Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 93

“Money—is that it?” I press, looking between the two scumbags in front of me. “I can get you money.

Just, please, bury the story.”

Remmy shakes his head. “Sorry, honey. No amount of money will sway me. My only goal is destroying Ruslan Oryolov. You just happen to be collateral damage.” He drops the contract onto the coffee table. “You can keep that. I have plenty of copies.” He slams the door on his way out.

I turn slowly to Ben. “Do you realize what you just did?”

His fists knot up at his sides, but his eyes are weirdly hazy and distant. “I’m not sure the whore should be casting judgment. I saw an opportunity and I took it. It’s not like you were gonna share all your dirty money with me.”

I swallow my tears. My hands are still trembling. I shouldn’t feel so betrayed, but I think a part of me was still clinging to the hope that Ben could be saved. For his kids’ sake, if nothing else.

“The difference between us is that I took Ruslan’s money for those children.” I jab a quivering finger down the hall where they’re sleeping. “You took Remmy’s money for yourself. And you screwed me and the kids over in the process.”

“Oh, boo fucking hoo.”

When he tries to walk past me, I get right in his face. “What the hell happened to you?” I scream, stabbing my finger in his chest. “What happened to the man my sister married?”

The scowl on his face freezes. His mouth drops and his eyebrows arch and those hands vibrate even faster at his sides. For a moment, I think he might actually hit me. “That man died when she did.”

Then he pushes past me and disappears into his room.

I let out a strangled sob. What do I do now? But the answer is obvious. There’s only one thing I can do.

I need to tell Ruslan. I need to explain what’s happened so we can fix this. I grab my car keys and race back out…

Hoping against hope that this won’t be the last straw for him.

69

RUSLAN

KIRILL: Where are you, bro? You gonna miss your own party?

RUSLAN: On my way.

I start driving, feeling incredibly confident about the launch. This drug will be the crowning jewel in my Bratva empire. Even if I live to a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever achieve anything this big again.

I’ve only been driving for a few minutes when my phone starts ringing. Kirill has the patience of a fucking gnat sometimes. I’m so sure it’s him that I don’t even check the name on my screen before I press accept through the steering wheel.

“What do you want?”

“R-Ruslan?”

Immediately, all my sensors start pinging. She sounds distraught. “Emma, what’s wrong?”

“I-I’m so sorry to call. I know you’re busy tonight—the big launch and e-everything…” “Are you crying?”

My hands freeze up on the wheel. I didn’t expect to get a call from her less than an hour after she left the penthouse. Which can only mean one thing—something’s gone very wrong, very fast.

“Um… I… need to talk to you. It’s better if we—” She pauses and I hear the screech of tires and a few obnoxious honks. “—we talk face-to-face.”

“Emma, are you driving?”

“I’m coming to your penthouse.”

“I already left.”

“Oh, shit. Ruslan, I’m so sorry. Everything’s a fucking mess—aah!” Her scream is drowned out by more grating tires, more honks.

“Fucking hell,” I snarl. “Emma, listen to me. Pull the car over right now. You are in no fit state to be driving.” She only sniffles in response. “Once you’ve parked, send me your location. I’ll drive to you.”

“A-are you sure?”

“I want you off the road this instant. You hear me?”

“Yes,” she says in a small voice.

“I expect to receive your location in the next two minutes.”

The call drops and I pull to the side myself and wait for her to send me her coordinates. A million different thoughts are running rampant through my head.

Is she rethinking our contract?

Does she want more out of our agreement?

Is she backsliding into depression about her fertility?

Whatever it is, I won’t be able to concentrate on the launch until I know what’s going on with her. I fire off a quick text to Kirill.

RUSLAN: Running late. Something’s come up. Will be there in an hour or so.

Immediately after I send the text, Emma’s location comes in. Thankfully, she’s only ten minutes from where I am. I make a quick U-turn and hit the gas.

Eight minutes later, I pull in behind her Mercedes with my tires smoking. She’s pacing the pavement, hands crossed over her chest, brow furrowed down in a sharp V.

The moment she sees me, she runs right into my arms. “I’m so sorry,” she blubbers.

I have no idea what she’s apologizing for, but I need to ensure first things first. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re home in bed. Amelia’s with them.”

I nod with relief before focusing on the tears streaking Emma’s face. “What happened in an hour to cause this reaction?” I ask, wiping her tears away with my thumb.

She’s staring at my suit. “God, you look handsome…”

“Emma.”

She blinks, squeezing out two more fat tears. “I went home and—”

HONK. HONK. HONK.

“Fucking hell,” I growl. “We can’t be parked here. Get in my car. I’ll have one of my men pick up the Mercedes and drive it back to Hell’s Kitchen.”

The vein is pulsing softly in her forehead as she gets into the passenger’s seat. I send Boris a quick text and then drive us out onto the road.

“I know the timing is horrible—”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Since my phone is connected to the car, the ringtone blares louder than normal. Emma jumps in her seat and I cut the call without answering.

“It’s just Kirill calling to nag me about being late. Go on.”

Her eyebrows turn down. “Oh, God…”

Sighing, I try to rein in my frustration. “It doesn’t matter, Emma. Just tell me what’s bothering you.” “M-maybe it can wait until—” Ring. Ring. Ring.

Kirill again. What the fuck? He’s not usually this annoying persistent. I reject it. “You were saying?”

This time, she doesn’t even get the chance to get a single word out before my phone starts up again.

I’m not about to ignore this many calls from my second. Something’s up.

“Kirill?”