Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)
: Chapter 50

I’m scrolling through the photo gallery on my personal message history with Emma. It’s not the first time I’ve wasted endless minutes doing exactly this. That’s why I know there are fourteen pictures from the last few weeks. I’ve got them all memorized.

Most are of the kids. Bike rides in the park. Ice cream at Connie’s Creamery. Reagan’s crayon doodle of me, a masterpiece currently housed on Emma’s refrigerator. But once in a while, there’s a picture that includes Emma, beaming from the corner of a photo almost like an afterthought.

I’ve been combing through this gallery a little too often lately. But that’s only because an idea entered my head a few days ago and now, it won’t budge.

“Brady Sanchez’s team reached out. He wants a meeting with you to discuss the contract for his new building.”

“Hm.”

“I checked with Emma. You have some time next week to schedule a meeting.”

“Hm.”

I flick to a particularly cute picture of all three kids together. Josh is sitting cross-legged on the grass with Reagan on his lap and Caroline kneeling behind him with her arms around his neck. He’s smiling for once. I see the faintest traces of new muscle filling out the sleeve of his t-shirt. He’s been working hard in the gym during our sessions together. The other day, one of his punches jostled some dust loose from the ceiling and I think he still hasn’t stopped grinning about it.

Kirill clears his throat. “Drafting the next great American novel?”

Scowling at him, I put my phone away. “Just going over the trial results that Sergey sent me.”

Kirill cocks an eyebrow. “Bro—you’re sitting in front of reflective glass. You were looking at pictures of those kids.”

Fuck. It’s bad enough knowing you have a problem. It’s so much worse when you’re called out.

I leave the chair by the window and move to the sofa. This apartment used to be my bachelor pad. It’s decked out with a game room, a theater, and a gym. Kirill usually crashes here when he’s too lazy to trek downtown to his own apartment. It’s also become our go-to hangout spot when we’re looking to unwind, away from people and loud music and sleazy fucking reporters with long lens cameras. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“This thing with you and Emma… How serious is it?”

I clench my jaw. “The contract still stands. That part hasn’t changed. It’s just more… exclusive now.”

“A contracted girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I snap.

Kirill smirks. “She’s your something. Why else would you spend so much time with her and those kids when you don’t have to?”

He’s got a point. But it’ll take a damn army to make me admit that. “Because I had an idea recently and, the more I think about it, the less crazy it seems.”

Kirill sits up a little straighter. “Intriguing. What’s this idea?”’

Once you say it out loud, there’s no going back…

“Well?” he presses. “You gonna keep me in suspense or what?”

“I was thinking about adding an addendum to the contract.”

His eyebrows rise. “Scheduled sex four times a week instead of two?” he asks. “Doggystyle and missionary required in every session?” His chuckle dies when he sees the look on my face. He clears his throat. “Okay… so this is a serious addendum?”

“I don’t say this often but Vadim’s right: I do need to start thinking about heirs.”

Kirill nearly sprays my designer sofa with a mouthful of gin. He sets the glass back on the liquor cart and slides up to the furthest edge of his seat.

“Brother, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“She’s a good mother. And I can work with her.”

“By ‘work’ with her, do you mean raise children with her? Because that and what she does now are two very different jobs.”

“I’m not interested in doing things traditionally—”

“Thanks for clarifying; I wasn’t aware.”

“—so this is the perfect solution.”

Kirill frowns. “I think ‘perfect’ is the wrong word.”

I’m jonesing for another drink but I fight the urge. “I know it’s crazy—”

“A baby clause?” he murmurs, dumbfounded. “Or would it be a surrogacy clause?”

“Surrogacy implies she would have no connection to the child after she pushes it out. She’s a good mother, Kirill. I’ve seen her in action.”

“So what you’re suggesting is an additional clause to be engineered into the existing contract that involves you having a baby with your secretary and then raising the child together.”

“You can ax the tone,” I snap. “I know how it sounds.”

Kirill falls back into his seat. “It’s fucking madness. Especially for you.”

“Why especially for me?”

“You’ve never wanted a child! You’ve never really thought about it.”

I clench the arm of the sofa. “Maybe that’s because I never met a woman I could see being the mother of my child. With Emma, it’s… different.”

He rests his chin on his fist. “So then why keep the contract at all?”

“Because I’m not interested in romance. I don’t want marriage. I’m not saying I want a family; what I want is an heir, specifically. So far, my arrangement with Emma has gone smoothly. Why shouldn’t this be any different?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe because it involves the creation of a human being!”

I expected Kirill to be surprised. But his blatant shock is pissing me off. “If I do this, it’ll shut everyone up once and for all. Once I have an heir, I don’t ever have to listen to Vadim’s nagging again.”

“At least until you give the Oryolov Bratva an heir and a spare.”

“Let’s start with one baby first, shall we?”

“You’re serious about this.” Kirill’s eyes go wide and he whistles softly. “She’ll have no idea what she’s getting into, Ruslan. She doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know who you really are.”

He’s got me there.

But like the rest of my second’s inconvenient observations, I don’t tell him that.

“I don’t plan on tricking her into anything. She will have all the facts before I put a new contract in front of her.”

I’m a thousand percent certain that Kirill is underestimating her. All he sees is a shy woman who blushes every time anyone looks at her sideways. But I see more than that. I see the steel behind the self-consciousness.

She walked back into the gala ballroom the other night with her head held high. I’m sure she heard the whispers, saw the curious eyes following her through the rest of the evening, but she never once buckled under the weight. She smiled, she made conversation, she dazzled the room despite the scrutiny she was under.

She may not have been born to this world—but there’s a chance she’s made for it.

Despite that, there’s nothing superficial about her. Her charm ripples with sincerity, which is exactly what makes her so irresistible. Not that any man dared look her way after she returned to the ballroom. I’d gotten my message through loud and clear. Hell, I may as well have tattooed Ruslan Oryolov right on her skin. Come to think of it, the caveman in me likes that idea.

Just not as much as the idea of Emma’s belly growing bigger and bigger with my child.

“Have you thought this through?” Kirill asks.

I blink myself back to reality. “She’s the kind of woman I want raising my children. End of story.”

“But is she the kind of woman you want to tie yourself to for the rest of your life? Because that’s what having a baby will do, whether you like it or not.” Kirill meets my eyes. “I can see you’re set on this. Just promise me one thing: take some more time. Really think about it. Once you bring this up with her, there’ll be no going back.”

It’s annoying how many good points he’s making tonight.

“Very well,” I acquiesce. “I’ll give it a little more time.”

Kirill’s right; it’s the smart thing to do. A necessary step to ensure I’m not making a huge mistake.

But the caveman in me doesn’t like waiting at all.

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