Page 15 of Knocked Up By the Russian

In the silence, he hoped his words reached her but Amy's lips thinned as she pulled away from him. "I'm going to bed."

"Amy—"

"No." She snatched her bowl of strawberries and stalked up the stairs to his room, leaving him to stew in his thoughts.

He stood staring at her back until it disappeared from his vision, but the open-plan design of his apartment meant he could still hear her stomping around as she got ready for bed. Fuck, he hadn't known she was having nightmares. Why hadn't he thought of that? He ran his fingers through his hair again, encountering a few knots that left him wincing.

Walking around the apartment, Ivan switched off the lights. He'd worn his gun every day since receiving the package, only taking it off at night and hiding it under the couch. It never felt like enough, though. The letter sat on the coffee table, mocking him, as he pulled off his jeans and flicked the TV on—just like it did every night.

Grabbing it, like he always did, Ivan read it through. The worst part of it all? The fact that she'd applied for a lower-paying job. That said a lot about why she wanted to leave.

Fighting with Amy used to be enjoyable, but he'd lost his appetite sometime after the third or fourth time he'd read the letter. If she wanted to leave, then how the hell was he supposed to stop her? And what the hell was he going to do when their current problem was sorted and she wanted a divorce?

Nothing. He couldn't deny her a fucking thing if she asked him.

He relaxed his fingers, letting the letter slip through until it fluttered to the ground.

***

Three days passed in a blur. Amy maintained her recent cold shoulder, and Ivan was forced to get the wedding plans sorted by himself. By the time the day finally came, Ivan was a little smug at how much he'd put together—and he walked with a cocky grin as he showed Paisley around.

"This is beautiful," she murmured, her bright green eyes looking around her in wonder. She looked like an older version of his fiancée—beautiful—but you could see life hadn't been easy for her. As a single mother to five children, he could see why. Paisley wore it well, though. Her hair was a lighter blondethan Amy's honey-colored locks, and the silver streaks looked purposefully placed instead of stress-induced.

Wearing a lilac sundress, her too-thin arm was wrapped in the crook of Ivan's elbow as he escorted her to the seats. The wedding was taking place at a five-star hotel that Mikhail was courting to purchase, and the staff were more than happy to ensure everything was perfect. The ballroom was massive, chandelier sparkling over the small wedding place that was set to hold just under thirty people—Amy's family, his own, and a few members of the Bratva that had to participate if they wanted this all to work out as it should. He'd wanted it to seem as normal as possible. Amy's family still didn't know everything and he planned to keep it that way as long as possible.

"How did you even get this in here?" Paisley asked as she stared up at the flower arch where he'd say "I do" a little later. They'd had to make do with jasmine, which didn't quite match the color scheme, but Mira had sworn the little star-shaped flowers would fit in with everything, and they did.

Ivan shrugged, ready to tell her his sister-in-law had helped, but Lev and Adrian hurried over. The first distracted Amy's mother with Alexander's gurgling, and the second granned his arm and pulled him a few steps away, hissing in his ear. "Amy's gone missing."

Excusing himself, Ivan tugged Adrian out of the ballroom. "What do you mean she's gone missing?" he snapped, his voice lowering into a growl as they spotted Amy's three brothers. Adam and Aaron were fifteen, while Ash, the youngest, was only ten. They hadn't spoken much but it was clear they were good kids. The fact that they weren't dealing drugs or stirring shit automatically made them innocent in his eyes. Ivan refused to let that change.

Thankfully, they hadn't spotted them yet, so Ivan dragged his brother away while he explained. "I had to drop off something in her room. Mira was stressed when I got there. Sounds like she was busy with the twins when Amy slipped out."

"She's supposed to have a guard on her," Ivan said between clenched teeth as worry made him frown.

"Of course she had a guard on her. Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" Adrian growled in return as he pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen. "Ilya's still following her now. There's also cameras in every fucking hall and spare closet here. She's heading for the parking lot. That's why I came to get you. I think she's planning on leaving."

"Fuck." Ivan didn't even stop to thank his brother before rushing off, and his phone beeped in response.

Choosing the stairs over the elevator, Ivan reached the underground parking in a couple of minutes. With a heavy breath, he stopped to look around. It didn't take a genius to realize she could've snatched Zia or Mira's keys. His panic eased when he overheard her furious words.

"—I'm just stepping out for a second," she said from the open window of Zia's newest SUV. It was clear she was frustrated, and his lips tugged into a grin as he heard Ilya's soft response. That woman deserved a fucking raise with the shit she put up with.

"I'm sorry, Amy, but I can't let you go without Adrian or Ivan's approval."

"Seriously, Ilya, you know me," Amy growled out as Ivan stepped into sight, catching both women's frustrated gazes.

Relief flickered in Ilya's eyes and she dipped her chin respectively before stepping back into the shadows. "Sir."

As soon as they were alone, Ivan turned to his fiancée, seeing tears in her eyes. His heart thudded. "Amy."

"Just let me go, Ivan." Her eyes were closed as she leaned back into the seat, head tipped toward the ceiling. "I don't want to marry you, and there's no way in hell you actually want to go through with this either."

"Where were you planning to go, Amy?" he asked instead, checking the fuel gauge. It was hardly above halfway, and even considering how eco-friendly Zia's Lexus was, it wouldn't have taken her much further than a couple of miles out of the city before she needed to refill.

A tear dripped down her perfectly made-up face, and she sniffed. "I don't know. I thought—" she broke off with a hiccup. "I thought maybe if I left then..."

"Then what? Whoever sent the package might realize where you've gone and decide it would be easy as hell to finish you off?" His voice grew hard. "This isn't a fucking movie. You would've been dead by the morning—at best. At worst, you could get kidnapped, sold to the flesh trade, or used as cannon fodder while the fucker shoots us down. Is that really a better alternative to marrying me?"

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