Page 40 of Knocked Up By the Russian

Kissing him softly, she closed her eyes.

"Never mind," she whispered, fingers still. It was way too soon to want that from him, or her. They hadn't even discussed what they were doing just yet. Besides, she might have just misheard him. She wasn't sure she was ready to hear it yeteither, but a little spark of something exciting flickered in her chest. It might've even been hope, but she wasn't ready to name it just yet.

"Go to sleep, Mishka," he whispered against her forehead. Letting out a laugh, she attempted exactly that.

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. Youprobably 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.

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