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

Chapter 19 - Amy

Ice cream melted on Amy's fingers as they walked briskly to the car. Tears threatened to blur her vision. All she'd heard during Ivan's call was that a package had been received. There hadn't been anything more than that. Though, she supposed there didn't need to be either.

Ivan pulled her along, one hand around her waist and the other reaching past his jacket to the place she knew he kept his gun holstered. Trembles worked their way through her body, her mind screaming danger.

Two weeks , she thought, stifling the urge to sob. Two weeks of uncertain peace shattered. A wave of nausea hit her as she tossed the remnants of their cones into a trash can in the parking lot. So much for their date.

Unsure where to go, she let her husband guide her. Ivan's hand pressed firmly against her back, urging her toward the car, and Amy stumbled along with him.

"Ivan?" she whispered as he opened her door and helped her in. He stood there as she pulled her seatbelt on, placing her bag on the floor before closing the door. He didn't say anything, not even after he'd jogged past the front of the car to hop into the driver's seat.

She repeated his name, a tear tracking down her cheek, but he still didn't answer. Something terrible must've happened. Boris's face flashed in the back of her mind, and Amy swallowed the dread that followed.

"Ivan?" she pleaded, her voice breaking—he almost looked like he was about to answer when his phone started to ring. Amy looked outside the window, listening in vain to the Russian spilling from his lips.

One of his brothers answered she wasn't sure which. Maybe Mikhail? The accent was too deep to distinguish.

The call ended, and Ivan's jaw worked as he pulled the car into reverse. The tires squealed as they sped toward the highway. They'd been having fun, eating ice cream, and people-watching. It had felt so nice to get away for a bit—and then Mikhail had phoned. Amy hadn't been close enough to hear what was going on, but the fury on her husband's face had been telling enough.

Please don't tell me someone's dead , she thought, her breath catching as she tried to contain the tears. Just one night. She just wanted one night without having to worry about all this shit. A hiccup found its way past her lips, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle it. Ivan didn't even glance at her, his brows creased in concentration as he pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. Hard enough to make his SUV roar as they hit the highway. She didn't know where they were going, and that only made her feel more miserable.

It was so damn obvious that he was keeping something from her, and her panic spiraled out of control as she tried to figure out what had happened.

What if it was a bomb this time? she thought, staring out the window at a city cloaked in dark gray clouds. What if someone got hurt?

When they reached the Bratva's gated estate twenty minutes later, the dread only grew. Ivan braked to a stop, and she flicked her gaze toward him.

"Stay," he told her before getting out of the car.

She nearly laughed, a bubble of hysteria rising within her. Do I look like a fucking dog? Her hand rested on the handle, but Amy didn't leave the car as anger joined the hundred other emotions she felt.

Kostya and Adrian stalked toward Ivan, kevlar vests on and weapons in their hands. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was clear by the expressions on their faces that whatever was going on was urgent.

Ivan returned a moment later, opening her door and holding his hand out to help her. "Mishka, I need you to go inside," he said, his voice lethally calm. "I'll come to you when I'm done."

When he's done with what?

"No," she snarled, pulling her arm away when he reached for it. "I'm not doing a damn thing until you tell me what's going on."

"Not now, Amy," he barked, and she froze, glaring daggers at him.

Regret flashed across his expression as he reached for her, but Amy brushed him off. Her words were cold as she snarled, "Don't!" She unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbing her bag at the same time as she shouldered past him and toward Mikhail's house.

Ivan caught up to her a second later, but his apologetic, "Mishka, wait!" was ignored.

Amy darted up the stairs as Zia opened the door, dizziness stealing her breath as she slipped inside the huge mansion. "Tell me what happened," she murmured frantically, and Zia looked at her in confusion.

"Ivan didn't tell you?"

Amy shook her head, her head throbbing as she felt the men enter the room behind her.

"Your mom received a package," Zia explained as Ivan reached for her. Amy brushed him off, shooting him a venomous glare before turning toward her friend.

"A threat?" she asked, swallowing harshly. "Like the ones I've been receiving?"

"Similar," Zia mentioned, then her eyes flicked toward Ivan, and she shot her friend an empathetic look. "Let Ivan explain, hon. I've got to run back to the living room. Mira and I are doing damage control at the moment. I just wanted to make sure you got here all right."

With her lower lip wobbling, Amy watched Zia leave. It was only when her friend reached the door to the living room that she turned to face her husband. He stood alone against the closed front door; Kostya and Adrian must've disappeared while she wasn't looking.

"Five minutes," he said, frustration in his tone. It made her blood boil, and her ears rang like church bells. "Ask quickly, I need to get to Mikhail and Lev."

Ask quickly. Amy let out a scoff, closing her eyes against the pain ricocheting in her heart. It's always on his terms. It's always about control. "It would've taken you five minutes to tell me what was going on, but you didn't." And the whole drive she'd been sitting worried someone was hurt, or dead.

"Mishka, I don't have time for this," he replied wearily, running his fingers through his hair. He gave up and exhaled a breath. "I know you're angry, but I need to get back to my brothers. The rest of the Bratva are arriving shortly. Ask your questions quickly."

Her eyes narrowed, her lack of priority clear in that moment.

"Go then," she said, barely suppressed fury in her tone. Had he been worried about how she'd react? Was that why he couldn't tell her? The questions burned in her mind, and the way his eyes flickered to the stairwell behind her only made her angrier. Her chin raised stubbornly when he didn't leave. The anger inside her battled with relief. I thought you had something more important, she wanted to snarl but instead, her arms folded.

"Amy, I don't have time for an argument. Mikhail needs me," he reminded her, his voice low. Impatient.

How dare he, her mind hissed, the thought nearly deafening.

"You couldn't stop to think once during the drive about what might've been going through my head?" she spat, tears clouding her vision.

"Amy—" he scowled, and she shook her head, interrupting.

"Don't," she growled. Don't say my name like that. Don't tell me what to do. There were a hundred things she didn't want to hear from him right then and there, and only one thing she did want to hear. An answer to the one question that wouldn't quiet. "You said they'd be safe here."

Her voice came out sounding smaller than she intended, and she swallowed down the emotion before spitting out, "You promised they wouldn't get involved. That men were watching to make sure nothing happened. How the hell did you guys miss a package in the mail?"

"This is exactly what I meant," he muttered, frustration on his face as he closed his eyes. Another shard of pain flicked through her heart as he let out a sigh. "I don't have time for this, Mishka. I need to go to a meeting; can this wait until afterward? I'll come get you as soon as we're done."

"Fine," she muttered with disgust, taking a step away. The relief that crossed his features only made her angrier as she turned to walk to the living room.

She heard him curse behind her, but she didn't look back. The fact that he'd withheld information was still playing on a loop in her brain. It felt too much like he was still trying to control her reactions, control her. And she didn't like that. She'd thought things had grown better between them when he allowed her back to work. That he trusted her. It wasn't like her to jump to conclusions. So why couldn't he tell her what was going on?

"How're you holding up?" Zia whispered when she finally joined them in the living room. Amy swallowed harshly, unable to meet her mother's eyes across the room as she responded just as quietly.

"How am I supposed to hold up? Ivan hasn't told me a fucking thing. What happened this time that's so different from the rest?"

Across the room, Mira and her mother each had a glass of wine in hand, and Amy spotted the Pakhan's wife squeeze her mother's shoulder in comfort.

"He hasn't told you? I thought he was going to; that's why I left," Zia mumbled as the boys let out similar cries of frustration. They were on beanbags in front of the TV, playing some car racing game she'd never seen before. Ava, on the other hand, was cooing over Alex and the twins on the further side of the room; they were in what appeared to be a mini-ball pit, and the children were giggling heartily at her funny expressions.

"Clearly not," Amy muttered with a breath. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"More bullets," Zia finally answered, and Amy let out a breath, pinching her nose. "This time yours wasn't the only name," she finished weakly.

"What?" Amy heard herself say, her voice hoarse. The world around her spun on its axis; she looked up and met her mother's eyes, spotting the tears brimming. Shit. "Zia, whose names were on the bullets?"

"Your family for one," Mira muttered darkly as she joined them, and fury blazed in her eyes as she corrected herself. "The whole family."

Amy swallowed, "Everyone?" What did that mean... Were Zia's and Lev's mentioned too?

Seeming to read her thoughts, Zia reached out and hugged her tight. Her voice came out strangled in Amy's ear as she confirmed it. "Just the women and the children."

"What the fuck?" Amy breathed, but before she could say more, her mother sat down next to her. Amy felt her lower lip wobble. She knew, without anything said, that her mother had been told the truth about what was going on—and maybe even about the rest as well. Remembering how happy her mother had been at the wedding, Amy couldn't help but feel like she'd disappointed her.

"I'll pour you a glass of wine," Mira muttered, striding off. She returned a moment later, a worried crease between her brows as she handed Amy the wineglass. Amy thanked her, swallowing the first gulp in seconds.

As she took a shaky breath, Paisley's hand reached toward her daughter, a tremor visible when she gripped Amy's arm. "We've kept the kids out of this as much as possible, but they're going to start having questions soon."

Amy nodded her head at her mother's words. They'd just have to answer what they could and hope for the best.

***

An hour later, Ivan joined Amy in the living room, a tense look on his face. The car game had been replaced by a Disney movie on the TV screen, and Mira and Paisley had left to go make dinner.

Seeing her husband, Amy nudged Zia on the arm. "I'll be back in a minute," she whispered when she had her attention. Zia's eyes flicked to the door as she nodded, and Amy left, her heart thudding in her ears.

"What's going on?" she asked when they were far enough away. She looked at him for clues, seeing his hair in disarray—but that was it. The tension in his body didn't follow onto his face, didn’t give her clues about what he was going to say.

"Ivan?" she demanded, folding her arms when he took too long to answer.

He exhaled, reaching for her, and Amy frowned as she stepped away. Their earlier argument had hurt more than she would've liked to admit. Ivan's controlling nature felt repressing like it always did, but it was the way he'd disregarded her that she couldn't forgive.

His brow furrowed at her actions, and a flash of something vulnerable crossed his features. It disappeared just as quickly, and he straightened, a mask falling into place. "Mishka, I know you're angry, but I need you to trust me."

She held back a scoff, finding irony in his statement when he still couldn't trust her either. "Just tell me what's going on, Ivan."

"We received another threat—" he started, and she grew irritated, interrupting him in a sharp voice.

"Mira and Zia explained about the bullets." Her heart pinched tightly that he hadn't been the one to explain. The question why one he still hadn't answered yet.

"Don't be angry with me, Mishka. I had to help my brother," he murmured, fingers reaching toward her face before she brushed them away. She was too angry to deal with the emotions his touches invoked.

"Just tell me what's going on."

Nodding, Ivan looked toward the ceiling as he brushed his fingers through his hair instead. "I'm going to go back to the apartment to fetch some clothes for us both. We're moving in here for the foreseeable future."

"And my family?" she asked quietly, her eyes flickering around herself as she did. Mikhail, admittedly, had the biggest house on the block. But that didn't mean there were enough rooms for everyone.

"They'll be here too," he said, settling some of her nerves. "We're going to have to bunk up and share rooms, but this will be safer. The security won't need to split up or anything."

"Fine," she muttered, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion. "I'll go ask Mira about the rooms. She's sorting out dinner for the kids."

She turned to walk away, but Ivan reached for her, his fingers soft on her skin. "Amy."

Tears pressed on her eyes as she shrugged him off. "I'll see you when you get back," she muttered as she strode off.