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

Chapter 8 - Ivan

Amy was quiet as Ivan opened his apartment door, and he didn't know what it meant. He'd thought she'd be happy about the house, but she'd been silent ever since he handed the papers. They hadn't seen the place yet, but he knew about it. Ivan had heard from Mikhail that there was a place for sale near his, and considering their circumstances, it seemed like the best option. Safety was crucial, and being near the Pakhan had benefits other places didn't. Besides, he'd seen the place his wife called home. It wasn't much to brag about. With three small bedrooms and a bathroom, it was tiny. None of them had confirmed it, but Ivan had a feeling that they'd been sharing that small space since Amy was young. There'd been one or two instances when Paisley had mentioned a few things her late father had done to spruce the place up a good twenty or so years ago.

Placing his keys on the kitchen counter, Ivan turned to his wife and opened his mouth to say something—anything. But her big green eyes caught his stare and held it; her makeup was smudged again. He hid a smile; he'd gotten so used to that professional mask she hid behind that he almost forgot she was human. The past week and a half had been enlightening. "Are you angry?" he asked.

"About the house?" One of her eyebrows rose in question, and he nodded. Her lips twisted as she looked at the apartment around him. "I don't know. It's a lot."

"Will it help if I explain why I bought it?"

"It might."

"It's two houses down from Mikhail's estate," he explained as she took a seat at one of the barstools on the other side of the kitchen island. "It's a gated residence—you need biometrics to enter—and your mom will be in between Kostya and Lev. Eventually, that is. Lev's purchase is recent, and I think he's still planning to make a few changes before they move in."

Amy nodded, and he could tell by the pinch in her brow that she was thinking hard. He only hoped it wouldn't lead to another argument. "I don't want my siblings stumbling on Bratva business like I did."

His shoulders relaxed. He could work with that. "They won't. It's the best of both worlds; they'll be isolated from anything Bratva-related, but we're going to extend the security to that property too. Adrian runs the security for the entire area, and he's already put a few cameras up to ensure there's 24-hour surveillance. It's protected. They'll be safe if this thing," he gestured vaguely, "doesn't work out right."

A smile played on the corners of Amy's lips, stealing his breath. "This thing?"

"Whoever's threatening your life," he answered, eyes dropping to her lips. She'd tasted like champagne and strawberries earlier, and something inside him urged him to find out if she still did.

"And when we get divorced?"

When. Not if. Some indistinct feeling left his heart pinching. He pulled his eyes from her lips and ran his fingers through his hair. "The house is in your name. If we divorce, then you'll get to keep it—and the security it provides."

"That's pretty expensive collateral, Ivan."

He snorted. "It isn't collateral, Mishka. Just a gift."

"A gift that cost how much?" He shrugged, avoiding her eyes as he grabbed the cardboard takeout box next to his keys. "Mira said we could take the top of the cake. She said it's tradition. Would you like some? It's chocolate." Her favorite.

Amy let out a sigh, the wrinkle between her brow letting him know she wasn't happy about the change in subject. "No. I think I'm gonna go to bed. I'd like to get out of this dress. It's been a long day."

It had, but Ivan wasn't ready to let her go just yet. He watched her climb off of the barstool. The dress caught on something as she did, and her lips pursed in annoyance as she gently unhooked it.

"Have a drink with me?" he asked, desperate to keep the moment going. Today was the first time in over a week that she hadn't stormed off because of something he'd done or said. He wanted more, and his mind raced to find something they could discuss. The only thing that he could think of was their new arrangement. Anything else would leave her suspicious.

Now that the wedding was over and done, there were just a few things they'd have to sort out to make their marriage legal in the eyes of the government. He wasn't too stressed about that though, because, in the eyes of the Bratva, she was his.

"I don't think that's the best idea," Amy replied hesitantly as he grabbed the bottle of Rip Von Winkle bourbon Kostya had bought him as a wedding gift. It was the only gift he'd thought to bring with them; Mira had already tasked someone to bring the rest later.

"We need to discuss our next steps."

"Our next steps?" Amy echoed, turning to face him again. Her hands went to her hips—a pretty picture in a dress that accentuated every fucking curve. It was just what he needed to damn himself. Too bad she would disagree. "I married you. I've moved in. I thought that was it. I'm not saying everything has to automatically return to normal, but I thought I'd at least be able to return to work tomorrow and pretend it has."

Scratching at the scruff of his jaw, Ivan shook his head. "Not quite, Mishka."

"What does that mean, Ivan?" she sighed heavily, choosing to sit on the couch this time. With the bottle of bourbon in hand, Ivan grabbed two glasses and joined her.

"It means, I don't know. Everyone's going to expect us to go on a honeymoon—or stay home for a few weeks at the very least. Despite the planning I put into it, there's no denying that we just had a shotgun wedding. The men are drawing their own conclusions from that. You can't just go back to work and expect things to go smoothly. We need to show some form of wedded bliss."

"I can't leave the city." She worried her bottom lip as he opened the brandy and poured them both a full cup. Then her brow furrowed, and she sat up straighter, legs crossing the way she did in meetings. "Wait. What do you mean they're drawing their own conclusions?"

Heat gathered under his collar. Ivan tugged his tie loose, throwing it onto the coffee table as he shrugged, unable to meet her eyes. The party-boy persona he cultivated up until now had just been an easy way of getting his brother's men to loosen their lips. But it seemed that was enough for everyone else to make their own excuses on why they got married so quickly. He didn't want to tell her, but a few messages came through from the men. Most of them congratulated him on his nuptials... the rest... Well, it was safe to say there were only a few reasons Bratva men got married. Money, power... or for an heir. With his reputation and Amy's complete lack of association with the criminal underworld, it was safe to assume that everyone thought he'd finally knocked someone up.

"For fuck's sake, don't tell me everyone thinks I'm pregnant," she hissed, tone full of disbelief and indignation, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing. His little bear was just too damn cute when she got riled up.

"I didn't say that, and I'm not expecting you to leave the city—" he started to say before she shook her head.

"Nuh-uh. You don't get to change the subject that easily," she grumbled, staring him down. Hiding his amusement with a serious expression, Ivan nodded.

"We've been keeping quiet about the package you received. It doesn't look good to have your life threatened like that, especially not right after I said I'm marrying you." Shrugging again, he muttered under his breath. "I can't help what everyone's assuming, though."

"You've got to be fucking kidding." Amy rolled her eyes as she grabbed the tumbler he offered her. "God, please don't tell me anyone said anything to my family."

"I doubt it," he replied softly as she set the tumbler on the table and rubbed her temples, muttering to herself.

"That's the last thing I need right now." After a few minutes, Amy blew out a breath and turned to face him. "Fine. Let's discuss our next steps. You know the Bratva. What exactly are they expecting? How do we make this thing believable."

"I don't know. Go on a few lunches with Mira and Zia. Attend a few family events," he shrugged.

"I already do that," she reminded him.

Which was true. She'd been attending family dinners and parties ever since Zia married Lev. He glanced around him, brow furrowed in thought. "I don't know," he finally answered her. "Act like my wife? Make yourself at home. Redecorate. I don't know, okay? Lev's dropping off your new car tomorrow. I'll go to the bank and link you to my accounts—"

"You can't do that!" she blurted, interrupting him.

"I can," he replied, and she stood up abruptly. Her eyes were wide and her hands shook as she started to pace.

"No. Absolutely not. This..." she waved her hand at him, "This is too much. The ring, the house, and now the fucking car? I'm not your wife, Ivan. This thing we're doing? It. Isn't. Real."

"That car was yours before we got married," he said, and Amy scoffed, eyes flashing with anger.

"You better not be bringing up that old argument," she hissed, swallowing the last of her drink before heading to the kitchen. "There's nothing wrong with my car. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Ivan followed behind her, his jaw ticking with annoyance. There was a lot with her car, but saying what he was thinking would only lead to a fight, and things had been going so well up until now. He'd agreed to let her house it in the garage, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to replace it now that he could. Her keys were already waiting in the tray, the key ring adorned with a silver bear charm.

"People are going to expect more from you now that you've married me," he said instead, and Amy let out a sarcastic laugh.

"How fucking amazing for you."

She tried to walk past him, but he blocked her path and she shot him a furious glare. "Just listen to me," he murmured, and her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms.

"No. You can listen to me for once, sir, " she snapped and his eyes narrowed at the title. He fucking hated when she used that title instead of his name. "You are not my husband. I don't give a shit what we're making everyone else think. You are my fucking employer, Ivan. If you want me to redecorate, then fine. I'll redecorate, but that won't make your apartment my home. I have a home, and I'm not going to give it up while we're busy pretending to be something we're not." She held up her left hand, flicking her wedding ring in a way that made the amethysts sparkle. "As for this and everything else you keep shoving in my face? As soon as we're done, I'm going to give this all back to you. I don't need expensive rings, or cars, or a fucking house to replace what I already have."

With a scoff of his own, Ivan took a step back as she pushed past him. "Don't tell me you're keeping your apartment—"

She spun around to face him. "There is nothing wrong with my apartment."

"Amy, the place is in the middle of one of the worst parts of Chicago. The security's shit and your landlord hasn't fixed anything in over three years. You know how I know that? Because you told me that." His tone dry, he added. "It's also a rental. Keeping the lease is a waste when you'll be here for the next six months." And if she did decide to leave him, well that's what the house was for.

"Says who? I can make up my own damn mind about that. God, this is exactly the problem. You never listen. Stop doing things I didn't ask for. You don't know what I need," she shouted angrily. "This has nothing to do with you!"

"It has everything to do with me! You belong to me, " he bellowed back, fingers gripping his hair in frustration. And just like every other argument with her, he let his mouth run only to realize what he'd said after Amy went dead quiet. "Even if we get a divorce, I won't let you go back there. It's a piece of shit. You don't need that."

His mouth snapped shut, and Ivan met her glare with his own as her face reddened. The woman was fucking unreasonable; that was his only excuse.

"What the hell do you mean 'even if'?" she snarled, stepping toward him and deepening her voice to mimic his. "We had a deal."

A deal he was trying his damnedest to get out of. Ivan scratched his jaw, looking for a way out of the hole he'd just dug, but Amy wasn't interested. She exhaled heavily and straightened, that ice-cold facade falling into place like it always did. "You know what? I don't have the energy for this. I'm going to bed. I can't fucking believe I thought agreeing with you would make things easier."

She turned around and stalked toward the stairs leading to his room, and he glared at the couch. There wasn't even a blanket laying around for him to use this time. Idiot.