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

Chapter 2 - Ivan

What the fuck is she doing? Ivan's jaw ticked as he looked at Amy's pale, terrified face. He'd sent her a message to let her know this area would be occupied. Hadn't he? Fuck. He couldn't remember, but he was certain he'd told her to leave early tonight. He'd even tried to say something before Mikhail had phoned him to let him know the men were coming early and they were bringing Boris with them, hogtied to a chair because the underboss had been caught skimming the cash from the vehicle sales. Shit.

He should've known something like this would happen the one time they allowed Bratva business in the clubs. He should've insisted more but the timing was shit. Not that it mattered now. The chair had fallen to the floor, and Boris's beaten body was starting to bleed out. His dead gaze was aimed at the ceiling, the bullet hole perfectly situated between his eyebrows. Maksim was a good shot, even if he was a shitty interrogator. Now they were down their best underboss and their best shot at figuring out which of their enemies he'd been working with. Although, if he was honest, he was only pissed about the latter.

They'd been stuck trying to get information from Boris for over two hours, and just when Boris had been about to reveal who hired him, Maksim had lost his temper and pulled out his gun. Fucking lunatic. This was what he got when he had to deal with the older Bratva members. They're all fucking crazy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ivan snarled at Maksim in Russian as he rose from the couch. Without Boris, they had no one to tell them who was intercepting their shipments and how the fuck they were getting their information. Mikhail was paranoid enough that it would've been impossible for Boris to be the only one involved. The only reasonable conclusion was that there was a spy among their ranks, but they wouldn't know that for sure now, would they? Considering their best bet at finding out was swimming in his own blood. Then as if the night wasn't already going to shit, Amy had walked in.

After letting out a cry that pierced his whole body, she’d seemingly been struck mute, hanging from the doorknob as if she couldn’t find her balance. Tears dripped down her face as she stared at the body, trembling, and all Ivan wanted to do was get her away from the Bratva business before it painted a dark mark on her soul the same way his own had been stained.

He strode over the body, watching her shudder with revulsion as he interrupted her line of sight. Good , death was the last thing he wanted her to see. She was too good to be involved in something like this, but he could only blame himself. He'd known she was distracted; she'd been like that for weeks, going quieter instead of fighting back like she normally did. He'd been pestering Zia to find out about it, but she knew nothing, and Lev had threatened to dismantle his bike the last time he'd asked. Looking at Amy now, though, Ivan hated to admit that if she was looking for a reason to leave, then this would be the perfect opportunity.

Ready to pull her from the room, Ivan stilled at the click of a bullet being loaded in someone's gun chamber. There were still a few feet between him and Amy, but the threat vibrated in the air, and instead of reaching her like he'd wanted to, he turned around slowly to see which idiot it was.

Almost everyone had their guns out, but Ivan only focused on two. Adrian's gun was already raised and pointed at Andre, whose gun, Ivan noticed, was trained on... Amy. This time when his jaw clenched, Ivan was certain something cracked, but it was better than shooting his brother's men for daring to point their guns at her.

"Put down your weapon," Adrian demanded as Ivan fought to gain control of his temper. It wasn't going as well as it normally did because his hand reached toward the loaded weapon hanging from his chest holster, seemingly on its own, as Andre's eyebrow rose cockily.

"I thought you said the club was closed, Ivan."

His gaze narrowed. Telling the men it was wouldn't help because he'd clearly missed the fact that Amy hadn't left. He hadn't seen her car and had assumed, fucking idiot that he was, that she'd gone home without telling him.

I won't make that mistake again , he swore. Still, it wouldn't be enough to satisfy the bloodthirst reflected in the gazes of the men around him. Why the hell couldn't she have picked any other night to walk in on his meeting? Instead, it was the one night when the men standing around him were twice as dangerous as he and Adrian combined.

Besides being the highest and deadliest members of the Bratva, they also all had a stake in finding out who was stealing from their profits. The only ones who hadn't joined were Mikhail, Lev, and Kostya.

Konstantine, or Kostya, was busy dealing with the fallout on the other end. Lev was at home with Zia and the baby, and Mikhail had trusted Ivan and Adrian to find out what was going on without getting involved. Ivan was supposed to be the charmer, the mitigator. The one everyone called to settle disputes and make sure no one important died. For the first time in his life, he wasn't feeling as lucky as he normally did.

"I was just busy reviewing the stock," Amy mumbled absently, her voice feathery and quiet. Ivan's eyes squeezed shut for a second as he turned to face her. She really shouldn't have admitted that. Although if the blank expression on her face said at all how close she was to going into shock, then it was possible she hadn't even realized she'd opened a can of worms.

"I don't remember asking you what you were doing, girl," Andre spat out, and Ivan raised his own weapon toward him, his gaze calm. The older man didn't even flinch, though he would no doubt shoot Ivan in the foot for thinking the silver streaks in his hair made him look old and not distinguished .

"You don't speak to her like that." Ivan ground his teeth on the words.

"I'll speak to her the way I want to, and speaking of what I want, I want to know what she was doing when you promised the club would be closed, Ivan," Andre replied, his eyes merciless. He was one of the Bratva's best assassins, had been there when Ivan was still a small boy learning the difference between a Remington and a Winchester—and if his finger so much as teased that fucking trigger, then Ivan would make sure Boris wasn't the only one with a bullet hole in his forehead.

"Who is she?" Sergei tipped his head, thick eyebrows furrowed as he turned cold eyes on Amy.

No one , Ivan wanted to spit out. Amy was no one to the Bratva, but advertising that would only sign her death warrant. She had no idea what she'd just stepped in the middle of, and if he could help it, then she would never figure it out. First, though, he had to get her out of there before she ended up hurt.

"She's mine," was all he ended up saying as he closed the distance between them and settled a hand on her waist. Adrian looked at him with a question in his eyes that Ivan couldn't answer, so he faced the rest of the men with a raised eyebrow, daring them to question him.

"Bitches don't get involved in the Bratva," Maksim spat, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. Ivan didn't care about the possibility of ash on his floors; he was only relieved that there was one less gun pointed his way. Good shot or not, he'd like to see the man shoot while smoking. Though he didn't seem to care as he crossed the room back to the bar and poured himself a drink. It was only a pity that Sergei, Andre, and Danyl didn't have the same ADHD thought process because their eyes were still trained on Amy like dogs on a bone.

"She isn't involved," Ivan answered him, his eyes on the other three. Andre's gun still hadn't moved, the prick, and Sergei's was lying against his thigh, finger on the trigger for the moment he thought he might need it. Danyl still had his own holstered, but Ivan wasn't fooled by the sharpshooter's nonchalance. It wouldn't take more than a few seconds for him to pull it out if he needed it.

"Doesn't look like that from over here, Ivan." Danyl's voice was thick from his refusal to abandon his mother tongue. The accent made him sound slow on occasion and he used it to his advantage. Only those who really knew him knew that it was all for show.

"You're right. Let me fix that." Ivan smiled without any humor, feeling Amy stiffen where he touched her waist. He nearly scowled all over again at her obvious fear, hoping to God that she trusted him enough to listen when he spoke.

"Amy, go to the office and wait for me," Ivan told her, but that was a mistake as the men around him eyed him with wary disdain.

They can't possibly think I'm the idiot behind everything, can they? He nearly laughed out loud. His brother was the fucking Pakhan. Ivan didn't need to get information because he was the one getting all the information for the Pakhan in the first place—but that was a secret that most didn't know. Ivan's partying years had done him some good in hiding his intel-gathering, but while Mikhail knew everything, these men didn't.

Always the first to jump when something was going wrong, Ivan almost predicted Sergei's question before he even said it.

"Why?"

He glared at the man. "I don't need to explain myself."

Except he probably would have to explain himself to Mikhail later, but for now, he had to make sure everything didn't blow up in his face. Sharing a glance with his brother, Ivan tipped his head in Amy's direction, subtly asking him to help out. Adrian nodded, indicating he understood.

"Actually, I think you do," Andre drawled before adding, "boss." Like it was an afterthought. Disrespectful piece of shit. Ivan's eye twitched.

"I'll take her," Adrian offered, and he pocketed his gun, sharing another look with his brother. This one tinged with urgency, which Andre seemed to pick up on.

"Why? Are you planning on hiding her too, Adrian?" he drawled as he looked between the two brothers. "What's so special about the girl, Vanya? Anyone else would be shot on sight for spying on an important meeting like this." He waved his gun toward Boris's body as an example.

Hearing his nickname made Ivan twitch, and Andre watched him with a smile. Thinking quickly, Ivan smiled coldly. "That's none of your business. She isn't a spy, and the club is closed. She was waiting for me to finish, but things ran a little longer than they should've."

"That doesn't answer my question, Ivan. Who is she?"

"She's mine," he bit out. "That's all you need to know."

"Yours? I don't see a ring, Vanya," Maksim drawled, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Ivan fought back a grin; Maksim had inadvertently offered him a solution. But he hesitated, unsure how Amy would react if he said too much. Sergei, waving his gun like the crazy fool he was, chimed in, "The normal girls know better than to interrupt Bratva business. How do you think this looks?"

Whores , he meant. Ivan bristled. Of course, Amy didn't understand the rules like the normal girls did. She was his, and he had to get her out of there before she got hurt. She'd stepped in the middle of an investigation, he knew how it would look. The men would think she was fishing for information—the same information he'd tried to drag out of Boris when he snapped the man's jaw. He had to think fast, and the more he thought about it, the more the idea of marriage seemed like the perfect excuse.

As Andre sauntered closer, Ivan unholstered his gun and pointed it at him. "Come near my fiancée and you'll join Boris on the floor."

The room around them went silent, but the tension that had been there a moment before faded. Sergei snorted and Ivan ground his teeth as the men started to laugh. "You really want us to believe you're getting married, Vanya? You?"

"Why not? Even you got married," he countered in an icy tone as he dropped his gun, and pulled Amy to his side.

"It's true," Adrian agreed, locking eyes with Ivan. He knew what his brother wanted. They had to make this believable. Turning back to Amy, his fingers delicately slipped a few wayward strands of her hair behind her ears before he tipped her chin up to him. Her eyes were unfocused during the movement, but then she blinked, and he felt a jolt of determination.

" Mishka , tell the men we're getting married." He breathed the words on her lips, watching her eyes dilate just for him.