Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)
: Chapter 69

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. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“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?”

“Ruslan! Where the fuck are you?”

“I told you something came—”

“Yeah, well, something’s come up here, too. And it’s not good.” He’s normally unflappable. Nothing is a big deal to him. So to hear the panic in his voice right now…

“What’s going on?”

“Are you alone?”

My gaze slides to Emma. She’s sitting there quietly, hands tangled together, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Emma’s here but it’s okay. You can tell me anyway.”

Kirill hesitates for only a second. “We started circulating the Venera a little over an hour ago. Everything was going smoothly. Everyone’s mood was up. The samples were doing their magic. And then—”

And then…

“—we had five people O.D.”

I nearly crash into the car in front of us. Emma screams and grabs my arm instinctively. I just barely manage to veer away in time to avoid the collision.

The only thing better than my reflexes are my instincts.

And they’re telling me that there’s foul play at work here.

“Venera’s not that kind of drug. It’s an aphrodisiac. Basically just an oyster on steroids. It’s not even fucking possible to overdose on it.”

“Brother, I’m looking at five bodies right now that say otherwise.”

Emma’s eyes are wide, fearful, and aimed right at me.

“Get one of the men to pick Sergey up,” I order. “Go yourself if you need to. I want him at the club fucking immediately. I’ll be there soon.”

Emma doesn’t say anything when I hang up. But a second later, she moves her hand to my knee and squeezes it gently. It’s amazing how much of a difference one small gesture can make. The fear I saw in her eyes earlier is not because of me.

It’s for me.

“I have to go handle this.”

“I know. Of course you do. I can just get a cab back—”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I growl. “I’m dropping you off at my place. I’ll be back once I’ve got the situation under control.”

She accepts that wordlessly. At least until we arrive outside the sleek thirty-five floor luxury skyscraper. Then she turns to me with a frown. “This is Madison,” she says. “Not 48^th Street.”

“Penthouse #1. The access code is 23-28-37.”

She seems flustered when she exits the SUV and gives me a half-hearted wave as I drive off. I’ll have to worry about Emma after tonight. Right now, I need to focus on the botched Venera launch.

Ping. I chance a quick look at the text I’ve just received from Kirill.

KIRILL: Sergey’s missing.

Fuck.

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