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

Chapter 17 - Amy

Amy smiled fondly at the memory. Ivan wasn't wrong; she'd been beyond pissed after dealing with his bullshit the whole day—but there'd been more going on than just his teasing when she lost her temper. Her smile fell.

"My father messaged me for my birthday," she confessed as Ivan grabbed his food from the microwave. "That's the real reason I was so angry. Not your teasing."

His brow furrowed. "Really?"

She nodded. She'd regretted what she'd said the second she returned to their office that afternoon to find evidence that he'd overheard her. He'd given her a gift, that panty-melting grin on his face as she handed him the drink he'd asked her for. Big surprise he didn't remember that. Then he'd thanked her for helping and left for a meeting while she suffered with the embarrassment of knowing he'd heard what she'd said. He hadn't apologized, but neither had she, and things had gone back to normal after that.

She hadn’t thought he’d heard her, and when he’d winked at her and thanked her for helping, then she’d assumed it was done and forgiven. She never would’ve thought that he would remember her favorite flowers, but now that she did, she realized that he’d given the same gifts for her birthday three months ago. Odd how she hadn’t questioned it then, either.

"You don't have a good relationship with your father," Ivan noted as he pulled out a fork and started to eat. Amy did the same, savoring her mother's chicken and broccoli bake. It was probably the healthiest thing she'd ever enjoyed eating, but it was too good not to have. Her mother used cheese like it was going out of fashion, and the creamy sauce she made with it was enough to make Amy drool. She was glad to see Ivan enjoyed it.

She swirled her fork on her plate as she thought about his question. "No, we don't have a good relationship."

"You don't talk about him much," he said, shrugging his shoulders. She wasn't surprised that he'd picked up on it. He seemed to pick up on everything.

"My dad left when we were sixteen," she said, taking a deep breath as she rambled through the story. "Well... it was actually a few months before my sixteenth. Not that it matters. We didn't do anything."

It was stupid to feel sad about that, but back then she had been, and the memory was too sharp not to feel deep in her chest. Even now.

"We couldn't," she explained, avoiding Ivan's eyes. The Bratva probably didn't put too much thought into things like that, but that had always seemed like a big birthday, so the disappointment had hit a little harder than it should've.

"Why didn't you?" he asked, and she relaxed a bit.

Shrugging, she thought about the shit her father had left them with. Some of that debt was still being paid off today, and she hated that. That's why she'd been so pissed off when he messaged her.

"He didn't leave us in a good situation," she finally told Ivan, but she stopped before going into detail. It was... embarrassing, to say the least.

"He had some debt that Mom had to pay off. But she couldn't do it on her own, and I had to make some sacrifices. Things worked out in the end. I was in a better place, financially and mentally when he messaged me for my birthday. But he'd mentioned something about getting better. Going to rehab," she shrugged, unable to do anything else. What was she supposed to say? She hated the fact that he was getting better? It made her sound like a horrible person, but she did. She hated that he'd left them to suffer while he found himself. Found help. She hated how easy it must've been for him when they were stuck trying to pick up the pieces.

"Have you seen him since he left?" Ivan asked, and Amy shook her head.

"No, and I'm not planning to. He left to change himself; he can't come back and expect the rest would stay the same... That we'd still love him like we did then. We had to change too," she whispered before clearing her throat. "You mentioned that you visited my mom again. How did the move go?"

He could've thrown her earlier words back in her face, but he didn't. Instead, he smiled as he told her about the way her brothers had raced through the rooms, eager to pick their own. And Amy laughed when he told her that Ava ended up getting the first choice anyway because she'd stayed behind to help her mom out.

"She's fair like that," Amy grinned as she finished eating. No matter how difficult things had been, her mother had always been a great parent. Their forks clinked softly on their plates in the silence as Amy wondered what they were doing right then. Her mother had probably made the same dish for them to eat too, but were the boys running around the house like the lunatics they were? Or were they already playing video games? And did Ava like her new room? Or did she miss sharing the bed with their mom?

Eager for a distraction, Amy changed the subject. "How was the club today?"

Ivan's sudden stillness caught her attention, and she frowned. Something must've happened. Her thoughts automatically went to Brittany's mistakes. "Don't tell me you fired someone," she muttered, straightening in her seat. "Ivan?"

He let out a hoarse laugh. "No one got fired, Mishka."

But something had happened, she concluded.

"Then what happened?" she pressed as she rose from her seat and picked up their plates. Ivan didn't answer as she wiped off the excess food into the trash can, and her brow creased further as she placed the plates in his dishwasher.

"Ivan?" she repeated, tone growing irritated as she washed her hands. His arms wrapped around her waist while she was busy, and Amy blinked.

His exhale made her hair flutter, drawing her back into the moment. She switched off the tap and turned to face him. "Tell me what happened," she demanded, pushing against him lightly to force him to give her some space. If something bad had happened, she wanted to hear it first—she'd decide herself if she needed comforting afterward.

Ivan took a step back. Ran his fingers through his hair. Annoyance prickled, but just as she was about to open her mouth, he answered her.

"I didn't want to worry you, Mishka, but we received three more packages."

"Three?" she echoed, fingers gripping onto the edge of the counter. Why that many? Have we done something to make the guy behind the threats mad? Her breath started to disappear, black spots flickering across her eyes. "How did this happen?"

"We're trying to find out still, Mishka." Ivan took a step closer, and she shook her head, pulling herself together. His face echoed his frustration, but he didn't crowd her. It felt like a step forward, and her breaths came a little easier.

"Has anyone found anything yet?" she asked as she dried her hands on the shirt she was wearing... his shirt—his very expensive Italian shirt. Oh, shit. Her cheeks heated, but Ivan didn't seem to care, so she brushed her concern away.

"No, it's still under investigation," he admitted softly, and she nodded, blowing out a breath as she turned to look around the kitchen. There wasn't much she could do about that.

"Want a glass of wine?" she offered, spotting the bottles he'd brought home with him from Giovanni's.

"Sure," he agreed easily, and he leaned against the kitchen counter as she grabbed the wine and two glasses.

After popping the cork, she started to pour—but the red wine splashed like blood, and she stopped quickly, taking a step back. Boris's dead gaze flickered through her mind again.

"Mishka?" Ivan questioned, and she shook her head, putting the cork back into the mouth of the bottle.

"I don't feel like wine anymore," she admitted as she took the glasses to the basin and poured it out. It wouldn't have settled her nerves anyway.

"Tell me why you were crying on the couch?" Ivan asked, pulling her attention away from the red flowing down the kitchen drain.

"Huh?" she muttered, flicking the tap on. It didn't stop her from imagining her own face in place of Boris's. Or her family's. Amy felt sick.

"Why were you crying on the couch, Mishka?" he asked again, but he didn't have to. She'd heard him just fine. It just took her a second to realize what he was saying.

Exhaling, Amy turned to look at him. She found his eyes, that stunning ocean blue, staring back at her. The attention made her blush, even if she was grateful for the change of subject. It worked; it got her mind off of what it had been on before.

"Uh..." she stammered, her skin heating further.

"Well..." she trailed off with a shrug, fingers dropping to the hem of his shirt. It fell to mid-thigh on her, reminding her of her nightgowns. She'd been about to pull one of them on earlier before spotting the shirt he'd worn the night before on the floor. It still smelled like him too, oranges and bourbon. That had been more comforting than anything else. She'd needed that.

The white fabric crinkled under her ministrations, and she grew distracted.

"Mishka?" Ivan murmured, his voice playful. She blinked, focused. Felt heat in her stomach when she saw the cocky smile on his face.

"I went through your things," she admitted in an airy tone, purposefully trying to make it seem like she didn't care—it was probably a bit late for that, but still.

Ivan chuckled, his stance relaxed as he looked her over. "And what did you find, little bear?"

Oh, lots of things , she thought sarcastically as she looked away. "My missing mug," she said shyly, shifting nervously on her feet. "A few photos from the Christmas party."

"Remember that one, do you?" he asked, a rumble of laughter making her squeeze her thighs.

"Maybe," she confessed quietly. A smile flickered on her lips, but she tried to suppress it. Ivan laughed again, and her lips thinned purposefully as she looked away. Do not, fucking, laugh! She told herself but it spilled out. The tension she'd been feeling eased as she giggled. Tears pressed to her eyes again, this time joyful, and she laughed harder.

"Shameless," Ivan said, making her laugh even harder. She laughed so hard, she squeaked embarrassingly. Then laughed again just for the hell of it.

He strode toward her, pulling her into a kiss, and she giggled against his lips. "You're still spoiled," she muttered, giving in. The giggles faded as he pulled away.

"Tell me why that made you sad," he said, his forehead pressing against hers. And she wanted to, she really did—but it felt like too much at the moment. She wanted a break from the seriousness. Needed a distraction. Her hands pressed against his chest, she already had the perfect one too. He just needed a little hint.

"I've got a better idea," she breathed against his lips as her arms reached up around his neck. She pressed against him tightly and dragged him into another kiss. Ivan gave in without any hassle, growing hard against her.

"Make love to me," she demanded, aching to feel him. His words from earlier echoed in her head, but she pushed them out like she had before. It was a slip of the tongue; he couldn't be in love with her. Right?

***

After Ivan dragged her to his bed and made love to her exactly how she'd demanded, Amy managed to fall asleep in his arms. A few hours later, her body trembled as she found herself pulled into a nightmare. Her dreams had been wild ever since seeing Boris murdered; her mind took the threats and made them all worse.

Her imagination created a dreamscape of horrors, and she heard her family's screams as she tried to escape it. Ivan stopped her at every turn, his beautiful face stern as he controlled her movements. It made her cry, made her realize that was exactly what she'd feared all along. And when he managed to keep her safe, she still had to watch the ones she loved murdered by the shadow of an assailant. Someone she couldn't make out no matter how hard she tried chasing him. The gun echoed a dozen times in her mind, and bullet casings buried her feet. Amy felt her sobs while they happened in real life, seeing her name on every single one of them.

"Amy?" Ivan's desperation pulled her out of it. How many times he'd called, she'd never know, but she found herself curled within his warm embrace as he rocked her waking body.

"I'm awake," she mentioned between gasps. Fresh tears tracked down her face as she grappled with the horrors she'd seen. "I'm alright."

"You're not," he mentioned, exhaling a breath against her shoulder. "But I'll make sure you are. Tell me what you dreamed, Mishka. I want to know what left you so scared that your body's still trembling in my arms."

She admitted every single horror she'd seen through broken gasps, crying into the crook of his neck when it became too much.

"We're going to find him, little bear. I promise you," he vowed, pressing kisses against her forehead. His voice darkened then as she felt the tension slip away. "And when we do, I'll make him suffer for doing this to you."

She believed him. Every single word.

"Ivan?" she murmured a little while later. He hummed under his breath. They were still in the same position she'd woken to find them in, his back against the headboard, her cradled in his lap. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"Which part?" he questioned as she stared out at the city spread out before them. There was something comforting, almost distracting about seeing the sparkling lights. She pulled her attention away, thinking: the part where you said you loved me.

"No one will hurt you, that I vow." His words were cold enough to make her shiver, but Amy ignored that, tilting her head to meet his eyes. Did he love her? She couldn't tell, and if she was honest, she was more than a little afraid to say anything to him right then. To remind him. But she wanted to.

"I meant earlier, in the living room," she murmured, her finger spelling out what she really wanted to ask against his skin. Tell me you love me, Ivan.

He didn't though, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to remember. "I usually mean what I say when I'm talking to you, Mishka."

A snort fell from her lips. That wasn't what she'd been asking for, but it answered enough all on its own. Feeling a confusing mixture of emotions, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. It didn't stop her from wondering though... and she wondered why it saddened her to think she might've misheard. Then she wondered why she even cared.

Kissing him softly, she closed her eyes.

"Never mind," she whispered, fingers still. It was way too soon to want that from him, or her. They hadn't even discussed what they were doing just yet. Besides, she might have just misheard him. She wasn't sure she was ready to hear it yet either, but a little spark of something exciting flickered in her chest. It might've even been hope, but she wasn't ready to name it just yet.

"Go to sleep, Mishka," he whispered against her forehead. Letting out a laugh, she attempted exactly that.