Josh insisted. It was only six and Emma had already taken the girls upstairs for their baths so I figured, why not?

I’ve come to look forward to our boxing lessons just as much as he does. It’s more than just a lesson in self-defense at this point; it’s a lesson in life.

Ever since Josh started therapy, he’s been so much more focused in the ring. But there’s none of the same anxious desperation in it that marked that first day. Now, he’s smooth and calm and controlled and powerful.

It makes me so fucking proud.

“So,” I say during our break, “how’s therapy going?”

I don’t usually ask unless Josh brings it up himself, but there’s a lightness about him today that encourages me to bring up the topic.

“Good. I like Dr. Alicia.”