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

Chapter 4 - Ivan

After folding the job offer and placing it in his pocket with the bullet, Ivan finished packing his things and turned to Amy's side of the office. She stood at the edge of her desk, her lower lip trembling after her warbled declaration. He couldn't look her in the eye—not because she'd stabbed him in the heart when she told him she wouldn't marry him, but because of the letter in his pocket, the one he'd prefer to set alight rather than keep.

She wanted to leave. That realization felt like a switchblade stabbing through his vital organs. His heart throbbed, and his lungs screamed at him to stop holding his breath. If she wanted to go, there wasn't much he could do about it. She was just an employee, right? Zia's friend. So why did that letter feel like a rejection?

Ivan rubbed his chest while Amy glared at the floor. Marrying her... he wasn't sure what made him think of that. The thought was foolish—marry-the-girl-who-hated-you foolish. And if he wasn't certain about that last bit, well there was no way she didn't hate his guts now. But at least she'd be safe. The idea already had its merits.

Standing at the edge of her desk, her eyes were steely and stubborn. He walked around her, ignoring the urge to grab her, kiss her—anything to tempt her to stay—but that would only make her hate him more.

He closed her laptop in a smooth motion, and slipped it into a bag similar to his before turning toward the papers on her desk. Invoices... statements... he wasn't sure what she might need. After flicking through them, he decided to take all of it. Ivan pulled out an empty cardboard stationery box from the shelf behind her desk and dumped it all in.

Once he started searching through her drawers, he felt her eyes on him again. He didn’t need to look up to know she was glaring; the heat of her gaze was searing. He hated this. He. Fucking. Hated. It. He hated that she was looking for another club, hated that he'd known something was wrong but couldn't figure it out. He hated the jolt he felt when he saw the letter. Amy Spencer didn't belong to him. He was just doing what he could to protect his sister-in-law's best friend.

Yeah, right. He scoffed aloud. Zia was going to be really fucking grateful to find out he'd married her best friend. Lev was going to fucking kill him. God only knew what the rest would do—but he'd still be the idiot tied to the woman he couldn't stop thinking of. The same one who thought he wasn't anything more than a spoiled playboy.

Flashes of last Christmas flickered through his mind, the memory a bitter one. The taste of eggnog, and her snarled words. The way she'd left him standing like an idiot under the mistletoe. Everyone had seen it—though, he didn't think Amy realized it then. Or now. His brothers' teasing had started and finished before they got back to work.

She'd told him to fuck off then, too, but he'd figured he was imagining her hatred. Had blamed it on being drunk. Everyone loved him. He was the easygoing brother, the one they called when they wanted a good time. Why couldn't she be the same? They worked well together, didn’t they? Sure, they argued a couple of times.

Good-naturedly , he conceded. And he enjoyed pushing her buttons—but that was because she was practically family. Ever since Zia had married Lev, Amy had attended every single event like the two of them were stuck at the hips.

Ivan shook himself out of his thoughts and finished packing up her things. He loaded as much as he could into that cardboard box and then grabbed it, stalking silently toward the door. His hands were full, and it was clear just by looking at Amy's tensed shoulders that she wasn't going to help him.

Rolling his eyes, he juggled everything in his hands and opened the door, waiting for her to follow.

A minute passed, and she still didn't move. Ivan turned toward her purposefully, his eyes narrowed. But the hatred flaring from her gorgeous green eyes wrapped around his heart like a tangible vise. It hurt—more than he'd ever admit.

He wasn't going to take back his words. They were going to get married. It was the only way he'd be able to keep her safe.

"Now, Amy." He intended for the words to come out softly, but an underlying edge betrayed him. Leftover anger from her betrayal simmered inside him, and he cursed himself silently when she flinched. Her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted, and he buried the little bit of pride he felt at seeing her stand up for herself.

"Good girl," he whispered the taunt as she stalked out of the room. He shouldn't have given in to his baser urges, but fuck it—he needed more from her than her cold shoulder.

Her hissed "Fuck you" was a relief as they navigated through the pulsing club. He hated it when she went quiet. Placing a palm on her back, Ivan glared at any of the staff who turned to watch them. Those who saw, fumbled, pretending to work. He'd have to get Adrian to ensure they actually did; the place had been a mess on his way out this morning. It sure as hell wasn't up to the Nikolai standard.

His phone rang as they reached the doors, and Ivan shifted the box in his hands to pull it from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, irritated by the interruption. It disappeared the instant he saw Adrian's name. Relieved, he exhaled. He'd tried to call his brothers earlier, but none of the bastards had picked up.

Watching Amy stalk toward his car, he answered the phone, laying it precariously inside the overloaded box to avoid dropping everything.

"Gimme a minute. My hands are full," he muttered gruffly before his brother could say anything. Then he walked to his G-Wagon, tugged open the back door, and slid everything onto the backseat. They wouldn't be returning to the office anytime soon—at least, not if he could help it.

Before he shut the door, Ivan grabbed his phone and pulled it to his ear. "Speak."

"Gee, thanks," his brother muttered sarcastically as something rustled in the background. Clothes, maybe.

"Judging by the four missed calls, something happened while I was sleeping." Adrian's voice sounded tired when he came back on the line.

He probably hadn't had much rest after going through the things they'd obtained from Boris's dead body. There'd been a burner phone no one had found until afterward—a sloppy mistake. Adrian had planned to hack into it to see the calls list. They were hoping there would be more clues there, though Ivan was doubtful. Anyone clever enough to use a burner would no doubt be phoning someone who had the same thing.

Ivan got into the driver's seat, slamming the door harder than was necessary. "Amy received a package. There was a bullet inside with her name on it, fucking literally. I'm heading home, and you can come see it for yourself."

Before he started the car, he checked up on her. Amy had her seatbelt on, and her tearful gaze was fixed ahead. Satisfied, Ivan turned the key and the car grumbled to life. His Bluetooth connected automatically, and Adrian's voice filtered through the speakers, far more alert than before. "Have you phoned Mikhail?" he questioned.

"I tried. He wasn't answering," Ivan answered as he flicked his phone off and put it in his pocket. More rustling came through the speakers, and Ivan heard his brother mumbling in the background. He backed out of the club's parking in the meanwhile, steering his vehicle onto the main road.

"I'll let him know. I'm heading to his office anyway. We'll meet you back at your place."

"Thanks," Ivan said before ending the call. Absent of his brother's noise, the car went silent. As used to noise as he was, Ivan didn't know what to feel when things were quiet like this—but he wasn't. It pricked at all his nerve endings, his body readying itself for a fight that wasn't coming. His ears strained for the faintest sounds and his lips flattened as he pushed a button to put the radio on.

He should've been used to Amy going quiet on him, but each time she did, it left him reeling just like this. Usually, it was easy. He could break her silence with a little nudging or a new project. She loved those, especially when it came to the club.

At only a year old, Eclipse was already far better than Lev's previous project, Club Noelle. It had a moodier atmosphere—sleek and sexy. Ivan could take some credit, but he knew he wouldn't have pulled it off without Amy. She'd taken Cloud 9's angelic vibe and turned it darker. The glass doors and windows were tinted black, even the ones in their office, which were also mirrored to allow them to oversee the rest of the club.

Neon lights pulsed gently in shades of violet and midnight, casting flickering shadows across the silver and black decor. The dance floor, the heart of Eclipse, was surrounded by private VIP lounges shrouded in dark velvet curtains. A state-of-the-art sound system filled the room, and if their clients were paying attention, they'd notice the ceiling had fairy lights flickering in a design that mimicked the solar system.

The theme was integrated across the entire club, even the bar, crafted from shiny black marble with intricate silver accents, served a curated selection of innovative cocktails named after celestial phenomena. Ivan and Amy had spent months creating their signature drinks menu. The cocktails list had thirty-six drinks on it, with names like "Stardust Martini" and "Solar Flare Mojito." They'd invested so much work into it all— she'd put so much work into it all. From picking the framed paintings decorating the walls, showing black-winged angels seductively posed in silk, to renovating the rooftop into an open-air terrace.

Why the hell does she want to leave?

His mind raced to find answers that he refused to consider. If he did, it would mean admitting things he didn't want to acknowledge. That burning piece of paper rested in his pocket, there wasn't a company name on it. The only distinctive factor was a logo that looked like a ribbon twisting to form a woman's curves. Ivan hadn't seen it before, the curiosity was fucking killing him. He knew a couple of competitors would pay her a hefty sum for her experience, and his jaw clenched just thinking about it.

As they drove on, Ivan felt Amy simmering with frustration beside him. In his periphery, he watched her legs cross and uncross. He felt his lips curl down when she sniffled quietly, the urge to apologize wasn't something he was used to—but he felt it then. Burning in his gut like a piece of coal.

What will it help? His conscious asked him bitterly. It would only give her the idea that she could escape this arrangement. He'd rather get shot in the heart than let that happen.

Amy spoke then, while he was stuck in his mind, and her voice was nothing more than a snarl. "You said this would be temporary."

"It was," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel until his hands ached. "Now it isn't."

"You can't just decide that for me, Ivan!" she snapped, her voice breaking on his name. It was enough to ruin him.

"I don't want to get into this argument again, Amy." It was repetitive, and nothing about it solved the problem of her safety. Why couldn't she just agree with him? Was that too much to ask for? But he called her his little bear for a reason. He knew it wouldn't be that easy.

"Too bad," she shot back, finally facing him. "I don't want to get married..." She stopped to scoff and her voice lowered. "Least of all to you."

"Too bad," he mimicked, shooting her a dark look. Those words hurt a lot more than they should've. "We can't all get what we want." That piece of paper was stuck in his mind, proving exactly that.

She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him—she couldn't have made it clearer.

Her expression was one of disbelief as he turned his gaze back to the road. "You can't be serious. You don't want to marry me, Ivan. Why the hell are you forcing this?"

"It doesn't work like that. I'm doing this for your own protection. Besides, if you hadn't been caught sneaking into a Bra—"

"I wasn't sneaking!" she shrieked, interrupting him. "You left your keys on the desk. I just wanted—"

"What?" Ivan snapped, turning to face her. "What were you thinking? You of all people know about the business. Yes, it's the first time this particular incident happened at one of the clubs but— Fuck. You know to be careful. Why the hell weren't you paying attention?" Was it because she thought she was done with this? With them? Was that why she wanted to leave? His jaw clenched before the rest of that spilled out.

Emotions he couldn't name crossed her features, and Amy slumped back into her seat. Her answer came so quietly that he almost didn't hear it. "I don't know."

The inside of the vehicle went silent, both of them stuck in their own thoughts. His apartment came into view and Ivan let out a sigh. "We're getting married. You can't change that, Amy. You'll be putting your life—your family's lives—at risk if you do. But that doesn't mean you have to hate it. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

Anything , he pleaded silently.

"I want a choice," she answered, glaring out her window.

Anything except that. Sighing, he parked the vehicle. He'd meant what he said. He was fully prepared to give her the wedding of her dreams, even if that meant he'd have to organize it himself.