Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 168

“Man… I’m sorry. Just go home, okay? Be with Emma. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

But the words sound insane to my ear. Go home? Feel better? This is not the kind of feeling you can just sleep off. Drink away—maybe.

“I can’t go home,” I rasp. “I need… a distraction. I need a fucking drink.”

47

RUSLAN

It takes a lot of alcohol before my feelings check out for the night. But once the numbness kicks in, it’s easier to stop counting the drinks and just knock them back without reservation.

It’s past three in the morning but I have no intention of going home yet. Partly because I don’t want to face reality. And partly because I have no desire for Emma to see me like this.

Kirill’s been drinking most of the night, too, but not nearly as much as me. I’m pretty sure he’s been throwing the drinks over his shoulder for the last hour when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s been watching me when he thinks I’m not looking, too, though he keeps denying it. Motherfucker thinks that just because I’m drunk, I don’t notice shit.

I notice everything. I just don’t feel anything anymore.

And honestly?

It’s fucking heaven.

One of the Alcaraz waitresses approaches with another tray of drinks. She’s brunette and pretty, fit, curvy. A year ago, she would have been just my type.

But there’s no such thing as a “type” for me anymore. There is only one. A blue-eyed kiska with my baby in her womb.

“Can I get you anything?” the brunette asks me. “Another drink?”

“I think he’s had enough,” Kirill interjects.

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough and I haven’t fucking had enough. You—” I glare at the brunette who flinches under my gaze. “—how long have you been working for me?”

She doesn’t flinch at that one, so clearly, she knows exactly who I am. “Three months, sir.”

“Hm. Keep the drinks coming. If not, you’re fired.”

She gulps and scurries away and Kirill turns to me with a weary sigh on his lips. “Listen, man, I know you’re going through a crisis here—”

“Not in the mood, Kirill.”

“—But you have a family to get home to.”

For some reason, the reminder pisses me off. Family. What a fucking word. I come from a broken one. A dead, dying, broken-to-shit family. And he thinks that I can just leave that all behind and start fresh with a new one? Like I won’t bring that poison right along with me?

Hell no. I’m not good enough for them. Not for Emma and not for those kids. I’d only ruin them.

Case in point: didn’t I promise Josh that I would never be like his father? And yet here I am, dealing with my problems by getting shitfaced.

Just like fucking Ben.

“Listen, we can leave now,” Kirill suggests. “Get you about a gallon of water. Put you to bed. You can sleep away the hangover and be good as new tomorrow.”

“You need to stop talking.”

He backs off reluctantly and I sit there and chug my way through another tray of drinks before I finally start to hit my limit.

And by “limit,” I mean I’ve drank so much that I’ve crossed the line from blissfully numb to painfully aware of things that aren’t even here in the room with me. Questions demanding answers.

Is anything real?

Can you ever really know a person?

And if you can’t, then how can you trust them?

I don’t really remember getting back to the estate. One moment, I’m in the club; the next, I’m surrounded by familiarity. Paintings I picked out. Carpets I had flown in.

And Emma’s face, staring up at me, looking slightly bewildered, definitely worried.

“Ruslan?”

“He’s drunk, Em.” Kirill’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance. Is he far behind me? Or is he just talking softly? My head is throbbing so hard that I don’t bother finding out.

“Let’s just get him to bed. He’ll explain later.”

Those beautiful blue eyes connect with mine. Everything gets a little clearer, a little brighter. I feel her warmth wrap around me as she gives me her shoulder to lean on and twists me towards our bedroom.

“Are you okay?”

No.

“I don’t wanna talk.”

She flinches beneath me. “Ruslan, I’m worried—”

I tear away from her and put some distance between us. She’s worried about me? Fuck that. I’m not a damn charity case. I’m Ruslan fucking Oryolov and no one has ever needed to worry about me.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I growl derisively. “I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

Something flashes across her eyes. Something that looks a lot like anger. “Really? Because Kirill practically carried you into the house. The sun’s about to rise, Ruslan. Were you out all night drinking?”

I scowl at her. “I’m a grown man. I’ll stay out all night doing whatever the fuck I want.”

I’m aware that my voice is getting louder, but somehow, I can’t seem to control it. Emma’s eyes are wide. She’s looking at me as though she can barely recognize me.

That look really gets under my fucking skin.

You don’t deserve her.

You don’t fucking deserve any of this.

“No,” she says softly. “No, you don’t get to do whatever the fuck you want anymore, Ruslan. You have responsibilities now. You have to think of more than just yourself.”

“You realize that, in order to be a nagging wife, I have to ask you to marry me first, right?”

I hear her shocked gasp and that’s when I silently repeat the words I’ve just thrown at her. Blyat’. Did I just say that? I feel like a puppet. Like someone else is using my voice without my consent.

I close my eyes. Open them again. She’s still there, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I didn’t mean… Listen, my head is throbbing. I need to… lie down…”

She speaks so softly that I almost don’t hear her over the sound of my migraine. “I don’t like this version of you.”

Yeah? That makes two of us.

“Ruslan, I can see you’re in pain.”

She should be running from me. She should want nothing to do with me. So why is she still here, trying to take care of me?

“I’m fine.”