Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 90

I desperately wish I could tell her about the contract. It’s hard to explain this situation to anyone who doesn’t know the stakes.

“I’m afraid it will.”

“Emma, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Phoebe says gently. “You’re not just the woman he’s sleeping with. You’re his. That’s how he looks at you.”

“He deserves better.”

Phoebe’s mouth turns down at the corners. She looks angry now. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare even think—”

“It’s true. From the beginning, it’s been one thing after another. I’m a fucking mess, Phoebe. All I’ve come with is debts and grief and bills. A dead sister, a nightmare brother-in-law, three dependents, and now, a defective fallopian tube.”

Her voice gets really soft. “Sweetheart, you are so much more than your problems. You have got to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

I grab a pillow and bury my face in it. I take a couple of deep breaths, then steel myself. “You’re right. The kids will be back soon and I need to be strong for them.”

Phoebe frowns. “No, that’s not what I—”

“I might as well put all my focus and energy on the three of them. They’re the only children I’m ever gonna have.”

I ignore Phoebe’s sigh and mope towards my bedroom. As grateful as I am for her company, what I really need right now is to be alone.

66

RUSLAN

I thought seeing her at the bottom of those stairs was bad.

I was wrong.

Watching her fall apart is worse.

Especially because she doesn’t fall apart like she needs to. All messy tears and furious denials and angry conversations with God. No—she recedes into herself as though she’s ashamed of her pain.

She barely meets my eyes. She barely smiles and sleepwalks through every conversation.

I understand why. She needs to put on a brave face for the kids. But every time she has to pretend like she’s okay, I know how much it’s costing her.

Which is probably why she kicked me out right after we returned from the park outing. “I’m fine. I just need rest, Ruslan. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

She repeated those two cursed fucking words way too many times for me to believe them.

Now, I’ve somehow ended up back in the penthouse on 48th, buried deep in a bottle of my finest gin. I’m dangerously close to being drunk right now but it’s been a while since I’ve indulged like this. I figure I’m allowed.

I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating when I see Kirill walk in and do a double-take.

“Brother?”

Not a hallucination. Dammit.

“I forgot I gave you the access code to this place.”

Kirill’s eyes narrow. “I’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

I shrug. “Haven’t been… looking.”

“Jesus, man, are you drunk?”

I scowl, contemplating throwing the almost empty bottle of gin at him. “I don’t appreciate the judgment.”

Kirill sits down heavily next to me. “It was Remmy. He was the one who got into an altercation with Emma. He didn’t push her down the stairs—she pushed him; he just took her down with him.”

I squint hard until all three versions of Kirill refocus into one. “Okay.” I get to my feet, wobble, right myself. “He just signed his death warrant.”

Kirill blocks my path with a hand to my chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Gonna go find the motherfucker. Then I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re in no fit state to leave this apartment.”

“Who’s the pahkan here?” I growl.

Kirill doesn’t move. He grabs the mostly-empty bottle of gin that I’d forgotten I was holding. “How fast did you get through this bottle?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? My father?”

“Okay, pause. Can we rewind for a second?” He takes a deep breath. “What the fuck happened?”

“I really need to change that stupid access code again. This is supposed to be my fortress of solitude,” I mumble through fat, uncooperative lips.

He cocks an eyebrow and gestures for me to sit down. “It’s not. This was your fuckpad. Most recently, it’s been your Emma pad.”

At the sound of her name, my knees buckle and I collapse on the sofa so hard that I’m pretty sure I hear some of the springs break. Kirill perches on the coffee table in front of me.

“Brother…” He sighs. “Talk to me.”

So I tell him. About the ultrasound and the doctor’s revelation. About Emma’s reaction to all of it. By the time I’m finished, I’m fiending for another bottle of gin. Kirill seems to know exactly what I’m thinking, because he tucks the bottle behind him.

Little shit.

“I’m sorry, sobrat,” he says quietly.

I look away from him. “It is what it is.”

“So the chances of you having a baby with Emma are slim?”

“Slim to none, according to Dr. Dead-in-the-Eyes. Yes.”

Kirill balances his elbows on his knees. “And if it turns out that you can’t have a baby with Emma… what then?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s the next step?”

I have no idea what exactly he’s asking me. But it forces me to think about the next step. If Emma and I can’t have a baby together—what then? I need an heir. And if she can’t give me one… “It won’t change a fucking thing,” I croak.

Kirill’s eyebrows rise. “But you need an—”

“The kid is strong. And capable. And smart. He’s already got the makings of a great leader. It won’t take much to mold him into a great pahkan…”

Kirill rubs his temples in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”

My eyes lock on him. “Josh. I’m talking about Josh. I could make him my heir.” Kirill’s jaw drops, but I’m flying too high with this idea to care. “He’s a good kid. They all are. And they deserve more than the shithead of a father they’ve got. Emma’s trying to strip Ben of his rights. I could help her adopt them. Fuck—I could adopt them myself. It would lend legitimacy to Josh’s appointment. And then—”

“Ruslan. Stop.”

Kirill’s voice is soft but earnest. I hear that tone so rarely that I’m forced to stop for a moment and listen. All that gin is making it a little difficult, though.

“This is a big decision. One that affects more than just you. You’re gonna need to think about it.

Preferably while sober.”