Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 46

EMMA

I feel ridiculously well-rested as I walk the special artisanal coffee blend in my hand towards Ruslan’s office.

I was tempted to wear his shirt into work today. The whole oversized-shirt-plus-pencil-skirt combo was really doing it for me. Well, that, and the fact that it was very exciting to imagine myself walking around Bane wrapped in Ruslan’s oaky-scented button-down.

It just felt… I dunno. Kind of like I’d be broadcasting the obvious. Flaunting it. In the end, I decided not to push my luck.

Ruslan doesn’t look up from his paperwork until I’ve put the coffee down in front of him. When he does look at me, his expression is impassive—and that throws me for a loop.

Last night, we broke one of his rules. A big one, in my opinion. Are we just supposed to pretend like it never happened? Am I supposed to back out of the room without addressing the giant elephant in it? “I used the coffee voucher you left for me.”

God, I sound awkward.

He raises one eyebrow and nods. I keep twisting one of my beige heels into the dark laminate floors. There’ll be a scuff here if he keeps up this stony silence. A testament to me being so cringey it hurts.

“I just… I know you’re uncomfortable with gratitude, but I have to say thank you. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well. Or so long.”

He clears his throat. “Don’t mention it.”

I know he’s not being polite. He means that literally. Do not mention it.

“And as for the kids’ shoes… you have no idea how much it means to me. Or how much it’ll mean to them.”

“They’re good kids,” he says gruffly. “They deserve a decent pair of shoes.”

“I’ll reimburse you for them.”

His eyes snap to mine. “Don’t you dare. They’re gifts.”

“But—”

“They’re gifts, Ms. Carson. End of discussion.”

My mouth clamps shut. There’s this weird, piercing sensation in the center of my heart and I don’t like it one bit.

Why? Why does he have to go all inhuman on me now?

“If you insist,” I concede. “Anyway, yeah, they’ll be over the moon. Almost as over the moon as I was to actually get a decent night’s sleep.”

I give him a self-conscious smile that he doesn’t return. Welp, seems like my time here is done. I’m about to turn towards the door when he speaks. “I’m glad you got some sleep. You’ve been running on fumes lately.”

I’m not sure if that’s meant to be a reprimand or a peace offering, but he looks neither pissed nor annoyed. His signature eyebrow furrow is absent, too.

“Is it that obvious?” He arches his brow again and I let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s not so easy to juggle everything all the time. I do have help. Amelia’s a godsend, but she’s been getting restless lately and I just know that, at some point, it doesn’t matter how much more I agree to pay her; she’s going to want to leave.”

I have no idea why I’m telling him all this. Maybe it’s the fact that, for once, he’s actually listening.

He folds his hands in front of him. “Why do you think she’s getting restless?”

That answer is easy and obvious. “Ben.” I start digging my heel into the floor again. “It’s hard enough dealing with three young, confused, grieving kids. Add a lazy, selfish drunk to the mix and the job gets ten times as hard.”

“Does he contribute at all?”

Wait… are we having an actual conversation?

“He took my sister’s death really hard.”

“Is that a no?”

I sigh. “No. He doesn’t contribute at all.”

There it is: the Oryolov scowl. But for once, it’s not directed at me. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. But just in case I’m wrong, I decide to quit while I’m ahead and excuse myself from the premises.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go fine-tune the guest list for next week’s cocktail—”

“Emma.”

I have no idea why goosebumps erupt over my arms. It may possibly be because he just slipped and used my first name. I’m always “Ms. Carson” and, as cold as that sounds, at least it’s safe. But “Emma”? Whoo boy, that’s dangerous.

“Yes?” I squeak.

“70-33-40.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the access code to my penthouse. You can use it whenever you need.”

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. What he’s saying is not computing. “Your… penthouse?”

He nods. “You have twenty-four-seven access. I want to make sure you have a place to go if you ever need to get away from your deadbeat brother-in-law or any other slimy reporters that may come your way. The kids are welcome, too, obviously. You can change the access code once you’re inside for added privacy and protection.”

At this point, my eyes feel like they’re about to burst out of their sockets. I subtly pinch the inside of my elbow to make sure I’m awake. It hurts.

Yeah, this is real.

“But then you’ll be locked out.”

He shrugs. “If that’s what it takes to make you and the children feel safe, I’m fine with that.”

Pinch or no pinch, I’m definitely hallucinating. That’s what’s happening here. Nothing else makes sense.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just accept what I’m offering you.”

But that’s just it. What he’s offering me is so much more than a gesture. It’s safety. Security. Peace of mind.

And I’m pretty sure it’s an egregious breach of our contract.

Which is why, when I step toward him, it doesn’t feel quite so crazy. My heart is beating so hard that the vibrations run down my hands and make my fingers tremble.

I round his desk and stop at his knees. He glances up at me and I realize that I have maybe two seconds to either back out—or commit.

“I want to show you how grateful I am, sir,” I whisper, trembling as I sink down to my knees in front of him.

His expression remains intimidatingly aloof, but I notice the way his hands tighten around the edge of the armrests.

“Emma…”

I reach for the front of his pants, but I only manage to undo the buckle before his hands come down on top of mine. I’m caught between panic and desire. I’m nervous from the waist up and an utter dripping mess from the waist down.