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

Chapter 24 - Amy

"No!"

It happened so quickly that Amy could barely keep up with it. Gunshots rang out along with the scream torn from her throat, and she stood in frozen horror as her husband's body jerked. The idiot, the absolute idiot, just dove headfirst into a gunfight, and a patch of scarlet was growing on his right arm as he yanked her from Danyll's grasp.

Amy let out a shuddering gasp, not even realizing the other man's hold had fallen lax. She stumbled, following after Ivan as he pushed her toward Ivonov's SUV. Ilya... Ilya stood behind her. She didn't know when she'd gotten there, but between the two of them, they covered her as more gunshots rang out. A physical confrontation ensued, and the streets echoed with the sounds of fists colliding with flesh, gunshots, and the grunts of men locked in a struggle for dominance. It was primal. Chaotic.

"Ivan," Amy sobbed, her hands trembling as she frantically grappled for his arm. "What are you doing, you idiot? You're not even wearing any Kevlar. Your arm, oh my god, your arm."

The chaos of the moment blurred around her—shouts, the sharp reports of gunfire, and adrenaline coursing through the air. It felt surreal, as if she were caught in a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. Sobs poured from her mouth, the scene making her dizzy... or maybe that was the two bruises on her scalp from Ivonov and Danyll's guns.

"I'm here now," Ivan whispered, pressing her into his back. "You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Her instincts screamed at her to run, to hide, to pull away from the undeniable danger that surrounded them. Yet there she stood, eyes wide and breaths shallow, unable to tear herself away from the sight of the Bratva fighting around her.

When the noise faded away, she could barely stand on her own two feet, and Amy clutched her husband tighter as sobs flowed through her lips. "Home, I wanna go home. Ivan, please take me home," she pleaded, pressing tighter into him.

"We're going back to the compound," he said tersely, voice low yet commanding. "To pack. Then we're going home."

Relief nearly buckled her.

"I'll let Lev know where you two have gone," Ilya mentioned as Ivan turned around and nudged Amy toward one of their vehicles standing on the side of the road. She didn't complain, didn't fight, or have anything to say. She just wanted her husband. Her family.

"Thanks," Ivan muttered over his shoulder as he helped Amy into the car. His eyes didn't meet hers, and it made her stomach twist and clench... No, wait, maybe that was something else?

"Ivan," Amy muttered, trembling fingers unbuckling her belt. "I'm going to be sick."

She pushed him away just in time, stumbling to the grass to let it go. Whether it was a concussion, morning sickness, or just the stress of everything, she didn't know.

"You're okay," her husband muttered, and he helped her to her feet and cleaned her face with his shirt. "You're okay, Mishka."

She didn't feel that way. Sobbing, Amy followed him back to the car. Her mind fuzzed in and out of focus as they drove back to the compound.

"I'm so sorry, Ivan," she burst out, her voice cracking. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt the weight of guilt for everything that had happened, for the danger she inadvertently brought into their lives. "This is all my fault—Oh god, I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's okay," her husband muttered gruffly, his voice filled with emotion even if his eyes were on the road. "It's all over now, Mishka. We're just going to get a doctor to look at your injuries, then I'll take you home."

Unable to stop crying, Amy nodded, a fresh wave of tears pouring down her cheeks.

***

Hours later, the sun was starting to rise as Amy and Ivan finally reached their apartment. She'd been seen by a doctor and was declared healthy if a bit traumatized. Her family was updated on everything that went down—save a few details—and they'd been cleared to go back to their house in between Kostya and Lev.

Exhaustion dogged Amy's limbs as the apartment door clicked behind them, but the doctor had recommended no sleep for a full 24 hours thanks to the double concussion she'd sustained.

Dizzy as she was, Amy knew that she and Ivan needed to talk—but she had trouble figuring out the right thoughts for this moment. The doctor had mentioned this would last another couple of hours. But Amy was so ready for normalcy, it made her want to cry to think she'd have to sit through this.

Then there was Ivan's injury. The idiot had gotten himself shot. For her. She didn't know if she could forgive him, but she couldn't look at him at the moment without crying either, so she just focused her eyes on the floor.

Her lower lip trembled as she heard Ivan going to the fridge. "Sit down, Mishka. I won't have you falling," he ordered as he grabbed something from the fridge and closed the distance between them.

Amy let him lead her to the couch, finally blinking up at him. His jaw was clenching with worry or anger. Maybe both.

"Ivan?" she questioned, her voice soft in the room. "Are we going to talk now?"

"About what?" he answered gruffly as he fixed the cushions around her, then grabbed the remote to put the TV on. Amy winced at the sudden noise, relaxing when he turned the volume down and faced her.

"Us," she mouthed, the word sticking in her throat. From fear, she realized as he turned to face her with a frown.

"I'm so angry at you," he said softly, and her lower lip wobbled again. "There's a lot I want to talk about, but you just went through a traumatic experience, Amy. You got injured. For now, can we just watch a few movies and we can discuss the serious stuff in the morning?"

"I don't want to wait for the morning," she hiccuped, reaching up to grab his shirt. "Please, Ivan."

His hands were gentle as he removed her fingers from his shirt, and Amy swallowed down her tears as he sat beside her. There was a gap between them, an inch of space, but fuck it. It felt like a canyon.

I'm not ready to let go of him, she realized as she stared at the TV, her whole body trembling.

"Amy?" he muttered, pulling that fucking blanket he'd used when he was sleeping in the lounge. She didn't know what it was—maybe the significance, or the hormones—but she promptly burst into tears.

Russian curses reached her ears as Ivan's arm grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him. "Mishka," he muttered thickly, swollen fingers wiping away her tears. "Calm down. Why are you crying?"

"You're going to leave," she hiccuped, pressing her face into his neck so that he couldn't see the agony playing across her features. "That's why you're acting like this. Why you've been so distant," she babbled.

"Silly little bear," her husband snorted, and she shot up to glare at him.

"I'm not silly!"

Ocean-blue eyes peered back at her with bemusement. "No? Then why the hell are you talking about me leaving? If anyone's capable of leaving this marriage, it's you. You're the one that wanted it from the start."

"No, I don't!" she cried, palms reaching out to cup his hands against her face as he cradled her head between his hands. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied softly, brushing his lips against hers. "Now stop jumping to conclusions and rest. I need you healed so I can paddle your ass for running around when it's dangerous. Don't you have any fucking sense?"

"Clearly not if I fell for you," she sassed, biting his lip when he went to kiss her. Their bickering died down, but the tears didn't leave, and she looked at him seriously. "Do you mean it? You're not going anywhere?"

"Nowhere, Mishka," he answered, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Then why were you ignoring me?" she muttered, voice small as she settled against his chest. Her eyes drooped, his heartbeat a lullaby she couldn't resist. "I thought you decided that you were done with us. I know this marriage isn't conventional, and we've had a really shitty start," her voice softened. "But it's ours, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

They both grew quiet before Ivan snickered. "I wasn't ignoring you, crazy woman. I had a threat to neutralize," he snorted, amusement clear in his tone. "I love you, Amy."

Amy's heart swelled, warmth blooming within her even as tears continued to spill down her cheeks. "I know," she admitted through her sobs, a smile breaking through despite her emotional turmoil. "I realized it as soon as I figured out you stole my favorite coffee mug."

Ivan blinked in surprise, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks when she bent her neck to meet his eyes. "You noticed that?" he asked, a playful incredulity in his voice that made her smile widen.

"Of course! You had it tucked away in your cabinet, and I thought it was missing—you thought I wouldn't notice?"

He chuckled softly, still holding her close. "I thought I could keep it from you just a little longer."

She met his gaze, the connection between them deepening as she confessed, "I love you too, Ivan." The realization settled fully in the air between them, a powerful force that enveloped them.