Page 54 of Knocked Up By the Russian

As Ivan glared at Ivonov, his mind raced. He had to shift the odds and find a way to turn this dark stampede around before it spiraled out of control. Everything hinged on this moment.

The atmosphere crackled with tension as Ivan’s resolve hardened.He won’t take her from me.

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 anothercouple 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?"

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