Page 23 of Taming Mika

The note sounds cordial enough, but it’s not hard to read between the lines—this isn’t a present.

It’s a threat, warning me that this is what happens to people who get on Nikolai’s bad side.

13

MIKA

The energy is high as I walk the line of stalls we’ve been assigned at Saratoga Springs’s famous race track. We have seven box stalls designated for the weekend’s event, all of which were generously bedded by the hands I sent ahead of the trailer to set up.

We pulled in just after dawn, because I like to give the horses as much time to settle in as I can.

“How’s Fate?” I ask, joining Hector at the grooming stall.

Piper’s with the groom already, standing at the filly’s head. Her saddle is cinched to the chestnut’s back as Fate waits expectantly. Her eyes hold that competitive fire that tells me she’s ready for anything, but her energy is steady.

“Ready to go, as always,” Hector confirms, his tone affectionate. He pats her copper chest, then turns back to the shelf of grooming supplies.

“And you?” I ask Piper.

The young jockey beams, her excitement somehow overflowing and simultaneously under careful control. “More than ready,” she assures me, tightening the chin strap of her helmet.

She’s dressed in the Carvers’ signature blue-and-gold silks, andthe familiar sight makes my heart squeeze. I’m glad that, even if the Carvers no longer own the barn, they’re still present in spirit. I just hope Alfie doesn’t drive their legacy into the ground. Admittedly, he’s done little to change anything about the program they let me run—another thing to be grateful for, even if my emotions about the new barn owner are conflicted.

“Good.” I give Piper a curt nod and turn my eyes back to the filly as she bobs her head in agreement.

“Is Señor Bonetti coming to the track today?” Javier asks, a hint of agitation in his voice as he comes up beside me.

The conversations about our new barn owner have continued in whispers since I told the hands to stop gossiping. They know better than to talk about him in front of me unless the conversation is absolutely necessary, but I still catch snippets when they think I’m not listening.

It’s been nearly a week since Alfie’s last visit. At first, I thought the new helipad’s installation meant I would have to endure his presence constantly. But the landing pad has long since set, and he hasn’t been back since I told him I would quit if he kept pushing me. I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or concerned. I don’t like surprises, and it feels like Alfie has been throwing me curve balls since the day we met.

“He hasn’t said one way or the other,” I say in a clipped tone, focusing intently on Fate as I finger-comb her forelock down onto her face. “He knows which races his horses are running, and if he comes, he may just prefer to stay in the clubhouse.” I don’t know why it should bother me, but my stomach sinks at the thought that he might be enjoying the Turf Terrace dining room with his fiancée right now.

Javier gives a sharp nod before dropping the subject, but it stays on my mind. I imagine Alfie will come to see his prize filly race.What proud owner wouldn’t want to watch how his investment’s panning out?But I don’t get the impression that Alfie finds the horses all that interesting, and after a week of his absence, I don’t know what to expect.

Most owners have some kind of ritual like stopping by to wish their horses luck, a routine they follow before every race without fail.Whether it’s out of superstition or a genuine interest in their horses, I’ve never known an owner to avoid the barn on race day. But since Alfie’s not familiar with the horse world, maybe it doesn’t matter to him.

“Let’s put on her bridle,” I say, glancing down at my wristwatch. “I’d rather get her out to the paddock early so she has plenty of time to warm up.”

Hector nods and turns toward the grooming stall wall for the white polyester bridle that stands out so nicely against her red coat.

“How’s our girl?”

The smooth, masculine voice sends a jolt through my body. I tense before slowly turning to find Alfie Bonetti standing behind me. He looks as stylish as ever, in a navy-blue suit and a crisp white shirt. A blue-and-gold tie, tucked neatly beneath the buttons of his blazer, matches the silks he took possession of. As usual, his hair is styled perfectly, with just the right amount of stubble on his jaw to make him look casually sophisticated. His eyes dance as they meet mine, and his lips curve into a smirk that makes my pulse flutter. But my stomach sinks when I spot the delicate young woman on his arm.

Wearing a frilly, red, off-the-shoulder floral-print maxi dress with a white wide-brimmed derby hat and a thick red ribbon to match, she’s gut-wrenchingly stunning. Her mahogany hair falls in perfect waves over her shoulders, shining with luscious verve. And though her makeup is minimal, her features are striking enough that I’m sure she would be just as attractive without it.

Soft eyebrows arch over stunning hazel eyes, and her thick lashes brush her high cheekbones every time she blinks. She’s not what I would expect of a Russian bride. I’d pictured her being more blonde and delicate. But I can see why Alfie would be attracted to her. She’s gorgeous, and her dimpled smile is brimming with a joy that’s almost contagious.

An unexpected flare of jealousy rips through me as I realize this must be Alfie’s fiancée. Why he would evenlookat me when he’s marrying someone so refined and strikingly dainty, I have no idea. I’m her opposite in almost every way. I’m dirty, rough around theedges, and always dressed pragmatically because I don’t have a lick of fashion sense—nor do I care to develop one when I spend my days getting slobbered on by horses.

Coming face to face with the woman he’s being unfaithful to puts my emotions in a snarl. I’m tempted to warn the poor girl. She deserves to know what he’s capable of, what he’s done and will likely continue to do after they’re married. But I’ve miraculously managed to keep my job so far, and I know it would be wiser to bite my tongue. During Alfie’s absence this past week, I’ve had time to consider my options, and I came to the conclusion that I want to work with Fate and continue on with this stable of horses badly enough that I’m willing to endure my new boss.

“Mika?” Alfie says.

I start as I realize I’ve been staring at the beautiful young woman on his arm. Shifting my gaze back to Alfie, I find him watching me expectantly.I never answered his question, did I?“Good. Fate’s been great.” I clear my throat in an attempt to get my voice under control. “She traveled nicely this morning, and her energy is high, but not nervous. She’s ready for her race, which is scheduled to start shortly.”

I look pointedly back at my watch, but my eyes travel surreptitiously back to Alfie’s fiancée. She seems too taken with Fate to have noticed my odd behavior. She gives Alfie a questioning glance, and he nods encouragingly. Releasing his elbow, she steps forward and puts her hand beneath the filly’s soft nose.

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