Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

I unlock my phone the moment I sit down at my desk. It opens to the picture that Emma sent me last evening.

Those four smiling faces stare back at me and I’m struck by how happy they all seem. And for what?

A ten-minute drive?

A little ice cream?

Basketball?

I considered them small gestures on my part, so inconsequential as to be damn near meaningless—but those messages from Emma make me feel like I’ve transformed their lives somehow.

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

I don’t know what the fuck to call the way that makes me feel.

It’s only 8:20 A.M. when Emma arrives at the office. Not that I should be surprised she’s here so early; I gave her a car citing that specific reason. She slips into my office and walks right around my desk.

I can barely compute what’s happening when she sits herself down right on my lap and wraps her arms around me. Despite my shock, I’m struck by two things right off the bat.

One: this is definitely breaking a rule.

Two: it feels so damn natural. Seamless.

My fingers twitch as they curl around the small of her back. Why the hell is my chest suddenly more alive than my cock?

A little voice at the back of my head laughs at me. Because this is not sexual. It’s something completely different.

That alone should make me want to push her the hell off. But the mere thought only makes my hand clutch tighter around her.

She drapes an arm around my shoulders. “The kids and I want to thank you properly for yesterday.”

I frown. “There’s no—”

“You’re invited to dinner tonight at the apartment.”

I stop short. Dinner? At her place? The last time I was there, I had the distinct impression that she was uncomfortable with me in her space.

Which is why, even though I should be turning her down, I find myself nodding.

It’s just curiosity. I want to see into her life. I want to know more. We’ll call it “research.” And honestly, we’ve already broken so many rules already.

What’s one more?

I show up exactly on time, with three tiny bouquets of flowers in hand. Of course, it’s Josh who opens the door for me. His usually somber face transforms into a small, self-conscious smile as he steps aside and invites me in.

I’m barely two steps inside when I hear two little gasps. “Flowers!” Reagan bounces up to my waist. “Are those for me?”

Smiling, I hand her one of the bouquets. “This one is.” Then I turn to Caroline. “And this one’s for you.”

Emma walks out of the kitchen, her face aglow with a soft smile. “Girls, what do you say?”

“Thank you!” they sing in unison.

I’m struck by how Emma looks tonight. No pencil skirts or silk blouses. No high heels and not a dab of makeup in sight.

She walks barefoot toward me, her hair flowing freely over her shoulders. She’s wearing a simple white cotton dress with thin tied straps that hugs her waist before flaring out subtly at her hips.

She’s fucking beautiful.

I hand her the last bouquet of flowers and she accepts it with a small blush. “You shouldn’t have,” she demurs, holding the bouquet up to her nose.

Josh is eyeing me from the corner. I pull out the Nintendo Switch that I had Kirill purchase for me and hand it over. It’s not a fancy one, purely because I didn’t think Emma would appreciate anything too over-the-top for an eight-year-old.

Josh looks surprised. “For me?”

“For you.”

He takes it hesitantly. “Why?”

“Because you never show up anywhere empty-handed. My mother taught me that when I was about your age.”

It slips out so effortlessly that I shock myself. When was the last time I mentioned her? When was the last time I even thought about her?

“Josh, can I see?” Reagan asks, slapping her hands together like she’s about to pray. “Please?”

“I wanna see, too!” Caroline jumps in.

Josh hands over the console without protest. Once again, I’m amazed at how grown-up the boy is. Any other eight-year-old would have clung to it and refused to share.

The girls fall onto the sofa and start mashing buttons, but Josh’s eyes remain fixed squarely on me. “Thanks for the present, Ruslan.”

“No problem.”

Emma walks up behind Josh and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Why don’t you take a seat? Josh, how about you bring out the canapés?”

“Canapés?” I smile. “I wasn’t aware this was such a highbrow affair.”

Emma laughs self-consciously. “Don’t get too excited. It’s cubes of cheddar cheese on savory crackers. I’m just managing expectations here.” She blushes again. “This dinner isn’t going to be what you’re used to.”

“Did you cook?”

“We helped, too!” Caroline quips, abandoning the Switch. “I cut up the sausages all on my own.”

“And I stirred the pasta,” Reagan adds.

Emma chuckles, sidling a little closer so she can whisper to me, “Don’t worry; that’s their dinner. You’re getting something different.”

“Thank God. I was just about to walk out.” I wink so she knows I’m teasing.

Her smile grows wider and there’s that weird tremor in my chest that feels a little bit like a heart attack. Except it feels… good.

Josh comes out a second later, carrying the “canapés” on an off-shaped plate with a bunch of handprints painted all over it. I scan the room, realizing that all eyes are on me. So I make a show of trying one of the crackers.

“Wow.” I take my time to chew and savor, just like I would eating caviar at a restaurant. “That’s good.”

Reagan claps. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

Caroline starts jumping on the sofa while Reagan continues clapping. “We’re good cookers!”

Laughing, I grab another one just to make them happy. But the smile I most want to see is Emma’s. I’ve never seen her look quite so in her element. It’s almost a shame that I keep her so busy at the office when, clearly, this is where she’s meant to be.

“Girls!” Emma calls. “Let’s go put our flowers in some water. Josh, will you keep Ruslan company?”

Josh nods sheepishly while Emma herds the girls into the kitchen. He walks over to the sofa and sits down opposite me. Gingerly, he reaches for the gaming device the girls have abandoned.

There’s just something about this boy. Maybe it’s the sad brown eyes that make him seem so much older. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s more observant than talkative. Maybe it’s how, despite his size, he feels the need to protect Emma and the girls.

I can relate to him. And even with full-blown adults, that’s not something I feel often.

I gesture with my eyes to the canapé dish. “I like the plate.”

He shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “My mom made it in a pottery class when I was three. She had me dip my hands in paint to decorate it.” His voice dips low when he mentions his mother. “She died when I was five.”

My chest constricts. “I lost my mother a long time ago, too.”

He stops shuffling his feet. “Really?”

“Really. I was much older than you, though.”

“So you must remember a lot about her.”

If it were anyone else, I’d have cut this conversation off at the pass. But the usual melancholy in the boy’s eyes has receded somewhat. He actually looks engaged. Interested.

Dammit. I can’t not indulge him.

“I remember a lot, yes.”

Josh frowns. “That’s the problem. I don’t.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I hear myself saying. “The more you remember, the more you’ll miss her.”

His expression ripples and his bottom lip pushes out. “I’m okay with missing her if it means I can remember more of her.”

Well, shit. This kid just might be braver than I am.

Giggles erupt all of a sudden and, a second later, Reagan and Caroline slide into the living room with matching grins.

“Bum-bum-BUM! Dinner is served!” Caroline announces.

“Heyyy!” Reagan places her hands on her hips and turns to her older sister. “That was my line.”

“Was not.”

“Was too!”

“Was not.”

“Was too!”

“Girls! Stop fighting and show Ruslan into the kitchen.”

The little pitbulls race toward me and they each grab a hand. They drag me into the kitchen with Josh trailing behind us, fighting a smile the entire time.

“Come sit next to me, Ruslan,” Caroline orders, pointing to a chair at the round table crammed in between the fridge and the stove.

“No! Sit next to me!” Reagan wheedles as she quite literally hangs off my arm.

Emma rolls her eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Girls, can we please be on our best behavior tonight?”

Both of them stop short and look at her as though she’s deeply offended them. “But we’re being so good!” Reagan insists.

Caroline nods effusively. “Super duper good.”

I nod, backing up the little hooligans. “I agree. They’re angelic.”

Reagan juts her chin out and braces her hands on her hips, the very picture of sass. I get the feeling this is a pose she strikes a lot. “See?”

Emma holds her hands up. “Alright, I can see I’m outnumbered. Ruslan can sit over here and you can both sit on either side of him. How’s that?”

By the time we’re all seated, it feels like we’ve achieved some semblance of peace. I can’t seem to stop smiling. Between Emma’s maternal clucking and the girls’ constant chatter and Josh’s stoic patience, this dinner is, as advertised, most definitely not what I’m used to.

So then why do I keep imagining myself amidst the pandemonium on a more frequent basis? Not as an outsider, like I am right now, but a member of this chaotic little tribe?

I need to get a fucking grip.

Talking about my mother, thinking about being a part of this family, wondering whether Emma’s going to walk into my office tomorrow and sit on my lap like she did today…

I mean, what the fuck is next? I’m gonna decide that knocking Emma up is the right move for her future and mine?

And just like that, I’m imagining a highchair wedged between Josh and Emma. A chubby little baby with her warm eyes and my dark hair.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Before I can decide whether to cut and run or grit my teeth and sit through this dinner, the door in the living room bursts open.

Emma freezes. Josh flinches. The girls jump in their seats.

“What the hell is going on?” The man who appears in the threshold of the kitchen looks at me with bloodshot eyes and a fuck-ton of suspicion. “Who the fuck are you?”