The Don's Innocent Collateral

Chapter 14

The drive down the mountain was completely quiet.

Amelia sat in the back of the Maybach, watching the dense pine trees blur past the tinted glass as they smoothed out onto the main highway. The cabin of the car was heavily soundproofed, isolating them entirely from the road noise outside. It smelled faintly of rich leather and Nicolai’s cedar cologne. She could see the two escort SUVs keeping pace in the side mirrors, but inside the back seat, it just felt still.

She looked away from the window and glanced at Nicolai. He was leaning back against the plush seat, casually scrolling through something on a tablet.

"You already filled my closet," Amelia pointed out, breaking the silence. "There are enough clothes in that room to last me two years. Why are we buying more?"

Nicolai didn't look up from his screen.

"Those were basic necessities to keep you comfortable. And my staff guessed your sizes. Today, you choose for yourself."

Twenty minutes later, the Maybach rolled to a smooth stop outside the city's most exclusive luxury shopping district.

Amelia stepped out into the heavy summer heat and looked up at the towering glass facade of a multi-story designer boutique.

People slowed as they passed. A few openly stared at the convoy of black SUVs lining the curb. Others recognized Nicolai immediately, lowering their voices as they hurried by. No one came too close.

Two of Nicolai's men in sharp, dark suits stood discreetly by the glass doors.

Nicolai placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her inside.

The massive, glittering showroom was entirely empty of customers. A row of immaculately dressed sales associates stood near the register. They were perfectly silent, their hands clasped in front of them, looking a mixture of terrified and overly eager as the Bratva Don walked into their store.

"I bought out the floor for two hours," Nicolai said, answering the unspoken question on Amelia's face. He looked at the store manager. "Show her the new season."

The staff scrambled. Within minutes, racks of silk, fine knits, and tailored denim were being wheeled into the center of the room.

Amelia walked over to the nearest rack. She reached out and checked the price tag on a simple, dark trench coat. Three thousand dollars. More than she made in a month working brutal shifts at the hospital.

She dropped the tag like it burned and took a step back.

"I can't wear this."

"Why not?" Nicolai asked, coming up behind her.

"Because it's too expensive," Amelia said, keeping her voice low so the staff wouldn't hear. "I can't pay you back for this, Nicolai."

Nicolai’s jaw locked. He stepped into her space, crowding her slightly against the rack of clothes.

"Look at me."

Amelia looked up.

"You don't look at price tags," Nicolai said quietly. "If you're with me, you don't worry about money. That's my responsibility."

She stared into his pitch-black eyes. He clearly wasn't negotiating with her.

"Fine," Amelia breathed.

For the next forty minutes, the boutique turned into a private viewing. Nicolai sat on a plush velvet sofa in the center of the room, a glass of bourbon the manager had scrambled to find resting in his hand.

Amelia would step out of the dressing room in a new outfit—a sleek black jumpsuit, perfectly tailored trousers, a soft silk blouse.

Every time, she would look at Nicolai.

He didn't say much. He would just take a slow sip of his drink while he studied the fit in silence. A slight nod meant the staff immediately bagged it. A shake of his head meant it disappeared.

Finally, she stepped out in a casual dark denim jacket. She ran a hand through her hair, exhausted by the sheer amount of clothing.

Nicolai set his glass down on the glass coffee table.

"That is enough basics," Nicolai said, his voice dropping an octave lower. He stood up from the velvet sofa and looked at the manager. "Now for the main reason I am here."

The manager nodded frantically and hurried to the back room, returning a moment later holding a black velvet garment bag like it was made of glass.

"Try this," the manager said nervously, handing it to Amelia. "Mr. Volkov specifically requested it."

Amelia took it back into the dressing room. She unzipped the bag, and the breath caught in her throat.

It was a midnight-blue silk evening gown. It wasn't something she would have chosen for herself. The back was almost completely bare, and the slit climbed dangerously high along her thigh.

She slipped it on. The silk slid over her skin like water. It fit her perfectly, hugging the curves of her hips and dipping dangerously low in the front.

She turned around to look at her back in the mirror. The zipper stopped at the base of her spine, but a delicate silver clasp rested at the nape of her neck to hold the straps together.

She reached back with her right hand to secure it.

Nothing happened.

The fingers on her right hand wouldn't close. The numbness hadn't crept up this time; it hit her instantly, paralyzing her grip.

Panic flared in her chest.

She tried to force her fingers to bend, but they were dead weight.

She dropped her arm, breathing hard, and reached up with her left hand instead, struggling to blindly fasten the tiny clasp behind her neck.

"Are you having trouble in there, Miss?" the manager called out nervously through the door.

"I'm fine," Amelia lied, her voice tight. She kept fighting with the clasp, but her left hand was clumsy at that angle.

The manager glanced nervously toward Nicolai.

"She says she's fine, Mr. Volkov."

Nicolai didn't answer. He simply set his glass down and walked toward the dressing room.

The manager immediately stepped aside.

The dressing room door clicked open.

Amelia spun around.

Nicolai stepped into the small, mirrored room, shutting the door behind him. The space was instantly too small.

He looked at her in the midnight-blue silk.

His eyes darkened, dragging over the bare skin of her chest, the curve of her hips, and the long line of her leg exposed by the slit.

He didn't say a word.

He walked slowly toward her.

Amelia’s heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't step back; she was already pressed against the mirror.

Nicolai stopped inches away.

He reached around her, his heavy, scarred hands brushing against the bare skin of her back. The contrast of his rough calluses against her skin sent a jolt of electricity straight through her nervous system.

He took the small silver clasp from her trembling left hand.

"Breathe, moya," Nicolai murmured, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper right next to her ear.

He fastened the clasp effortlessly.

He didn't pull his hands away. Instead, his knuckles brushed her back as he stepped away.

Amelia’s breath hitched.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror.

He was looking right back at her, his expression intense, possessive, and entirely unapologetic.

"We'll take it," Nicolai said quietly.