Knocked Up by the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #3)

Prologue - Ivan

It was a Saturday night, and predictably, the nightclub was pulsing. Violet LEDs flashed in tune with the DJ, and all around Ivan, people were loving it. So why didn't he feel the same?

Sitting at a booth in the VIP corner, the Russian's jaw clenched with annoyance as another shriek of laughter came from the group on his right. A bridal party who'd already splashed out on several expensive bottles of champagne. They wore tight pink dresses with silky sashes displaying cursive letters declaring the bride, her bridesmaids, and the maid of honor. There might've even been a mother or two in attendance too, but Ivan stopped paying attention to them after the second girl walked past, giggling at the sight of him.

He knew what they wanted. He could see it in their eyes; felt it in their hungry stares the moment he sat down. Women like that were so easy to please. They'd be there for the evening and gone in the morning, something he normally appreciated. Normally. But things hadn't felt normal for a while, and he didn't know how to fix it.

"You're grumpier than usual tonight," Adrian pointed out with a smirk as he settled across from him. As the youngest of the four brothers, being teased came with the territory—but brothers were brothers, and patience had its limits. He shot Adrian an annoyed glare, fully aware anything more would be an open invitation for harassment.

"You'd be too if you had to sit here on a Saturday night," Ivan drawled as his eyes flicked over the dance floor.

"Never bothered you before," Adrian snorted as he pulled a crystal tumbler nearer. He grabbed another, filled it with Johnny Walker Blue, and slid it toward Ivan, liquid splashing over the rim and wetting their table. Disgusted, Ivan grabbed a serviette and wiped it up as his brother watched him.

Ivan ignored the flicker of concern that Adrian didn't bother to hide in favor of the drink in his hands. "When's the Pakhan getting here?"

"He's already here," his brother stated, and he tipped his chin toward the three men who'd appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Miss me, Vanya?" Mikhail teased while Kostya and Lev poured themselves each a drink. Both settled for a familiar strong Russian vodka, and Lev sneered with a cocky expression as he eyed Ivan's drink. Pussy, his brother's expression seemed to shout and Ivan rolled his eyes. It wasn't his fault he was the only one there with taste.

"Someone's in a shit mood." Lev's voice was dry as he echoed Adrian's concern, and Ivan scowled, knowing it wouldn't take much for them both to gang up on him.

"Heard you haven't been fucking anyone in a while, playboy," Kostya jeered, and the other three laughed. "Can't get it up anymore?"

Ivan grunted, not bothering to respond. It wasn't any of their business if he'd been having a dry spell lately. The women around him just weren't doing it for him anymore, and sleeping around was becoming less and less of an occurrence when he realized all it took was a come-hither glance to get them trotting right up to him.

"Alright, enough. What's news on the business front?" Mikhail butted in, and Ivan found himself ignoring the rest of the conversation.

It was a typical Saturday night at the club. Mikhail wanted to know how things were going in the Bratva, and Adrian was always the first to give him an update. Then Kostya would go over the latest run with the Italians; they were always trying to overcharge on the weapons—but they weren't near as fun as dealing with the Mexicans who were currently being led by an absolute lunatic. Someone always ended up dead when they were working with the cartel. After that, Lev would give an update on the clubs... always the same, until it came to him.

"Ivan? Update?" Mikhail barked, his voice gruff with irritation. No doubt he wanted to get back to his wife and kids. Mira was probably waiting for him with a plate of warm food and news on her day at work. She probably even had something funny to say about the twins' day, too. Ivan had visited enough evenings to know.

"Ivan?"

"Nothing." Ivan finally glanced back at the table. "Streets are quiet, Mikhail. There hasn't been anything new from the Irish. Sounds like they've tucked tail and run."

Report given, he went quiet again as his brothers discussed the latest development. He wasn't sulking, far from it. Life had just become so... routine . Ivan already knew he was going home after this meeting, and tomorrow he'd probably walk around his house and stare at the walls again until he decided to switch on the TV. Unless Adrian invited him out. Then they'd be back here, watching and listening to see if there was anything new happening in the criminal underworld as of late. When Monday finally came around, he'd be back in the office, handling shipments and sweet-talking the rest of the Bratva or whoever Lev pissed off recently.

He needed a fucking change; he just wasn't sure where he was going to find one. Well, not until an hour later when Lev mentioned they were building another club downtown.

"I don't have the time to launch it, but Zia's adamant," his older brother grumbled as he flicked a look of sheer disdain at what appeared to be a notebook and blueprints. "We were supposed to be going on holiday in two weeks."

"Let me do it," Ivan interrupted, and four sets of eyes looked at him like he was joking. He snorted at the disbelief that crossed over Lev's features and leaned back, feeling a little more like himself already. "Come on. Things have been quiet, and it's driving me fucking mad. Let me launch the place for you. You know I'm capable." More than actually, but he didn’t want to point that out.

Still wearing a wary expression, Lev pushed the documents toward Ivan. "You better not be fucking with me right now."

"I'm not."

Ivan flicked through the blueprints. The design was far more modern than the club they were in currently, with an office overlooking the dance floor to make sure no one was fucking around with their stock. He'd heard his brothers discussing it before, but to see the results… it was nice. Interesting, and his life hadn't had much of that lately, so he dug into the information on hand, ignoring the blatant surprise on everyone's faces as he started planning the necessary steps.

It didn't take much to convince Lev either; his brother liked the idea of more time with his wife. However, that didn't stop him from threatening to get rid of Ivan's Ducati if he did anything to risk Zia's club. Ivan snorted before asking if they'd hired any staff yet.

"Zia's organized a manager for the place," Lev admitted with a shrug. "Amy Spencer."

"The girl who got poisoned?" Mikhail asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Zia's best friend," Lev corrected him as he turned to face Ivan again. "You can meet with her on Monday to discuss everything."

Ivan nodded, already taking the things Lev had given him. "I'm heading home. Call me if you need anything."

***

He ended up spending his whole Sunday going through the documents, staying up later than he normally would, and even oversleeping past his alarm on Monday morning. By the time he got to the club, it was midday, and everyone already seemed to be fully immersed in their work. It was a different type of chaos than Ivan normally found himself involved in, but he wasn't going to complain. Different was good.

Ignoring the bustling builders shouting at each other, Ivan walked through the wide doors of the unfinished club and found himself looking around in quiet contemplation. Besides the noisy builders with their loud tools and occasional shouts, there wasn't much that had been done. However, Lev had already explained this to him, and so Ivan sidestepped the wooden planks laid out on the floor and walked around the unbuilt bar to reach the stairs leading to the office upstairs.

Men sidestepped him, eyeing the Italian suit he wore with a mixture of wariness and confusion, but they weren’t his concern. Amy Spencer was. The woman standing near the one-sided glass windows caught his interest as he entered the room. They’d met before, though they’d never shared more than a few words. She was always polite. He didn’t know much more about her other than that.

Amy held a phone to her ear as she gazed at the chaos below, and while her voice was laced with irritation, it didn't take Ivan long to recognize she was talking to the Bratva's favorite HR. "No. I'm looking for girls with experience in catering, Maya. Nothing less than two years, and three of them need to have bartending certificates... You know how it is. Zia wants this place to be the most popular one yet."

Ivan felt a flicker of amusement as she continued her conversation, barely acknowledging him beyond a quick glance when he plucked a set of cards off her desk. There were two desks in the office, on opposite sides of the room, and it was already clear which Amy had chosen because her tabletop was as chaotic as the space outside the office. Between the papers and pens was a laptop, the screen switched on but unclear from his vantage point.

His gaze turned back to her, and he bit back a smile when something Maya had to say made her growl angrily. Like a little bear, he thought in amusement. Though she didn’t look anything of the sort, her build was petite. Curvy.

"No, no, no . Maya, you're not giving me much to work with here. I sent a list. I only want people with those qualifications ," she emphasized, running her slender fingers through her hair as she listened to Maya.

It took another ten minutes before she ended the call and turned to face Ivan, her face a mask of professionalism. "Mr. Nikolai," Amy greeted, holding out her hand. "Zia informed me that you'll be taking over for her and Lev. I've already created a spreadsheet to advise you on the duties that I'm currently responsible for and how I can help if you need me to. You'll find it in your inbox when you're ready."

"Amy," he responded wryly, reaching to take her hand. It was so much smaller than his, and her nails were bitten to the quick. Though he wasn't sure why he noticed that. "I see you've already settled in."

"That's right," she replied, eyeing him pointedly. To move, he realized belatedly, but Ivan felt comfortable where he was and looked back at her innocently.

"I'm sorry, did you want this desk?" she smiled, but it was thin. Frustrated. With him? Not likely , he thought, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts.

"No," he answered. "I'm happy with the other one."

"Perfect," she said, still staring at him, and he couldn't help but notice how green her eyes were as she glanced between him and the desk he was leaning on. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"No?" he replied, an eyebrow raised in query. He was just about to ask her if she'd be able to give him an update on how things were going when his phone started to ring.

"Excuse me," he murmured as he pulled it from his pants pocket and pressed answer. "Checking on me already, brother?"

"You can't fault me, Ivan. I wasn't sure if you were actually serious or not about this," Lev replied as Ivan moved away from the desk and toward his own.

Funny enough, as he moved away, Amy finally sat down at her table, and he noticed her watching him from beneath those thick lashes of hers. She caught him looking, and her lips thinned as she ducked her head to study the papers in front of her.

Interesting , he thought as he continued his conversation with his brother. As soon as they were done, he turned to her desk to finish questioning her but found she'd already disappeared.

Deciding to read through his emails until she came back, Ivan opened his laptop with a thoughtful expression on his face. His brow furrowed when he reached the email addressed to him from Amy, and he closed his laptop with a snap to go looking for her.

***

3 weeks later

"All due respect, sir," Amy mentioned, her voice bordering on a bite—or the closest thing to one considering how many respectful disagreements they'd had over the past three weeks. "But I can handle this myself."

"I'm sure you can," Ivan responded dryly as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. In fact, he was more than sure she'd be able to handle anything because she was just too damn stubborn not to. "But I'm going to have to insist that I'll be taking over the alcohol shipments."

Amy gritted her teeth before her irritated expression calmed to professional again. "Do you have any complaints with my current work, sir ?"

Ivan wasn't sure why he and Amy kept getting into these disputes—no. Scratch that. He was very sure why they kept getting into these disputes, and it had everything to do with that list she was adamant that he followed. The list that basically proclaimed his only job in the club was to sit and watch while she did everything. Handling the contractors who weren't sticking to their deal, the design of the club, the marketing... everything. So, yes. He was starting to feel frustrated with Amy. Especially with the latest problem.

"Please call me Ivan," he repeated tirelessly for the hundredth time that day. "And no, you know there aren't any problems with your work." There were never any problems with her work.

"Then I don't understand, sir ," she replied sweet enough to make his eye twitch. I'm sure you don't , Ivan thought as he met her stare dead on. He didn't know how to reply to her latest remark, but he’d be damned if he'd allowed her to win another of these disputes.

"It's business ," he lied pointedly, knowing she knew enough about the Bratva after the incident that happened a few months ago.

For the first time in three weeks, Ivan witnessed Amy's professional mask crack. Her lips thinned and her jaw clenched as her eyes darkened. It lasted all of five seconds, but that was enough for his blood to heat up in a way it hadn't in months—and then it disappeared back under her perfectly serene facade.

Gotcha , Ivan smiled, and he couldn't help but rub it in a little. "I'm glad to see you understand."

Amy blinked, shoulders tense but face still serene. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any business dealings," she said airily as she stalked back to her desk. Her office chair squeaked when she sat down and wheeled it toward her computer, and Ivan watched gleefully, waiting for her to switch the screen on.

Disappointment followed when she didn't even flinch before giving him a cool look over her screen. "Has company policy changed to require specific images on our computer screens?"

"No?" he answered innocently. "Why, is there something specific you aren't happy with?"

"Yes, sir." Her voice turned frosty. "I'm simply curious why there are teddy bears on mine."

"No clue, Mishka ," he replied with a shrug. He'd thought they suited her, his little Mishka . She was just as fierce as any grizzly. "You don't think I would have the time in my busy schedule to do something like that, do you?"

Yes , her green eyes screamed accusingly, and Ivan bit back his laughter as she ignored his question, her fingers clicking angrily on her computer mouse as she no doubt changed it. That was the first time he'd done something specifically to annoy her, but he'd had to, just to get her to let go of some of the work on her plate to keep him distracted. Now that he'd seen her reaction though, he was already planning the next prank in the hopes that she'd snap and show him a bit of that fire that flickered in her gaze.