Page 42 of Knocked Up By the Russian

"What? Ivan—Where are we going?" she hissed as they walked back toward the office.

"Out," he murmured as he grabbed his things. "Let's go get some ice cream or something; it's getting too fucking crowded in here."

"The club isn't even open yet," she said incredulously, but there was a laugh in her voice, and it made him grin as he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him out of the club.

They'd ended up going to get ice cream from the mall, and her eyes sparkled as they walked hand in hand, looking around at everything.

He should've known it wouldn't last.

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?"

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