Page 51 of Taming Mika

“Is everyone alright?” I ask, my voice ragged with emotion.

Javier nods, though his hands are shaking visibly as he wrings the sweat rag he usually keeps tucked in his back pocket. “I think so,señorita.”

“Are you?” Hector asks, his eyes wide.

No.But I’m not injured, which is what he’s asking. “I’m fine.”

“Puta, this is all your fault,” Francisco hisses, stepping forward to get in my face.

“Hey.” Alfie’s guard—the one whose name I really need to learn so I can thank him properly for saving my life—steps forward, raising his gun defensively.

My heart stutters, and I grasp his hand, shoving it down because I’m all too aware of the fact that he is perfectly comfortable using it. “It’s fine,” I say. “He has a right to speak his mind.”

I turn back to Francisco, trying to keep a brave face, when I know he’s right. This wouldn’t have happened if Alfie hadn’t set his sights on me.

“You’ve put us all in danger, spreading your legs for our new boss when you knew he was engaged. I warned you not to mess with the Russians, and while the rest of us are risking our lives to take care of these animals, you’re playing his whore. We should have handed you over,” Francisco snarls, fury rolling off of him in waves, though he allows me my personal space this time.

His words are like a punch to the gut, and my cheeks flame with mortification. He’s not wrong, and the worst part is, I agree with him. These men shouldn’t be risking their lives for me. They didn’t sign up for that. They’re here to take care of the horses, and while I might not have any control over catching Alfie’s eye, if I had continued to refuse him, maybe he would have mended things with the Russians. But I didn’t want to be a side piece—and as terrible as it is to admit, I liked the thought that Alfie wanted me badly enough to break off his engagement because of it.

“Maybe that’s what you would have wanted, but I would never agree to terms like that,” Javier states firmly as he steps forward to stand next to me. “SeñoritaMika is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to die—and based on your own stories, handing her over to the Russians would have been far more horrible. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, and I can’t believe you would even consider it. You’re not a man if you would let something happen to her to save your own skin.”

It’s the strongest statement I think I’ve ever heard the barn manager give, and it brings tears to my eyes to hear such loyalty. One actually slips free when Hector steps forward to stand beside me aswell. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face leaves no room for misinterpretation, and I’m speechless. Their support makes all the difference in the world. I might not deserve it, but my love and appreciation for Javi and Hector is beyond words.

“You would let her risk our lives and pretend she’s innocent in all this?” Francisco asks. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she doesn’t deserve whatever the Russians would do to her, but I’m not sticking around to see what hell she brings down on us next. I quit.” He turns to look at the rest of the hands, standing wide-eyed and silent, as they witness the altercation. “If you’re smart, you’ll leave with me. Get out while you still can.”

“If you go, the animals will suffer,” Hector says gently, trying to reason with them.

The grooms exchange looks, uncertainty flitting across their faces, and my heart breaks as I read the direction their decision is leaning toward. Javier glances toward me, his eyes silently encouraging me to speak up in my own defense. But I can’t. As much as I hate to admit it, Francisco is right. It’s not safe here because of me. I can’t tell them to stay when I can’t guarantee their safety. I promised them Alfie’s men would keep them safe—and while they did this time, it’s still my fault Nikolai’s men rolled right up to our barn and opened fire.

I shake my head, tears rolling down my cheeks once more. “I’m sorry. If you want to go. I understand.”

Javier’s face falls, and as one, the barnful of grooms I’ve worked with for years leave as one, walking past me without a word.

When the mass exodus is over, only Javier and Hector remain.

26

ALFIE

Vincent grips the grab handle in the passenger seat of my Bugatti as I take a curve at nearly a hundred miles an hour. I know it’s not the best plan of action, but I can’t just sit in New York City waiting for Salvatore to come get me—not when Mika could be in danger. Based on Dominik’s threat, combined with the fact that Ottavio isn’t picking up his phone, I know something’s wrong. What’s worse is I also sent Nina upstate to better protect her—and the helicopter still hasn’t returned. Both of the women I care about most in the world could be in the hands of a madman right now if the reinforcements I sent up to protect them didn’t arrive in time.

That’s why Vincent and I are on the road alone, and judging by the death grip he has on my car, I’d say we’re going faster than he would prefer, but I refuse to take my foot off the gas pedal. I can’t stop the horrible feeling that I won’t make it in time—that Dominik’s right and I’ll be too late to stop whatever Nikolai has planned. The younger Kapranov wouldn’t tell me what it is, and that makes the anxiety so much worse.

“Call Marco again,” I growl, keeping my eyes locked on the road as I blast past a sign telling me the speed limit is fifty-five.

Without letting go of the grab handle, Vincent digs in his suit pocket and pulls out his phone. He projects the call through the car’s loudspeakers, and I grind my teeth, my foot inching down on the gas with every ring.

“Pronto.” Marco’s voice sounds strained as he picks up—like he’s only giving his phone half his attention while he focuses on something urgent.

Vincent doesn’t even try to speak as I take over the call. “Where are you? Is Nina safe?”

“Yeah, boss. She’s good. We have the main house secured. She’s in her room now with a full guard at her door, but you need to get up here as soon as?—”

“I’m already on my way. Get me Salvatore.”

Static crackles across the line as Marco passes his phone, and I grip the steering wheel harder. Something already happened—that much is clear—and I need to know what, but first, I have to get Salvatore to come get me. I still have over an hour to drive, and if he can pick me up on the way, he could get me to the barn in a fraction of the time.

“Hey, boss,” Salvatore says, his accent crisp and succinct.

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