Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 71

“And—” Ruslan walks right up to me until his lips tickle my ear— “I don’t regret it.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “How can you say that? You just pissed off Hiram Allens! Even I know that man controls half of New York.”

I can’t detect even a modicum of panic in Ruslan’s unwavering gaze. “You know who controls the other half of New York?” His eyes gleam. “I do.”

He moves in and I’m forced to take a step back. He keeps going until my back is flush against the wall, right back in the position we started in. Pretty sure I’ve left indents in the wallpaper with my nails.

“Ruslan—”

“You’ve been introduced to only one side of my life, Emma. You know the businessman, the CEO. What you don’t know is the other part of my life. The dangerous part.”

My palms are sweating now. All those rumors floating around about mob ties, cartels, and illegal underground dealings start floating to the forefront of my mind. “H-how dangerous?”

“Dangerous enough that bringing you as my date to an event like this would have been foolish.”

My mouth pops open. “That’s why you chose Jessica?”

He nods, running a delicate finger along my bottom lip. “I don’t give a shit about Jessica Allens. She’s merely a prop. But you—you are different.”

I’m trying to resist his honeyed eyes, his hypnotizing words. But there’s a swoon on the horizon that’s every bit as dangerous as Ruslan is saying he is. I’m falling in all the wrong ways. The smart thing to do would be to tell him to leave me alone forever. I open my mouth to do exactly that. What comes out instead is:

“How am I different?”

“I wanted to hide you before. For your own good. But now… fuck that. You’re different because you’re mine.” His breath is sweet in my face. “And since you’re mine, you will never again accept a dance with any man. Especially not that man.”

My eyebrows pull together as I try to remember anything beyond the last couple minutes. “Are you talking about the blonde guy I danced with?”

“His name is Adrik Makarov.”

From the bite in his voice, I can tell there’s no love lost there. “What is he, your mortal enemy or something?”

I’m mostly kidding but Ruslan doesn’t crack a smile. “I wouldn’t call him my mortal enemy. But ‘enemy’ is pretty damn close. Especially after tonight.”

“I am beyond confused right now. Who is he?”

He sighs and strokes his chin, eyes going hazy with memory. “Way back when, Adrik and I used to be friends. Things changed when I took over the family business. We went from friends to rivals and there have been moments over the years when that rivalry has gotten out of hand. He was here tonight to piss me off.”

I run my fingers along his jaw. “It seems like he succeeded.”

“Fuck him.” Ruslan shakes his head angrily. “The next time he bothers you, come straight to me.

Promise me that.”

I nod because what other choice do I have? I knew from the start that getting involved with Ruslan meant playing dangerous games. Now that he’s showing me just how dangerous, I can either try to figure it out on my own…

Or I can choose to trust him.

“I’d like a promise of my own,” I blurt suddenly. He raises an eyebrow and waits for me to elaborate. “I understand why I couldn’t be your date tonight. I get why you brought Jessica. But… I still don’t like it. I’m not sure I can handle another night like this one.”

Both his eyebrows lift this time and I hold my breath. What I’m asking for isn’t exactly part of our contract. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of this conversation breaks at least one of his intractable rules.

“Okay.”

My eyes go wide. “Okay?”

Ruslan nods. “No more superficial plus-ones. No more fake dates with other women. Just you.”

Have sweeter words ever been spoken?

49

EMMA

Updated recap: I’m not gonna be dancing with any other men in the foreseeable future.

And Ruslan won’t be taking fake dates to his social events anymore.

That’s what I call a successful night.

I can’t help doing a little shoulder shimmy in the bathroom mirror. I thought I’d be a total mess when I rushed in, but apart from smudged lipstick and mild sex hair, I don’t look that bad. It takes a few minutes to apply a fresh coat of lipstick and comb out the knots in my hair with my fingers. Once that’s done, though, I look like the picture of class and elegance.

If you can forget the fact that I’d indulged in some very public sex with my boss while his entire social circle listened on.

Which you can only believe if you believe Jessica Allens.

Which I’m hoping no one does.

Once I’ve made sure my dress is on properly and nothing is peeping out—going commando and thighhigh slits are not a great combo—I stare at my reflection in the dazzling water-ripple mirrors that take up half the bathroom wall.

I can’t miss the glow on my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes. It’s hard not to feel like you’re walking on air when the man you’ve been pining for basically claims you as his own.

The feminist in me puts up a half-hearted fight—but the romantic in me is giddy with joy.

Emma and Ruslan sitting in a tree…

I have to stop spending time with Caroline and Reagan. Those two are a bad influence.

I scowl at myself in the mirror with all the seriousness I can muster. I’m a grown ass woman and I need to conduct myself accordingly. To that end, I’m thankful I haven’t gone off birth control. Ruslan has been diligent about wearing condoms lately, but he’d definitely forgone the wrapper this time.

Not that I’m complaining.

A startling image pops into my head. One that includes me and Ruslan—and a baby that looks like a mix of both of us.

My ovaries promptly do a backflip.

I push the thought right back out of my head, because it doesn’t belong anywhere in this emotional zip code. I’m not even technically dating him. Thinking about babies is, at best, laughably premature. At worst, it’s a complete fucking nightmare.

I take three deep breaths and head out of the bathroom with my head held high and my big girl pants on, metaphorically speaking. “Well, well, well…”

I whirl around, taken aback by a nasal voice I’d hoped I’d never have to hear again. “Remmy,” I hiss.

The reporter ogles me with a wide grin that makes my whole body pucker up. “Missed me?” “What the hell are you doing here?”

He’s wearing a sad gray suit and a purple bow tie, both of which have seen much better days. His face has, too—I can still see fading marks where Ruslan did God knows what to him. He pushes himself off the wall and walks over to me with a blustery confidence that he certainly didn’t have last time we interacted.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a reporter—and I’m here for a story.”

I shake my head. “There’s no story here.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what your boss said the last time we spoke. Right before he beat the shit out of me and drove me across the border in the trunk of his lackey’s car.”

That does explain the bruises.

“Seems like a pretty dumb move for you to be here at all then, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, pulling out a small recording device from his inner jacket pocket. “Sometimes, the risk is worth the reward. It could be for you, too.”

“If you think I’m gonna give you an interview, then you’re out of your—”

“You’re putting those kids in danger by associating with him,” he interrupts. “You know that, right?”