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

Chapter 1 - Amy

1 year later

Orange peels on her desk made Amy break the first pencil that day. She snapped it clear in half, her jaw aching with how tight it was as she glared at them. "God damn it, Ivan."

She grabbed the trashcan only a few steps away from her desk and moved it to the edge, flicking each piece in with a muttered curse. He must've been called away to sort something out because there was still half of the orange left. Feeling spiteful, she picked it up and peeled it the rest of the way before biting into a segment. She really didn't know what Ivan's obsession was with her desk. Honestly. All she knew was that it was driving her insane because now she had to figure out what he'd been busy with before he was interrupted.

After five minutes of searching, Amy gave up looking and decided that whatever had interrupted his snack must've also interrupted whatever prank he'd been busy with too. A girl can only hope , she thought to herself. Then she saw the sticky note on her invoicing pile, and a headache started near the bottom of her neck. "Change alcohol supplier," it said. No reasons, no excuses, nothing to give her any proper explanation on why they were changing their alcohol supplier for the third time that week right before a big shipment was due.

"He's the boss," she told the orange as she clicked her computer on. Then she realized what she'd done and let out a groan as she sank back into her seat even while she continued speaking to the orange. "I can't exactly tell him to go fuck himself, can I?"

Except she had... once. Last Christmas, after a few too many glasses of eggnog. Thankfully, he was drunk enough that he hadn't remembered it; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to go back to work the next week.

"Ivan Nikolai is enough to make a girl lose her mind," she murmured, to herself this time, as she went onto her computer. There were rubber duckies on her screen, but she didn't bother to change it. She'd lost count of how many times she'd changed her computer screen only to have it changed again whenever Ivan was back. Just another part of her life for him to stick his nose in.

"Just a few more days," she sighed, staring at the calendar next to the keyboard where she'd circled the date of her interview. She hadn't wanted Ivan to know what it was, so she'd placed three gold stars next to the date, highlighted and circled it instead of putting the letters in bold like she wanted to. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from asking about it, so she'd ended up telling him it was an appointment for the gynecologist and had the pleasure of seeing him shocked silent for the rest of that afternoon. Best day ever.

She finished the orange and then threw the rest of the peels away before using the toe of her heels to nudge the trashcan into its previous position next to her desk. Seeing the broken pencil, she flicked that in as well and then got back to reviewing her emails. As she did, the door to their office banged open, and Ivan came in, noisy as always. Music accompanied his entrance; the seductive beat of their newest DJ's latest track interrupted the peace and quiet she'd been looking for, and Amy shot a glare in his direction. Thankfully, without her having to ask, Ivan closed the door behind himself and then dropped his phone onto his desk with a clatter before pulling his chair out and falling into it. The moment the doors were shut, the office quieted again as the soundproofed walls did what they'd been installed to do.

"Did you finish my orange?" Ivan asked absently as he switched his laptop on. His dark hair was mussed from constantly running his fingers through it, something he only did when frustrated.

"You finished mine yesterday," Amy replied distractedly before realizing she'd broken her latest vow of silence. Damn it. How does he do that? she thought, pinching her nose as a smirk lit up Ivan's beautiful features.

"Talking to me again, are you?" he said, ignoring his computer to come stand over her desk. His ocean-blue eyes were far too easy to fall into if she wasn't careful, but it was the cock-sure grin that really spelled trouble as he leaned in his usual spot, pulling out a pack of playing cards and shuffling them between his ring-adorned fingers. "I knew you were going to cave eventually. Well done, though, Mishka . That's three days for the record books. Does that mean you've forgiven me for telling Lev about your car?"

Mishka . Little bear. Her heart fluttered at the nickname, but she ignored it just like she ignored the shiver trailing down her spine at his proximity.

"No," she bit out, unwillingly breathing in the scent of his cologne. It was something dark. Dangerous. Just like the man himself, and no amount of desperate searching had helped her to figure out what she was smelling; all she knew was it smelled good and reminded her of her first sip of the Old Rip Van Winkle 25 bourbon he'd made her taste for a function a couple of months ago. And oranges. Bourbon and oranges. Not that she'd ever admit to any of that to him. Focus, Amy!

God, why does he always have to stand so close?

"There's nothing wrong with my car."

It really was ridiculous to feel so protective of the car she'd bought at the beginning of the year. In truth, it was a piece of crap, but she'd found out about the late payments on her mother's mortgage, and that had been more important than a brand-new car at the time. She refused to admit that to Ivan though, because he hadn't just told Lev about how her shitty car broke down for the third time that month. He'd done it behind her back, and she only knew when Lev mentioned she'd be able to pick up the keys to a new SUV in a few days.

That had been three days ago, and just this morning she'd gotten a reminder from her best friend, Zia, about the keys. Which, of course, only convinced Amy further that the job offer she'd received was the best course of action. This was the last time she'd allow Ivan Nikolai the benefit of the doubt when he was interfering with things that had absolutely fucking nothing to do with him.

"It's a piece of crap, Mishka ," Ivan stated softly. "The SUV Lev's arranging for you will be far more reliable."

Amy rolled her eyes. So he kept saying . "We're not getting into this again, Ivan." She got up from her desk, looking around for the clipboard she'd placed somewhere.

"Heading somewhere, Mishka ?" Ivan questioned as she found the clipboard underneath the papers on her desk, picking it up with an "A h-ha !"

"Out," Amy stated airily as she started in the direction of the door.

"Amy, wait! I had to tell you something," Ivan called right as his phone started to ring. Amy smiled to herself as he muttered his Russian curses, telling herself it was only because she knew it meant that whoever was on the phone was important enough to keep him distracted.

"Fuck, what was it again?" His voice trailed off behind her, but Amy didn't bother to turn around as she called over her shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll remember eventually."

If it was important then he'd no doubt find her again later, which meant she didn't have much time to finish with the stock take. If Ivan ever found out she was doing her assistant's work, shit would hit the fan—and reasonably so. Brittany, her twenty-two-year-old assistant, was supposed to do it. Except, Brittany had called in sick which meant that Amy was stuck with it. Not that she minded, Eclipse had been the love of her life for the past two years, and Amy would do anything for the club.

Well, everything except stay that is. Guilt pinched her stomach at the thought, but Amy ignored it. Employees were allowed to leave their work for better opportunities; that's what she kept telling herself. She had to. And if she felt extra guilty for not warning Zia beforehand... well, hopefully, her best friend would realize it wasn't meant to be hurtful. She just... had to do what she had to do. Just like everyone else.

"It'll be good for me," she murmured to herself when her heart squeezed. Amy hadn't been planning to work as the Bratva's favorite club manager forever. She had her own aspirations—and if Ivan had a problem with that, well... nothing. He could keep his problem to himself. He could make do with Brittany when she left. The girl had a business degree for crying out loud; that was more than even Amy had. That should be enough to do what the control freak needed done.

"Oh, well. It'll be his problem by then," she whispered to herself as she strolled past the kitchens and toward their storeroom, ignoring the pang of guilt that she hadn't even told Zia about the job offer yet.

***

A few hours later than she'd thought it would be, Amy left the stock room and looked around the closed club tiredly. The lights were off, which soothed her pressing headache but left her blinking as her eyes refocused on the quiet club around herself and the problem at hand. The office... She couldn't remember if she was supposed to lock up or if Ivan was going to. With the odd hours he kept, there was a slim possibility he was still inside.

Her brow creased, it was a little strange that he hadn't interrupted her at some point. The only one who had stopped by while she was busy counting the bottles was Aaric, one of their floor managers—and that had been way earlier. She vaguely remembered him letting her know they were planning to close, but whether that was an hour ago or two, she didn't know. Still, it had to be at least three or four in the morning and she hadn't spoken to Ivan since their tête-à-tête in the office. Not that she was worried about him or anything.

"Ivan?" she called while unlocking her phone to check the time. Or attempted to... it must've died at some point while she was busy because the screen remained black. She normally made sure it was fully charged, as a single woman working the night shift, Amy knew better than to leave with a dead phone. Eclipse might've been considered a luxury club, but this was still downtown Chicago. Anything could happen. There wasn't anything she could do about that now, though. She sighed. At least she knew she had a charger in her car that wasn't the greatest but could give her enough bars in case of an emergency on the way home.

Looking at the slender gold watch on her wrist, she grimaced at the confirmation that it was nearly 03:45 in the morning. She had to get home soon; she rubbed her temples. No wonder I have a headache.

"Ivan?"

Hearing no answer, she decided to check the office to see if he was still in and then, if he wasn't, she'd lock it up herself and then go home.

Still... It's weird he isn't here, she thought. Ivan was many things—overbearing, overcontrolling—but he always walked her to her car and always said goodnight, even if it came with a tirade about how terrible her car was. She had tried to sneak out before he could find out, but that had never worked; he had even called her once when she took a taxi, just to make sure she got home safely. So, it struck her as odd that he hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving early.

He was busy today, though , she reminded herself as she looked around downstairs. The rest of the club seemed to be closed up tight. The only light on was the one shining from their office above, allowing her to see that the staff had made sure things were more or less put together the way it should've been. All around her, Amy saw the tables and barstools had been wiped clean and stacked in the corner neatly. She decided to double-check the kitchen too, just in case, and felt a flicker of irritation at the nearly full kitchen sink.

"Seriously?" she mumbled to herself, stalking out of the kitchen. "We're going to have to get a new floor manager. This is ridiculous. IVAN!"

Still no answer. Shaking off the ominous feeling in her stomach, Amy cursed under her breath as she stalked toward the stairs. It wasn't the first time he had left a light on.

Entering their office, she glared at the empty room. Ivan was definitely not there. Letting out a sigh, she turned to leave—only to stop when she spotted his keys on her table. What the hell?

Her mouth flattened as she walked over and picked them up. Ivan wouldn’t just leave his bike at the office, which meant he had to still be there. After placing his keys in her pocket, she locked up the office, her brow furrowed in tired confusion. The layout of the club was odd; the private rooms didn’t always indicate whether their lights were on, making it easy to miss an occupied one. Figuring Ivan was in one of them, she walked back downstairs and then took a right, intent on finding him. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd booked one of their VIP rooms to avoid the staff from bothering him. He did it often, so she didn't question it at all as she figured out which room he was in, swung open the door, and walked in. It was only after she'd realized what she'd walked into that her whole body froze in quiet panic.

Ivan was there; she hadn’t been mistaken about that—but he wasn’t alone. Both he and his brother Adrian were seated on the leather couches, guns in hand, surrounded by several tattooed and scarred men who were shouting obscenities in Russian, words she had only learned after Ivan let a few slip when he was truly angry.

Bratva , Amy realized a moment too late, panic gripping her as Adrian spotted her. His lips thinned as he quickly glanced from his brother to the men around them.

"Get out," he mouthed, his expression stern. Just as she was about to do exactly that, one of the men pulled out a gun and shot a man she hadn’t even noticed tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Oh, shit . Her heart thudded in her chest, and Amy looked behind her, but it was too late; the whimper she'd inadvertently let out caught everyone’s attention, and she flinched as they all turned to glare at her.