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

Chapter 3 - Amy

Married? Amy almost laughed out loud but the serious expression on Ivan's face said he wasn't joking.

It was easier to stare into his eyes instead of at the dead eyes of the man lying on the floor, but her thoughts were still sluggish as she considered what he was saying. Married. Her and Ivan? It didn't make any sense. The man drove her insane on a good day, no one she knew would believe it—but the only person around who could protest it was Adrian, and considering everything that had just happened, she really didn't think he was going to.

"Amy?" Ivan murmured, his voice was calm but the slight downturn by his lip that she was sure only she could see made her think he was more worried than he let on.

"We are," she croaked, looking into his eyes as she agreed to his crazy scheme. His whole body relaxed as he pulled her closer and Amy pretended she didn't see the relief that flashed across his face, squeezing her own eyes shut. "We're getting married."

Just for the moment. Just to get out of here.

"I don't see a ring," someone taunted while she buried her face in Ivan's shirt. For once, his cologne didn't drive her crazy. Instead, it grounded her as she squeezed tighter against him. Breathing it in, she felt more than heard Ivan's growled response.

"It's at the jeweler, you old bastard. Now if you'll please excuse me, I'm going to take my fiancée home before you terrify her further. Adrian? Throw me my keys please."

His keys? Amy thought hysterically. His bike's keys were still in her hand, but she heard the familiar tinkling of keys thrown. Felt his arm swing out to catch them, and loosened her hold when Ivan took his actual keys and threw them back at his brother.

"Clean up here and lock up. I think we've discussed enough tonight."

Amy couldn't help but look back one last time and met the eyes of the man with the cigar as he smirked, his eyes deader than the man on the floor. She shuddered, acid burning her throat as she swallowed down the urge to vomit.

"Running out so soon?" he mentioned casually.

Ivan snorted, his voice cold when he answered. "You're damn right I am and you'll be leaving too, unless you'd like to be the one to explain to Mikhail why the fuck Boris has a bullet in his head."

"Guess the fun's over then," another said dryly as he saluted them sardonically. "Congratulations on the wedding, Vanya. Hope you'll spare me an invite."

"My fiancée is in charge of the invites, Andre, and I doubt she'll want to see your ugly mug after this."

Blood draining from her face, Amy let Ivan tug her away while the men chuckled behind her. Ivan would fix this, she was sure. They weren't actually going to get married, she just had to wait until they were alone to figure out what his plan was. Still, her legs wobbled in her high heels as she followed him out of the club and toward a car outside. Adrian's , she realized numbly as Ivan unlocked the silver Camaro's doors and helped her into the passenger seat.

"Why are we using your brother’s car?" she asked him numbly as he grabbed the seatbelt and made sure it was on properly.

"I don't have a choice, Mishka. I'm not going to drive you home on the bike when you're barely able to walk."

"And mine?" she countered, already knowing his answer. As predicted, Ivan gave her a look of disbelief for daring to mention her car. "I could've held on," she muttered finally, referring to the bike again.

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "Maybe, but I didn't want to risk it."

He placed her things by her feet. Amy couldn't remember when he'd taken them from her in the first place but she didn't have the motivation to question it as he closed the door and walked around, jaw tense and a line between his eyebrows.

Ivan climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, steering it onto the main road. Assuming he was taking her home, Amy's distracted gaze moved to the world outside. When he stopped at a takeout place a few streets from the club, she didn't question it beyond wondering how anyone could eat after what she'd just seen. Her own stomach still pinched with queasiness.

Ten minutes later, a warm bag of takeout sat on her lap, and two medium-sized milkshakes were placed in the cupholders between them. Amy still didn't question anything as Ivan pulled out two ice-cold cans of cola from the bag and opened them.

"Adrian's going to kill me for this," he muttered as he handed her one and placed the other near the steering wheel where another cupholder was waiting. "Drink this, Mishka. You're still in shock. The sugar will help you feel a little better."

She didn't argue, but her gaze lingered longingly on the milkshakes between them as Ivan started the car again and steered them back onto the main road. She'd kill— no , she shuddered. She wouldn't kill for one, but she'd trade her watch for one at that moment, the piece simple but special to her.

After a few minutes of sipping the cold drink in her hands, her breath came easier, and she realized they were heading in the wrong direction.

"Ivan?" Her voice still shook as she interrupted the silence they'd been sitting in. "Where are we going?"

"Home," he answered, flicking the indicator as he turned onto a familiar busy street.

"Oh," she muttered to herself as she realized where they were. She'd visited his apartment a few times before, enough to recognize the building they parked in front of.

Ivan didn't respond as a valet approached, and the boy's confusion was clear at the sight of the bulky Russian climbing out of his brother's flashy vintage Camaro. Ivan ignored that, handing over the keys before he opened her door.

He grabbed her bags, swinging the straps over his shoulder as he juggled the food. Then, as if his hands weren’t already full, he extended one to help her out of the car. A flicker of amusement sparked inside her, but Amy quickly stifled it, reminding herself that she had just witnessed a man die tonight. She ignored his outstretched hand and picked up the milkshakes before she got out of the car.

Ivan let out a sigh before ushering her inside. "Always stubborn, Mishka."

"Your hands were full," she pointed out as they walked toward the elevators. When they got in, she flicked the button for the penthouse and the takeout bag rustled as Ivan shifted on his feet. "You know my address, Ivan. Why am I here?"

"Like I said, we need to talk."

"About what?" she hissed to him, her voice lowered enough so that the microphone in the elevator wouldn't pick up what she was saying. "The dead man in the club's VIP rooms? Or the fact that one of his killers is expecting to attend a wedding that isn't going to happen?"

His body stiffened at the reminder and the tension from before crept back in. The elevator dinged, opening its doors to reveal the small hallway leading to his apartment. There were only two doors on the penthouse floor, Ivan's on the left and Adrian's on the right. Both were locked with the best security the Bratva could afford, requiring biometrics and passcodes to enter. Amy knew the passcodes to both, her connection to Zia giving her protection with the Bratva that she'd never asked for.

Balancing the milkshakes with her one arm, she unlocked his door and held it open. Ivan brushed past her, footsteps continuing toward his kitchen as she closed the door behind herself. The automatic lock clicked behind her as she followed Ivan.

He set her things on the counter, sliding them against the wall. "I didn't know you were still at the club. I assumed you'd left early by the time I checked everything was locked up."

"You didn't check the storeroom," she stated quietly and he nodded, his expression regretful.

"I know," he said softly as they both pulled out his barstools and sat down. Two massive burgers stood in front of Ivan, while a polystyrene bowl of nachos was waiting for her.

"What now?" Amy asked as she picked at the food.

Clearing his throat, he shrugged. "We just need to play it by ear for the next few days. You'll stay by my place and in a week or two, we'll let everyone know we broke it off. We'll say it had to do with what you saw."

Amy glanced over at him, seeing a furrow between his brows. Something on his face told her he didn't like what she was saying and she nearly snorted. Of course he wouldn't. Up until he started working with her, Ivan's reputation had been notorious around women. She wasn't too worried about that though; she was sure he'd find more than enough women to soothe his broken heart after they called off the fake engagement.

They ate their food in silence, Amy's mind stuck on everything that had happened over the past few hours. The way Boris's body had jumped when the bullet struck him... the life fading from his eyes... it played over and over in her head. Even as exhausted as she was, Amy wasn't sure if she'd be able to get any sleep, so she was surprised her eyes were drooping by the time they finished eating.

"Come on. You can sleep on my bed tonight," Ivan muttered when he realized. She considered protesting but didn't. She was too tired. Instead, she slowly padded after him as he crossed the kitchen and living room to get to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

Ivan had a gorgeous apartment; she'd seen it on enough occasions to know that, but she'd never seen it at night. His bedroom was the only room on the second floor of his apartment, and no walls separated it from the rest of the living space. Just a metal railing in the same sturdy black as the window panes.

Downstairs he had an office, another bathroom, and his home gym—but that wasn't what got her attention every time she visited. No, the real feature was the glass windows that trailed from the living room, up toward the bedroom and spreading out over half the ceiling.

She'd always wondered how he slept when the sun would wake him the moment it seeped across the sky. The vision in front of her answered that all on its own. Chicago's city lights sprawled out like a blanket of stars before her. Gorgeous , she thought. Maybe even prettier than Eclipse's view.

There were spotlights in the ceiling above the bed, but they were turned off to allow the dim city light in. No wonder he chose this, she realized as she turned to face the black industrial four-poster California King he'd strategically placed against the wall to face it all. Two matching nightstands stood on either side.

"You're welcome to borrow a shirt to sleep in if you want," he mentioned, fingers running through his hair as she approached his bed.

Amy's eyes flicked toward the two arched entrances on the far side of the room. His closet and bathroom. The second, she knew, shared the same window design.

"Do you have something against closed spaces, Ivan?" she asked, flicking her gaze toward him.

That ghost of a smile appeared again, teasing her, and she flushed. "Something like that," he mentioned eventually, his voice seductively low. "Don't tell me you're shy, Mishka."

Well, she sure as hell wasn't about to use his toilet when he'd be able to hear her. She eyed him apprehensively and he smirked playfully as he grabbed a pillow. "You could always use the bathroom downstairs."

"Where are you going to sleep?" she asked him as he retreated to the stairs.

"The living room, Mishka." His eyes danced with amusement. "Unless you want to cuddle against me tonight?"

Amy scoffed and he let out a low rumble of laughter, leaning against the railing seemingly without a care in the world. Her heart fluttered nervously for him, or at least that's what she blamed it on as she looked away.

"We can go to your place in the morning to get a few things," he murmured, and when she looked at him again, he looked tired.

"I'll see you in the morning, Ivan," she whispered, and that same teasing smile flashed back into place for a nanosecond.

"Goodnight, Mishka."

***

Sleep didn't come easy for either of them that night. As she drifted in and out of it, Amy could hear Ivan speaking to his brothers until early in the morning. On the phone, she assumed—but there'd also been a point where she could've sworn she heard Adrian's voice downstairs too. It wasn't really that ludicrous to assume but all of that was lost in the rush to get ready for work.

When they finally arrived at the club around midday, it was chaos. Ivan darted in and out of meetings, while Brittany hadn't shown up again. With the stress from the day before, Amy's nerves were strung tight as she double-checked the rosters—only to realize Brittany had mixed up the staff's shifts.

With the previous day's incident, Amy had been more than ready to put some distance between her and the Bratva. Instead, she ended up on the phone with Maya to discuss the mix-up, and half an hour passed before they eventually decided to wait until more information came through.

Three hours passed before she finally managed to step into the office. Her gaze slid over Ivan’s empty seat until it came to rest on her own desk, where a package was waiting. Not giving it much thought, Amy slumped into her leather office chair and pulled out a letter opener to rip through the clear tape holding it together.

Tape gone, she flicked open the parcel, looked inside—and froze.

A moment later, Ivan slammed open the door to their office, jerking her from her thoughts as if she'd been shot this time.

Inhaling sharply, Amy shivered.

As she considered throwing the package away, Ivan threw his phone onto his desk with a clatter and turned to face her. Her expression must've given her away because he stilled, his own darkening. "What's that?"

"N—nothing," she lied and her hands shook as she tried to close it, but he crossed the room and snatched it from her grasp before she could.

Intangible Russian spilled from his lips as he poured the contents out, flinging the box to the floor. A bullet tumbled onto her desk, silver and gleaming, her name etched onto its surface—but it was the piece of paper that followed that made Amy avoid his icy gaze as he read it over.

"Amy, what is this?" The darkness in her voice made her shiver.

"A job offer," she croaked and his lips thinned.

"Who else knows about this, Mishka?"

"No one," she whispered.

"Is it one of our competitors?"

She nodded, staring at her fingernails.

"Look at me!" he stated sharply and she flinched, meeting his stormy blue eyes as a tear dropped down her cheek. "Do you realize how this looks?"

"It's from before last night," she argued, feeling another tear slip. She knew exactly how it appeared.

"For fuck sakes, Amy. They think we're getting married! The Bratva don't take things like this lightly. Don't you understand that?" His voice rose as he picked up the silver bullet and curled his fingers around it.

"Don't talk to me like that, Ivan," she growled out, finally rising from her seat. "I have every right to look for other work, just like any other employee."

"You're not any other employee, damn it. You're my fiancée." Opening his palm again, he looked at the bullet. His ocean-blue eyes turned tempestuous.

"We made that up!" she hissed desperately.

He didn't look up from the bullet. "They don't know that... We're going to have to go through with the wedding. I'll phone Mikhail now to let him know."

"What? No. That's crazy! I'm not going to marry you, Ivan." Shaking her head, Amy darted around her desk to grab the bullet and paper from him, but Ivan refused to let them go and she was forced to pull back. Her voice turned shrill. "Ivan, please. The Bratva don't fucking divorce. "

"Maybe you should've thought about that before keeping secrets," he snapped as he strode to his desk for his cell phone.

Amy tried to stop him. Her fingers latched onto his button-down, and she stood on her toes, hating that she needed the extra height even with heels on. "Don't do this, Ivan. Please. There has to be another way."

"There isn't." He shrugged off her grip, not meeting her eyes as he left the room.

Sinking back onto her heels, Amy's throat felt tight. I can't marry him, she thought, remembering the previous night.

"Don't do this," she whispered hoarsely when he finally returned to the office.

He opened his office drawer, speaking through gritted teeth. "Stop being selfish. Do you know how much danger you've just put yourself in? Your family? This is just the first warning."

"What you're doing is selfish," she whispered. You're taking away my freedom.

"I'm protecting you," he growled out, eyes flashing.

She laughed, wiping away the tears that just wouldn't stop pouring. "Protecting me?" That over-controlling asshole. "What sort of protection do I get by marrying into the Bratva? By being yours? You're tying me to the Bratva! That's even more of a risk. "

"More of a risk than this ," he held up the bullet pointedly. "Being shot into your fucking skull?"

Unable to argue, Amy stayed silent, and tears dripped onto her blouse.

"Pack up your things. We're going home."

"No," her lip trembled. She didn't want to go anywhere with Ivan Nikolai.

"Don't fight me on this, Amy," he warned softly as he slammed his laptop shut, grabbing one of the two laptop bags hanging off the coat hanger. "We're getting married, and you are going to move in with me."