Cruel Paradise (Oryolov Bratva Book 1)

After breakfast, I say goodbye to Phoebe at the subway and cut across Central Park. There’s a city’s worth of people walking their dogs or lying on picnic blankets or running after their kids. It’s a perfect day for a nice walk through the trees.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realize it until I’m passing right beneath it, but I know this tree. Sienna and I used to bring Josh here right after he was born. We’d lie around, just like all these people are doing today, and we’d talk and laugh and spend afternoons blissfully ignorant of the future that was hurtling down the barrel towards us.

I stop and look up. The tree looks a little barer now. Thinner in the trunk, graying in the leaves. I have that familiar pang in my chest. The deep aching stab that comes with the reminder that she’s not here anymore. We will never again sit under those sparse leaves and bitch about all the little things in our lives that we thought—at the time—would be our biggest problems.

Sometimes, I miss her so much I can’t stand it. That’s when I’m usually hit with memories I didn’t even remember I had in the bank.

“Did you see that? Did you see it?” Sienna said, grabbing my ankle. “He did a little twerk!”

I laid back in the grass, hands folded behind my head. I didn’t even bother opening my eyes. Sienna was always claiming that Josh did this and Josh did that. More often than not, what she thought was a sign of genius turned out to be gas.

“I’m not surprised. He is your kid.”

She smacked my leg. “You’re not even looking.”

“Si, he’s one. I sincerely doubt he’s twerking.”

“Just look!”

Reluctantly, I cracked open an eye and glanced over at my nephew. His chubby little hands were planted in the grass as his butt wiggled in the air.

“I think he’s just bending over.”

She threw me an irritated glare. “Look at that booty shake. Boy has rhythm.”

Josh let out a little squawk and pushed himself upright, only to fall back down again. Luckily, he had some squidgy baby blubber and a diaper to keep him safe.

I stifled a yawn. “If you say so.”

She grabbed her son and held him up to her face so his pudgy little legs swung around. “Auntie Em doesn’t understand what a brilliant, multitalented widdle bunny you are! Yes! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!” Sienna stuck her tongue out at me. “Your Auntie Em is such a square.”

I rolled onto my belly and looked up at her and Josh. “Can I ask you a serious, possibly politically incorrect question?”

“Duh. Those are my favorite kind.”

“Do you think you’ll ever regret it? Getting married and having a baby so young?”

Sienna’s smile didn’t falter for even a millisecond. “Nope.”

“Just like that? You didn’t even think about it.”

She fixed me with an unblinking stare. “You’ve known me for nineteen years, Em. Tell me, has there ever been a time when I didn’t know exactly what I wanted?”

I thought about it. “No, I guess not.”

She nods. “I may be young—” She twisted Josh around and placed him on her lap. “—but I will never regret my family. This baby here is my whole entire world. I would die for him.”

“You say that about me, too.”

“Sure, but I never meant it literally.”

I threw my empty Coke can at her while she laughed. Even Josh giggled. Those days felt so ordinary. They got lost in the shuffle of bigger moments, bigger milestones.

I wish I knew then how much I’d miss them.

“Excuse me? Are you Emma Carson?”

I blink at the scrawny man standing in front of me. He’s wearing what technically passes for a smile, but nothing about it makes me think he’s friendly.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“Well, no. Not technically.”

I frown. “Who are you?”

He offers me his hand before he answers the question. “Remmy Jefferson.”

I wrack my brain trying to place the name, but I’m coming up blank. I shake his hand just to keep up the polite pretense. “How can I help you?”

“I’m a reporter for The Brooklyn Gazette. I like to do my research, Ms. Carson, and I know quite a bit about the man you work for.”

“Wait—this is about Rus—uh, Mr. Oryolov?”

He nods and his eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t waver. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay.”

I’ve always had trouble saying “no” to people. But after Sienna died, it became a whole lot easier. There was something about the finality of her death that made me realize I didn’t actually care if people liked me or not. She loved me and that was enough.

“Thanks but no thanks. Have a nice day.” I try to side-step around him, but he mirrors the movement and blocks me.

“Don’t think of it as an interview. Think of it as a public service.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re his personal secretary, which means you work closely with him. You know a lot about him. And I’m willing to bet you can find out a whole lot more.”

My jaw drops. “You want me to spy on him for you?”

“I’d pay you well.” He pulls out a card from the pocket of his light blue jacket and hands it to me. “My details are on the front of the card. On the back is what you’ll get paid.”

I flip it over. Even before I see the number, I know it’s not going to make a lick of difference—but I’m still curious.

More to the point, I’m still adjusting to this new reality where I don’t have to scrimp and beg for every penny I can get my hands on. The sticker shock of seeing that much money right there for the taking passes over me.

But even if I was inclined to turn rat on Ruslan, it doesn’t come close to what he is paying me to be his—well, his “after-work friend.”

I know Ruslan is no Boy Scout. And I’m willing to bet anything he doesn’t take kindly to people who cross him. Hell, I know he doesn’t take kindly to people who cross him. I’ve watched him make plenty of grown men cry. I even handed one a tissue on his way out of Bane.

I don’t want to imagine what he could—or would—do to me.

“Thanks,” I say, offering the card back to Remmy. “But like I said: no thanks.”

His eyebrows lift and he ignores my hand holding out the card. “Come on. You’re a young woman with three dependents living in a big, expensive city. You need this money.”

The way he pushes as if he knows better than me only reinforces my decision: I need to get as far away from him and his bad haircut as possible.

“I may need money, but I don’t need or want your money.”

Instead of walking around him, I just turn and walk away from him. He doesn’t take the hint though; he follows me right out of Central Park.

“Loyalty is admirable, Emma, but not when it comes to men like Oryolov. He’s no good.”

“Says the guy stalking a woman through Midtown.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m not the bad guy; I’m trying to catch the bad guy. Do you really want to clean up after a man who’s getting away with literal murder?”

I don’t flinch. I don’t know Remmy from Adam, but there’s something in his demeanor that puts me off. It’s the shifty way his gaze travels over my body. The way he’s demanding my help like he’s entitled to it. The way he thinks it’s appropriate in the year 2023 to follow a woman who’s clearly not interested.

“Those are some serious allegations you’re throwing around,” I say coldly. “I’d be careful about slandering the reputation of one of New York’s most charitable businessmen.”

Remmy snorts. “Those charities are a fucking joke. And they’re probably just fronts, anyway. I’ve already got dirt on him. If you were to help me, Emma, I could expose this fucker. One article. That’s all it would take.”

I stop walking so abruptly that Remmy has to skid and step back. “Mr. Jefferson, you’ve told me what you want from me. I’ve politely refused. I think it’s time for you to go.”

His bottom lip curls. “This isn’t the end of it. I’m going to get what I want, Miss Carson.”

I sigh. “That’s what most men think. It’s the tragedy of the patriarchy.”

His scowl only deepens. “One way or the other, I will expose Oryolov. And you’ll help me.”

Before I can tell him to shove it where the sun don’t shine, he turns and marches back toward the park.

I glance down at the business card in my hand. I have no doubt that he’s found plenty of skeletons in Ruslan’s closets. But I’m willing to bet that whatever Remmy has on Ruslan won’t be enough to bury him.

Matter of fact, I’d put every dollar I own on Remmy going down first.