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

Chapter 18 - Ivan

"I want pizza for dinner," Amy muttered, much to the chagrin of Ivan's brother as they watched the staff navigate the club floors.

"Seriously," Adrian griped, but by the roll of his eyes as he met Ivan's gaze, it was clear he already knew that was exactly what they were going to order for dinner. Again.

Ivan grinned back at him. He’d get pizza every day if he had to. In fact, he had for the past two weeks—but he wasn't about to complain. What could he say? He was a man in love.

Seemingly satisfied with her glance downstairs, Amy turned toward him, and Ivan felt his heart skip a beat. There were only two reasons he could think of for why it kept doing that, and he didn't think it was his health. It was all her.

"Anyone else?" she pressed, an eyebrow raised as she surveyed the room. Her nose wrinkled, an indication she wasn't happy with something, but she blinked, and the annoyance faded. He suspected it had to do with the extra people in their office and the inevitable clutter that followed Adrian and his security team everywhere they went.

Peering over the edge of her laptop, Ilya shrugged. "I'm good with that. Anything specific?"

"No, I just feel like bread with cheese on it," Amy murmured, getting lost in thought as she retreated to her desk. Her fingers flicked through papers, and her brow furrowed. "Hell, I'd be happy with one of those cheese and garlic rolls at this stage."

"That sounds pretty good—" Ilya started to say, but Adrian interrupted, shaking his head.

"No, no, no, no. No more bread. Come on, you guys, you're gonna make me fat. Can't you see it? I swear it's already showing," he said, standing up and flipping up his shirt to show his stomach. Ivan snorted; fat would be the least of his problems if he kept doing that in the office—but his brother seemed genuinely worried. His eyes grew comically wide when he stuck out his stomach, creating a small pooch that he could squeeze between two fingers. "Look, there's flab."

Ilya snorted while the rest of them rolled their eyes. No doubt she saw the same six-pack Ivan had and knew it wasn't any different than it had been when he complained last week. If anything, Adrian could've used the carbs; he spent too much time working and often forgot to eat. Still, after all the teasing his brothers had been giving him with Amy, Ivan felt like it was his duty to play along for a bit, just to even the karmic balance between the two of them or whatever.

"You're right," Ivan nodded solemnly, hiding the grin that wanted to break loose. "Maybe you should check in with Mikhail about training again. Wouldn't want the rest of the Bratva seeing you like that," he said dryly, and his brother narrowed his eyes at him.

"Go to hell." Adrian dropped his shirt, grabbing his gun and his keys. "Ilya, you coming with?"

"Yes," she answered as she jumped off the barstool. In a quick movement, she holstered her gun and pulled on a leather jacket as a couple of Adrian's men filtered out the door to do their rounds.

"I really don't see why you're both so obsessed with that place," Adrian muttered as he followed them out.

Behind him, Ilya scoffed. "Because it's good. But if you're that hard up for a salad, then we'll grab one on the way. You probably need a few vegetables; your skin's going pasty again. You look like some wannabe vampire. Swear to god, I'm five seconds away from throwing glitter at you and calling you a Cullen at this point."

Even Ivan had to snicker at that one. It had come as a surprise when Amy and Ilya had bonded over the Twilight series last weekend. And with all Adrian's teasing, he had to have seen that coming. Still, his brother didn't seem as amused as the rest of them.

"Fuck off. I'm Russian, not a fucking vampire. This is natural for us," he grumbled as the door opened, blaring music that quieted only slightly when they closed it behind themselves.

It was a busy Friday night. For the past few hours, they'd all had a front-row seat to the drunken antics of the party downstairs. The bouncers had already stepped in to break up a couple of fights between a group of college kids, and Amy kept walking toward the windows to look around worriedly. No one they knew was down there, but that didn't stop her from double-checking on the younger women having a few drinks.

They'd had one date-rape scare a couple of months ago, and his first wife had made sure all of their staff were aware of the "Angel" system. A system that was printed out on the bathroom stalls in the club to help support any women having trouble with their dates. The system was named after the one and only "Dark Angel" shot in their bar—a shot that didn't exist but would alert the bouncers to a woman who might need some assistance. So far, Ivan had seen it being used with men who were too handsy or women requiring someone to wait with them to get a taxi. The idea was brilliant; Amy had admitted to finding out about it online, and he liked it. They'd implemented it across their clubs. Strange, some might think, for the Bratva, but he and his brothers didn't trade in flesh. Even they had their limits.

"Ivan?" the woman in question raised an eyebrow, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

"Mishka," he intoned dryly, and she placed an elbow on her desk, chin resting in her palm. Worry flickered through those emerald eyes of hers, and he swallowed, already knowing what she was about to ask.

"Have there been any more threats?" she whispered in the quiet of the room, and he shook his head, amusement disappearing.

"No. We haven't received anything since the last time."

"How much longer is this going to go on?" she asked, and a breath caught in his lungs. He hated that she wanted this situation between them over already, just as much as he hated not having an answer for her.

Two weeks had passed in a hazy blur, though he could've sworn sometimes the world around him was standing still. They'd had a lull in their investigation, and a strange disquiet grew within him every day that passed without a new package. It wasn't like he or his brothers wanted to see another threat, but they'd hoped more would come—and with them, clues.

"I don't know, little bear," Ivan replied softly, fingers running through his hair. He'd tried his best to take her mind off the threats, but it was impossible when the little changes around them served as a reminder that something wasn't right.

He tried to say something else to maybe ease her mind, but Amy had already put her earphones in as she buried herself in her work.

Ivan let out a sigh before doing the same sans earphones. He had to stay alert. He had to keep her safe... but no matter what he did, it didn't seem like enough.

After hearing about the three packages sent to her two weeks ago, Amy had been adamant that there was no reason to stay in the apartment. He'd had no choice but to agree; her tears were something he refused to see ever again. However, that didn't mean he didn't have his own conditions. One of those was that she wouldn't be alone no matter where she was. She had to ensure she was with either him or Adrian at all times—and the best way he'd seen fit to allow that was by making Adrian and a few of his bodyguards reallocate to Eclipse. It was for her safety, but he knew it only pissed her off.

Some nights things were easy, and she fell asleep in his arms. Other times they still argued about petty things until he retreated to the couch. He knew it was because she was getting restless, that she wanted her freedom back, but until they caught the person behind the threats, this was the only way he could see to do things.

He'd tried taking Amy out on a few dates or shopping, but that didn't seem to help. She argued whenever he spent money on her, and he didn't know how to tell her that anything he owned was hers anyway. She still seemed to act like they'd be done when their deal came to an end.

Since her breakdown, he hadn't had to worry about Amy's cold shoulder—but that didn't mean things were any better than they were before. Ivan was trying his best; they'd gone on a few awkward dates and spent most nights having family dinners. None of it seemed to work, though. There was a wall between the two of them that he didn't know how to cross. It still felt like Amy was waiting for the six months to be over so that she could get the freedom he'd promised her.

Ivan wasn't sure how he felt about that. No , he glanced over at her again; he knew exactly how he felt about it all, but he didn't know how he was going to change her mind. She belonged to him. He just had to figure out how to convince her of that too.

Adrian and Ilya returned thirty minutes later, breaking the silence with their banter, and Adrian winked when he caught his brother's eyes. Ivan glared, hating how obvious it was that things weren't going the way he wanted them to. But at least their jokes got Amy to talk again. She pulled out her earphones with a smile and even laughed at their jokes.

Each time it left him feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. Didn't she see how she fit in? How his brothers had already accepted her as his? Her family felt the same way too. In a surprising turn of events, Mira and Paisley had become good friends, and now family dinners were spent at Mikhail's. Kostya and Adrian attended as well, along with Lev and his little family. It was on its way to becoming a tradition, but not even that seemed to influence how things were going with his wife.

Ivan ran his fingers through his hair. He had to figure out a way into his wife's heart. They barely had five months left.

***

Another week passed, and Ivan was growing desperate to bridge the gap between him and his wife. Desperate enough that he unknowingly mentioned it during the latest Bratva meeting at the club. He wasn't surprised when the men around guffawed, sputtering vodka and bourbon onto the tabletops.

"Jesus Christ, you're all acting like I don't know what I'm doing," he snarled, fingers running through his hair.

"That might be because you don't," Mikhail answered dryly, his lips curling into a mocking smirk.

"Fuck off, I've got enough stress as it is." Ivan scowled, glaring daggers at the staircase leading up to their office. Ilya and Amy were up there right now, staring back down at him. He didn't need confirmation to know that was it.

The club was still quiet; they weren't opening for a few hours. They'd chosen a table near the VIP section to stop busybodies from eavesdropping.

"Take her out tonight then if you're so worried," Lev shrugged, fingers tapping on the edge of the table. The rhythm grated on Ivan's nerves, but he kept quiet. "Things weren't easy with me and Zia either. It took time."

"And do what?" Ivan muttered, scratching at the prickly shadow caused by his beard growing in. He normally preferred a cleaner-shaven look, but Amy had squealed this morning when he licked her to pleasure, and he was considering keeping it for a little while.

"God, she was right, wasn't she?" Adrian mocked under his breath. "The spoiled playboy doesn't know how to romance a girl. Jesus, this is your fault." He threw a glare at Lev and Mikhail, and they both sputtered. But Ivan was already snapping to his own defense while they sputtered their excuses.

"I have been romancing her," he snapped, and Adrian ducked the punch he threw in lighthearted annoyance. "I've made her dinners, and taken her shopping. We've had movie nights in bed—and I fucking bought her flowers too. Damn it."

"So romantic," Mikhail snorted. "When was the last time you took her on a date?"

"Last week," Ivan gritted out, his eyebrows creased. They'd gone to Giovanni's with Adrian and Ilya there as backup—and while it might've been a bit awkward with them at another table, she'd seemed to have fun.

"I wouldn't really call that a date, brother," Adrian snickered. "Felt like we were babysitting you for your first date."

Ivan closed his eyes and cursed.

"Things are quiet at the moment," Kostya interrupted before another fight could start. He leaned back in his seat and glanced around the club with a thoughtful expression. "We've got men watching the estate and tailing the two of you. If they're any good, then they'll pick up the second someone attempts anything."

He wasn't wrong. But while they were used to constantly watching their backs, their family was growing, and so was the stress of making sure everyone was all right.

"And if they aren't, they'll soon learn better," Adrian muttered darkly.

Ivan didn't disagree, but Amy trotted down the stairs before he could say anything. A friendly smile lit up her face as she went to speak to the employees. She'd started relaxing this past week—just a little for them to joke a bit the night before—but still not enough to stop the night terrors haunting her in her sleep.

"Go," Mikhail uttered as the women walked toward them. "Take her for a date. Somewhere she won't have to worry about all of this. Somewhere public, where no one will try anything," he amended quickly. "We can meet up later again to discuss everything."

Ivan nodded, already rising from his seat. He greeted Ilya, then grabbed Amy's hand in his.

"What? Ivan—Where are we going?" she hissed as they walked back toward the office.

"Out," he murmured as he grabbed his things. "Let's go get some ice cream or something; it's getting too fucking crowded in here."

"The club isn't even open yet," she said incredulously, but there was a laugh in her voice, and it made him grin as he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him out of the club.

They'd ended up going to get ice cream from the mall, and her eyes sparkled as they walked hand in hand, looking around at everything.

He should've known it wouldn't last.