Page 19 of Taming Mika

I brace myself for the explosion that’s sure to come and state calmly, “I’ve decided to call it off.”

The room fills with deadly silence as my men hold their breath, waiting for the Russians to react. Their tension builds, and they shift their weight from one foot to the other, their neck muscles tightening over the collars of their shirts. I caught them by surprise, and they’re preparing for the outburst that will likely follow my announcement. Ihadn’t told anyone about my decision. Even I wasn’t sure I would go through with it until the words left my mouth.

Nikolai studies me sharply, his blue eyes cold. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice flat with warning. “I must have misheard you.”

Beside him, Dominik shifts, setting down his silverware as his eyes lock on me, and his scowl deepens with displeasure.

“I can’t marry Ana. I still hope to form a peaceful relationship between our families, and I would like to find a different way to solidify our alliance?—”

“You must be joking,” Nikolai snarls, slamming his silverware down onto the plate hard enough to make the fine china crack. Red marinara drips through the crack, spreading in a slow pool across the white tablecloth to stain it like orange-red blood.

Taking a beat, I inhale slowly, and then square my shoulders. “It’s not a joke. But I am willing?—”

“You’rewilling?You’re fucking willing!” Nikolai snarls, rising from his chair so forcefully that it topples backward with a loud crash.

Dominik stands as well, and he looks like he might just leap across the dining table to strangle me. His broad hands flex, balling into fists as his blue eyes blaze with silent betrayal.

“All of New York society is supposed to be there. You can’t back out now. It would sully our reputation, my daughter’s good name. Do you have any idea how insulting that would be? No, Mr. Bonetti.Iam willing to overlook this massive lapse in judgment this one time. You will either go through with the marriage, or our alliance isfinished.”

Well, shit.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but I’m more confident now than ever that I made the right decision. Even if I could have tolerated Nikolai’s daughter—which I’m not sure I could have—trying to maintain an alliance with a man so explosive would not have ended well, no matter what I chose.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t come to a different agreement,” I state coolly, keeping my composure flawless despite the churning emotion in my gut. I can hardly afford to show weakness now, even if I’m unsure of exactly what consequences I’ve just unleashed.

“You trifling, fickle Italian piece of shit,” Nikolai snarls. “You’re not sorry enough yet, but you damn well will be. I can promise you that.”

Behind thepakhan, Marco’s hand shifts ever so slightly toward his gun, and I give a subtle shake of my head, signaling him to let the insult pass. His hand moves back to its original position, but his face is still tight with disapproval, and I know he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in either of my dinner guests. But killing either of the Kapranovs in my home would inevitably begin a war, and while this still might end in a violent conflict, I don’t want to be the one who strikes first. My hope is that we can still avoid a bloodbath.

Nikolai turns on his heel, striding angrily toward the front door. Dominik stalks after him, broad shoulders tense with fury. The front door slams shut behind them with a bang, followed by the sound of paintings rattling against the wall.

11

MIKA

“Let her go, Piper!” My voice cuts through the warm air, my grip tight on the stopwatch as I watch the scene unfold across the track.

There’s something mesmerizing about watching Fate run. The way her hooves pound rhythmically against the soft red sand, her body hugging the rail as though born to it. Piper, low and streamlined, moves with her, their rhythm in perfect harmony. It’s a beautiful sight, one that always leaves me in awe—this connection between rider and horse, this shared trust and power.

Yet, even as I focus on their run, my thoughts drift. The faint hum of machinery pulls my gaze toward the south pasture, where the cement mixer churns quietly in the distance. The foundation for the helipad is being laid on the far end of the property, something I never imagined I’d see. Alfie clearly took my words to heart, taking steps to keep his helicopter away from the horses. I should be relieved. I should feel satisfaction in having my message heard. But his absence weighs on me, a strange emptiness I can’t quite explain. I wanted him to understand, but I can’t help but feel unsettled about his absence.

I force my attention back to the track, just in time to see Fate round the bend. She changes leads seamlessly, launching into aneven faster gear. It’s amazing how she makes it all look so easy. For a moment, everything feels right—Fate’s progress, Piper’s control, the way the world makes sense when they’re flying down the track.

Out here, in the quiet rhythm of hooves and the fresh scent of grass, I can almost forget everything else. The uncertainty with Alfie, the growing confusion I feel whenever he crosses my mind—it fades into the background when I’m with Fate. She’s the one constant, the one thing that hasn’t let me down.

“Bring her in!” I call out, and Piper reluctantly responds.

I can hardly blame her. There’s a temptation to let Fate keep running, to see how far she can go, how fast. But I won’t risk pushing her too hard, not now. Not when she’s showing so much promise. Piper knows this, too, and as she brings Fate down from her sprint, I watch the interplay between them. Fate is high-strung today, full of restless energy, but Piper handles it with the ease of someone who understands the balance between control and freedom. It’s what makes them such a good pair.

“I think she’s good,” Piper says, pulling Fate to a stop by the fence.

Ducking beneath the railing, I stride over to run a palm down the filly’s sweaty chest. Her energy comes down with her heart rate, and I know she’s had a good workout when she’s not tugging at the bit. I let them walk another fifteen minutes, until the veins have settled beneath Fate’s coppery coat, and I take the time to jot down the details of her progress. They’ll all go into the report I put together once a month for each horse that Alfie can review. The Carvers always took great care to read the details of their horses’ progress, and I wonder if Alfie will take any interest at all. Judging by the way he handled our meeting about the race schedule, I doubt it.

“Let’s take her back. Hector can hose her off.”

“Sounds good.” Pulling Fate to a stop, Piper slings her leg over the back of the saddle as I take the filly’s reins to keep her steady.

The moment Piper dismounts outside the barn, Hector steps in to guide Fate inside for her post-run grooming.

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