Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

RUSLAN: Be in my office in five, Ms. Carson.

This is the first time he’s summoned me all day since my little breakdown in his office this morning. I get to my feet and smooth down my skirt.

“Stay calm, Emma,” I coach myself under my breath. “Be cool.”

“Mr. Oryolov?” I say when I walk inside. “You asked for me?”

He pulls out a small black device from a drawer in his desk and throws it at me. Thankfully, I have great reflexes developed from little kids running around the house. I catch it with one hand and give it a look.

My eyes snap to his. “This is a car key.”

“You have impeccable observation skills, Ms. Carson.”

I flush. “Do you want me to schedule a service for one of your cars?”

“No. I want you to take the car that goes with that key and drive it home. And then drive it back here in the morning. And then just keep doing that on repeat until further notice.”

My eyebrows feel like they’re going to disappear into my forehead. “You… you’re giving me a car?”

The moment I say it, I regret it. What if that’s not what’s going on? What if I misunderstood?

“Once again, Ms. Carson, nothing seems to get past you.” His eyes flicker with amusement. “To be clear, it’s a company vehicle that is currently registered on loan to you. But essentially, yes, I am giving you a car.”

Um… what?

Despite the sudden bout of vertigo, I’m reminded of the little pep talk I gave myself before walking in here. “May I ask why?” I say it calmly. Coolly. Like someone who’s definitely not about to pass out.

“Because I need you to look and act the part of an important CEO’s executive assistant. That’s going to be difficult if you’re constantly catching the wrong train and missing the empty elevator time. Now that you have a car, there will be no excuses.”

It’s an extremely plausible explanation. Airtight, really.

So why don’t I believe it?

“This is… very kind of you. Some would say too kind.”

His mouth hardlines. “I’m not doing it to be ‘kind,’ Ms. Carson. I’m doing it to make sure you perform your job to the best of your abilities.”

I force back a smile and nod. “Of course, Mr. Oryolov.”

“That will be all.”

I wait until I’m back at my desk to let out the delirious laugh that I’ve been holding in.

A car. He gave me a freaking car!

And he bought the kids brand-new shoes. And he brought me water this morning. And he tried to wipe the sweat off my face. And he offered me the use of his penthouse whenever I wanted.

He could tell me a trillion times that he isn’t doing any of this to be kind. None of it’s personal. It’s all about optimal professionalism. Increased efficiency. Bane’s reputation, his reputation, et cetera.

But the tiny little smile playing on his lips as I walked out of his office told an entirely different story. In other words, my quest to stay emotionally detached is completely fucked.

As am I.

The call picks up. “Hey, Amelia, are the kids around?”

“Yup!” the sitter says brightly. “We’re just building Legos in the living room.”

I am so freaking excited. I’m squiggling around in my seat. “Awesome. Can you ask them to come to the window, please?”

“Uh, sure.” The line fizzles with a little static. “Hey, kiddos! Auntie Em wants you guys to go to the window. Em, I’m putting you on speaker.”

I roll back the Mercedes’ sunroof and stick my head out. A second later, Josh’s face pops up at the apartment window. Then Caroline’s. Then Reagan’s. Through the phone, I can hear their little gasps going off like firecrackers.

“Auntie Em!” Reagan squeals, waving eagerly at me.

“Cool car,” Caroline quips with wide eyes.

“You bought a car?” Josh gasps.

I laugh at their reactions. “I didn’t buy the car. It’s a company car, but it’s mine. So—who wants a ride?”

Again, I’m hit with a barrage of responses.

Reagan: “Me! Me! Meeee!”

Caroline: “I do! I do! I do!”

Josh: “Shotgun!”

Laughing, I hold the phone away from my ear. “Amelia?”

She clearly takes me off speaker because the chaos on her side gets cut down by half. Josh steps off to the side and she takes his place at the window. There’s a huge smile on her face. “What’s up?”

“For the first time ever, I can offer you a ride back home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

“Amazing. Be down in five.”

“Five minutes?” I laugh. “Ambitious.”

Sure enough, it’s fifteen minutes later before Amelia troops towards the car like the Pied Piper with all three kids trailing. She hops in the front while the kids bunch up in the spacious back seat of the deep blue Mercedes.

I ran a quick Google search on the car when I first saw it gleaming out in front of the Bane building. It claims the country’s highest child occupant protection rating at a whopping ninety-one percent. Something tells me that wasn’t an accident.

Which is enough to make my heart melt in ways it really, really shouldn’t.

The kids ooh and aah over the car the whole way to Amelia’s place. She and I don’t manage to get a word in edgewise. After we drop her off, Josh jumps into the front seat.

“Auntie Em?” Caroline asks, wriggling underneath the hold of her seatbelt. “Do we have to go home now?”

I pretend to think about it. “Well… tonight is a school night.”

I’m met with a disappointed chorus of “awww’s.” I twist around in my seat. “Then again…” The girls hitch up their breaths. “It’s not every day we get a new car! Let’s get ice cream!”

I have to cover my ears as the car erupts with cheers and screams. I’m smiling so damn hard that my face hurts by the time we get to the ice cream parlor just north of Hudson Yards.

It’s one of those boujee places with neon signs that say stuff like “I Licked It So It’s Mine” and a line of eager patrons wrapped around the block more often than not. It’s also one of those places where a child-sized cup of vanilla with sprinkles sets you back fourteen bucks—so needless to say, we’ve never been before.

But if there was ever a day to drop a hundred bucks on a sweet treat, it’s today.

Caroline and Reagan’s eyes double in size when we walk in. Aside from the delectable smell of melted caramel and cookie dough, the ambience promises all sorts of sugary goodness. The tables sit between swings that are anchored to the floor and the ceiling to keep them in place. The walls are covered in floral arrangements that bloom between framed posters featuring ice cream cones pasted into old Renaissance paintings. The Mona Lisa is partial to rocky road, apparently.

We each pick a flavor and settle at the table right beneath a pink neon billboard that reads, You Can’t Buy Happiness, But You Can Buy Ice Cream, & That’s Practically the Same Thing.

Reagan seems to agree. “This is the best day ever!” she declares between licks of her double chocolate fudge scoop.

Josh and Caroline’s mouths are stuffed with ice cream so they just nod emphatically. My heart is fit to bursting.

I can’t remember when I last felt this good.

I bite another mouthful of salted caramel cheesecake and sigh contentedly. It can’t get any better than this.

Then Josh gasps. “Oh, Auntie Em! I almost forgot.” He reaches around into his backpack and pulls out a thin stack of papers. “It’s for basketball.”

Dang it. I might’ve spoken too soon.

My heart drops. It’s so much worse this time around because I can actually afford to pay for Josh’s basketball program. The problem isn’t money—it’s Ben.

“Oh, honey…”

But he shakes his head and beams. “I have a patron.”

I stop short. “I’m sorry, a—what?”

“A patron.” He turns to the third page and hands it over to me. “You just need to fill out the rest of the form.”

I scroll down to the bottom end of the page where instructions for payment methods are outlined. Sure enough, right there on the dotted line are words printed in thick bold letters: PAID IN FULL—PATRON.

No.

It can’t be.

Ruslan?

I remember mentioning it to him during one of my word vomit episodes, which—now that I think about it—are becoming entirely too frequent. Is it possible that he not only remembered, but actually did something about it?

“Are you my patron?” Josh asks innocently.

“I wish I could take the credit, but no, I’m not.”

Caroline gasps. “Maybe you have a fairy godmother!”

“Or a fairy godfather,” I mutter. The sudden image of Ruslan in a Tom Ford suit and sparkling fairy wings makes my snorts turn into giggles and the kids join in until we’re all laughing so hard we have tears running down our cheeks.

The moment is too good to forget. I take my phone out, open the camera, and switch it to selfie mode. “Okay, everyone: smile!”

Afterwards, the kids gobble down their ice creams and I open Ruslan’s thread and attach the picture I just took.

EMMA: Took the kids out for ice cream in the new car. As you can see, they’re over the moon.

EMMA: Josh showed us his basketball enrollment form. The girls think he has a fairy godmother and now, I’m imagining you with a wand and a sparkly halo. :laughing face:

EMMA: All I can say is—thank you! I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

I’m crossing multiple lines with the texts, not to mention the picture, but I have to say something. He needs to know how much this means to us. To all of us.

So I take a deep breath and press send.