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

Chapter 9 - Amy

After spending all night tossing and turning, Amy woke the next morning determined not to let Ivan make all the decisions in her life for the next six months. Their arrangement was complicated; there was no avoiding that, but that didn't mean she had to do everything his way.

With the sun just starting to rise, bathing Ivan's industrial bedroom in a soft pink glow, she got out of bed and started to get ready for the day. Her suitcases were against the wall, and Amy rolled them over to the bed, ignoring the crumpled heap that was her wedding dress. After she'd stormed out on their conversation last night, she'd been too angry to do anything besides leave the expensive dress right where it fell. It felt wrong, considering how much work Madam Purrit must've gone through to create such a stunning piece, but Amy didn't want anything to do with Ivan or that god-forsaken wedding she'd been dragged to.

I can't believe him, she thought furiously as she pulled out a black pencil skirt and a polka-dot blouse from one of her suitcases and her toiletry bag from the other. Actually, she could believe it. He was a control freak. Give him an inch and he takes a mile. She should've known he would pull something like this as soon as she gave in.

She zipped the suitcases closed with a scowl. The next six months were going to be difficult if she had to keep all her things in a suitcase the entire time, but she didn't see any other option. Ivan didn't have a spare bedroom, and she sure as hell wasn't about to put her things in his closet. That was something girlfriends or actual wives did, and she'd been serious in what she said last night. This thing between them was for the public only. She didn't care if the thought of kissing him again gave her butterflies.

Amy went to shower, spent a few minutes doing her afterward, and then left. On her way out of his bedroom, she grabbed her favorite pair of black pumps and went downstairs, intent on getting breakfast. Most mornings Ivan woke up before her, but she'd learned he didn't like waking up at the crack of dawn, and if that's what it took for her to avoid his cooking every morning, then that's what she was going to do.

Stuck in her thoughts, she quietly padded down the staircase. When she reached the bottom, she bent to slip into her heels and promptly froze at the sight of Ivan Nikolai snoring on the couch.

He'd swapped his suit for a pair of gray sweatpants and had fallen asleep on his back with one arm dragging on the floor near the empty Rip Von Winkle bourbon bottle, while the other covered his irritatingly beautiful face.

Did he drink the entire bottle on his own? she thought, frowning at his still form. His chest rose and fell gently with every breath, and she swallowed hard, dropping her gaze. This wasn't the first time she'd seen him without a shirt, but it was the first time he wasn't awake to notice her perving.

Peeking through her lashes, she found herself stepping quietly toward him to get a closer look at what he normally hid underneath those designer suits, and boy, there was no way she was going to forget this anytime soon. His biggest tattoo appeared to be the one spreading from his left pec to his shoulder. It was a bear roaring, but there was something about it that struck her as odd, and Amy tilted her head to get a closer look. Somehow, the artist had created a dual image on his skin. Where most would see only the bear's snarling features, if she looked a little closer, the bear seemed to fade into a forest and mountain landscape.

It was easily the most stunning thing she'd ever seen, but Amy hungrily moved from that to the next thing. She wanted to see it all before he woke up and caught her. So, stepping closer, she did. Along the ribs on his right side was a Russian scrawl, dainty and neat. His right forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, was wrapped in some sort of fir tree. His fingers, she knew, had geometric designs, and black feathers seemed to sweep across his left hip.

Taking a deep breath, Amy finally looked away even as her fingers tingled to touch his golden skin. Specifically, the scars that had just caught her attention. Slashes and bullet wounds, all hidden behind the stunning designs. It strangely made sense. His brothers... they all wore their scars proudly, but with Ivan, most people never looked past the ocean-blue eyes and disarming smile to realize they were talking to a wolf in sheep's clothing. Bratva. He didn't look like the kind of man who would be handling his brother's criminal enterprise—but that was the point. He was the poster boy, the playboy, the charmer. He was there to distract everyone from the rest of the shit they were busy with.

He probably touches them up every time he gets injured. She frowned, looking away. Her eyes landed on the suit lying crumpled on the floor. It was just the thing to pull her from her thoughts, and just in time too because as she walked toward the kitchen, Ivan started to wake up.

As Ivan got up from the couch and disappeared to the office bathroom—she assumed—Amy pulled out a mug and placed it on the tray of his expensive coffee machine. Flicking through the options, she nibbled on her lip and then changed her mind and pulled out a second cup. If she was going to make him take her to work, then she was going to need to start things on a good foot.

Ivan returned right as both coffees finished, and her heart fluttered when he leaned against the kitchen counter to watch her. "I made coffee. Yours is on the right," she muttered, gesturing toward the two cappuccinos. She already knew how he took it, courtesy of working together for a year.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice still heavy with sleep. Hearing that did something to her, and Amy felt her cheeks heat. "Are you hungry?"

She opened her mouth to say "No," just like she'd done every other time, but she closed it just as fast. It wouldn't hurt to say yes, just this once. "I could eat," she answered finally, her hand reaching for her coffee. Ivan nodded, yawning as he headed toward the fridge. Dropping her gaze to avoid staring at the lean muscles on his back, Amy tried to remember what she'd been meaning to speak to him about. The thoughts came a little later while Ivan was placing ingredients on the counter.

"Ivan?" she murmured while he was busy. "I was thinking about our conversation last night and I think we should go into the office." Tapping a finger on her mug, Amy waited for a response that never came. Blowing out a breath, she continued. "I know you said we need to make this look believable, but we haven't been back to Eclipse since the whole package story."

Ivan cracked a few eggs into a ceramic dish, not really answering her. Amy frowned, irritation bubbling under her skin. "I think it would be a good idea. Just to make sure everything's running smoothly. You know, making sure the right floor managers are handling the right things. That sort of... thing." The last word was mumbled distractedly as Ivan reached for a loaf of bread sitting on the top of the fridge. Thankfully, he was far too hungover and exhausted to notice that. Actually, was he listening to her at all?

"Ivan?" He turned to face her, and blinked.

"You want to go to the office," he repeated, and the irritation disappeared as she nodded.

"That's fine. I was planning on bringing you with me anyway. I need to sort out a few things, and it's easier than leaving you by yourself."

Amy grinned, excited to finally leave the apartment. "Okay."

Frowning at her, Ivan added, "I'm driving and you won't leave my side."

Control freak. But she wasn't about to disagree.

Nodding her consent, she left the coffee mug on the counter and darted to his office to pack her things. When she returned, a plate of eggs and toast waited for her on the counter.

***

An hour and a half later, Amy wasn't as excited about leaving the house as she thought she would be. Ivan hadn't been joking about her not leaving his side, and she was quickly growing frustrated at having to start and stop her tasks every time he needed to finish his. In the hour that they'd been at Eclipse, she'd barely managed to do ten minutes of work.

Taking a breath, Amy rubbed her temples. Brittany had messed up the rotations again, but there was no way Amy was going to let her fix them when the stock had to be checked. After shooing the girl away, she just managed to grab the staff registers before Ivan pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket.

He tapped her on the shoulder, and Amy shot an apologetic smile at the floor managers before following him back to their office upstairs. The club wasn't going to open for another two hours, but with how crazy things were going, she was already exhausted.

"Mrs. Nikolai?"

That's going to get some taking used to.

Ivan frowned when she stopped, and Amy scowled at him before turning to face Lacey, one of their floor managers.

"It's still Amy," she murmured, ignoring Ivan speaking briskly in Russian beside her. It wouldn't help taking a step away; she'd already tried that earlier, and he'd followed her, ignoring her annoyed facial expressions. Even telling him she'd only be a few steps away hadn't seemed to help, and at this point, she was certain he'd have followed her to the bathroom if they didn't have a private one in their office upstairs. "What's up, Lacey?"

"I just wanted to let you know Mrs. Nikolai dropped a few things off for you earlier," Lacey stammered, glancing at Ivan with a mixture of respect and fear. Amy smiled at the girl reassuringly, and for a moment, it looked like she was about to return it, but it fell flat. "She said it's from your wedding gift registry. I..." Lacey trailed off as she pulled a piece of paper from her pants pocket. "I was told to give you this. She—um, Mrs. Nikolai mentioned that she's written numbers on the gifts and made a list of who sent what."

"That was probably Mira," Amy said as she took the piece of paper. On it, Mira had written the names of each person who had sent a gift. Some of the people had more than one number next to their names, like Amy's mother and Zia, while a few unfamiliar names only had one number.

"Thank you, Lacey." Amy smiled before continuing up the staircase, stepping around Ivan as she did.

Opening the office door, she grimaced at the pile of gifts standing against the window. That was going to take a lot longer than she'd thought to go through. Ivan brushed past her to take a seat at his desk, humming his acknowledgment to whoever was on the phone, and Amy closed the office door before turning toward her desk. Someone had placed one of the gifts on her table.

Thinking it must've been Mira and wondering if it was important, Amy went to open it, but Ivan brushed past her, his brow furrowed as he muttered something into his phone and then ended the call.

"What's this?" he asked, setting his phone on the table.

"It looks like it's one of the gifts from the wedding reception," Amy answered, but the line between his eyebrows made her doubt her instincts, and she bit her lip as Ivan ripped open the package.

"Motherfucker!" he snarled, pulling out another bullet and a piece of paper. He glanced over them and then threw them both on the table. "Exactly the same as before. Fuck."

Ivan pulled out his phone as he started to pace, and Amy glanced out at the club while he spoke to his brother. When he finished, he turned back to her.

"There has to be something we're missing here. What club were you planning to work for?" he demanded, and Amy shrugged.

"Satinesque, it's still pretty new—"

"It's also Bratva-owned," Ivan muttered, a perturbed expression on his face. Amy blinked at him. How the hell had she missed that?