Page 22 of Knocked Up By the Russian

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?

Chapter 10 - Ivan

That fucking letter was haunting him. Ivan ground his teeth as he glared at it from across the room. Amy sat by the actual wedding gifts, a blank look on her face while he paced up and down, running his fingers through his hair. This whole fucking thing was going to leave him bald. She was going to leave him bald. He'd spent another night on the couch after swallowing a whole bottle of Rip Van Winkle bourbon to avoid going upstairs to apologize for something he still wasn't sure he was sorry about. And maybe it was the alcohol still running through his veins, or the frustration from trying to juggle the Bratva's business, Eclipse's business, and keeping an eye on Amy... But he was seconds away from pulling out his gun to shoot that damn letter.

Adrian was supposed to arrive in another five to ten minutes. Ivan checked his watch to make sure, and in the meantime, he was doing his best to avoid losing his mind. He'd already gone through all the usual questions, but nothing was adding up. He hoped his brother would have better luck because fuck, it was killing him to see that blank look on Amy's face.

"Mishka?" he muttered thickly, and Amy's tired green eyes glanced his way. "There has to be something we're missing here. What do you know about the club you were planning to work for?"

Frustration seeped into her blank expression. "I've already told you everything I know, Ivan."

He blew out a breath, walking toward where she was sitting. He crouched beside her, his back aching with the movement. Sleeping on the couch used to be easier in histwenties; now it left him feeling ten years older than his thirty-two years and twice as unfit.

"Just try and remember," he pleaded, reaching to tuck a blonde curl behind her ear. She batted his hand away, and he hid a smirk. His little bear, always so fierce.

"I didn't know it was Bratva-owned," she repeated, closing her eyes as if that would help her remember everything she needed to.

"Who offered you the job?" he asked again, and her nose wrinkled as she repeated the same thing she'd said before.

"I already told you this, Ivan. The manager is an old friend. That's why I assumed it wasn't Bratva-owned. Most of the clubs Christine works with are smaller enterprises. I thought this one was the same."

"So you don't know who she works for?" he pressed, and she blew out a frustrated breath.

"No, Ivan. I don't. That's the whole point of being interviewed."

The information she gave was the same each time, and he sat on his haunches, brow furrowed as he thought through it all. There was one question he hadn't asked yet. One question that kept repeating itself over and over in his head, and as Amy rubbed her temples, he finally gave in to the urge and asked it.

"Why?"

"Why, what?" she muttered, squaring her shoulders and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Why did you want to leave so bad that you'd accept an offer almost twenty percent lower than what you have with us?" he asked, searching those green eyes of hers for answers. Thelonger he waited, the more frustrated he grew, and after a few minutes had passed, Ivan stood up and started pacing again.

"I can't remember anymore," she finally admitted, her voice so soft he almost missed what she'd said.

"But you had a reason," he replied, and she nodded, avoiding his eyes.

So what was it? He wanted to ask but stopped himself before he did. It wasn't the right time. They were both stressed after receiving another threat in the mail, and he didn't want another fight on top of everything. It didn't matter what she meant—not right then. He resumed pacing, checking his watch every few minutes until his brother finally swung open the door and stepped into the room.

"Where is it?" Adrian asked, his face creased similarly to Ivan's. They were all losing sleep over this damn thing.

"Over here," Ivan picked up the opened package, putting the fucking letter and bullet back inside before he threw it toward his brother. Adrian caught it, double-checking the contents before walking out.

"I'll let you know what I find," he called over his shoulder.

"What now?" Amy muttered as Ivan leaned against his desk.

"Now we pack up and go home, Mishka. There's no use for us to remain here. If anyone needs us, then they'll give us a call," he said as he went to pack their things.

"Okay," Amy said. The tone of her voice made him glance back, and he frowned at the blank expression on her face. This was taking a lot out of her.

Ivan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a quick message before helping Amy gather her things. They'dhave to take the wedding gifts down too, but maybe there was something else they could do other than go to the apartment. His phone beeped, and he smiled, an idea forming.

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