26. Mira
MIRA
D awn bleeds across the horizon in shades of copper and ash, and I stand at the fence line clutching Rusalka's halter so tightly the leather cuts into my palm.
The county road winds past our property half a mile through the trees, but I can see the trailer hauling Thunder's Shadow and the other race contenders as it rumbles toward the track's entrance.
The diesel engine growls through the morning air, carrying horses worth more than our entire ranch.
My chest feels hollow, scraped raw by fear and anger and the terrible certainty that today will end everything. One way or another, the Petrov name dies with this race. Either we burn in defeat or we burn from the consequences of what I'm about to do.
Rusalka shifts beside me, her breath forming clouds in the cold air.
She knows. Animals always know when their humans are breaking apart inside.
Her dark eyes find mine, and for a moment I see my own desperation reflected back at me—the understanding that we're both trapped in a game designed to destroy us.
"We're going to make it," I whisper to her, my voice cracking on the words. "No matter what it costs. No matter who gets hurt. We're going to survive this."
The promise burns on my tongue because I'm not sure I believe it anymore. But Rusalka needs to hear confidence, needs to feel my certainty even if it's a lie. Horses feed on their rider's emotions, and I can't let her carry my terror into that race.
Footsteps crunch behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know it's Renat. The sound of his approach sends ice through my veins, not because I fear him but because I fear what I feel when he's close.
Rusalka's muscles tense as he nears the fence, her ears flicking back in nervous awareness. She doesn't bolt or rear, but every line of her body screams wariness. Even she can sense the tension between us because of everything that's shifted.
"Easy, girl." His voice comes out soft. When I finally turn to look at him, his face is haggard, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and alcohol. "I'm not going to hurt her."
"She knows that." I stroke Rusalka's neck, feeling the tension coiled beneath her coat. "But she also knows what you are. What you've done."
He leans against the fence rail, his knuckles split and bloody from whatever he did to himself last night. "Or she knows you're angry with me…" he suggests, and I wince.
Because the truth is complicated, messy, dangerous.
The truth is that he's a killer and a criminal and everything I should run from—but he's also the only thing standing between my family and complete destruction.
And he's the man I love, damn the consequence, and my heart wants him even after everything.
"I heard you," I say instead, my voice barely above a whisper. "Last night. In the barn."
His whole body goes rigid, and for a moment he looks younger somehow. Vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. "You were supposed to be sleeping."
"I was. Until you started talking to my horse about loving me."
The words fall into the morning air like stones into still water, creating ripples that change everything.
He closes his eyes, and I watch him struggle with whatever he's feeling—shame or regret or the kind of pain that comes from wanting things you can never have.
I swear I see him tear up, but he will never allow me to see him that vulnerable, and he hides the emotion as quickly as it surfaced.
"Forget you heard that." He opens his eyes, and they're empty again, carefully controlled. "It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" I step closer to the fence, close enough to see the individual whiskers on his jaw, the scar that cuts through his left eyebrow. "Because it sounded true when you said it."
"Truth is a luxury people like me can't afford."
"That's not an answer."
He looks at me for a long moment, and I see something crack in his expression. Something raw and desperate that he usually keeps buried beneath layers of violence and duty.
"Yes," he says finally. "It's true. I love you, Mira.
I love your strength and your stubbornness and the way you fight for things that everyone else has given up on.
I love how you talk to horses and how you smell like hay and soap and something clean that I'll never be able to touch without ruining. "
My throat constricts, making it hard to breathe. "Renat?—"
"I told Vadim the other day that I won't be part of hurting you. Any of you." His voice takes on an edge that makes my blood run cold. "If Rusalka loses, if the ranch has to burn, they can put me in the ground beside it because I won't be the one holding the torch."
The implication of what he's saying makes my stomach knot. He's not just talking about defying orders or disappointing his family. He's talking about signing his own death warrant. In the Bratva, betrayal has only one punishment, and it doesn't involve lengthy trials or appeals.
"You can't do that." The words tear out of my throat, raw and desperate. "You can't just decide to die because?—"
"Because what? Because you need me alive?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You've made it clear how you feel about what I am, what I've done."
"That doesn't mean I want you dead."
"Then what do you want, Mira? Because I'm running out of ways to protect you that don't end with one of us in the ground."
I stare at him through the fence rails, this man who has torn my world apart and put it back together in ways I'm still trying to understand.
This killer who talks to horses and splits his knuckles on punching bags because he can't bear the weight of his own conscience.
This enforcer who would rather die than watch my family's legacy burn.
Without thinking, I lean through the rails and press my lips to his cheek. His skin is rough with stubble, warm despite the morning chill. He smells like vodka, and being near him makes my heart race in ways it shouldn't.
When I pull back, his eyes are wide with surprise and I see a flicker of hope.
"Win the race," I tell him, stepping away from the fence. "That's what I want. Win the race and find a way for both of us to survive what comes after."
I turn and walk toward the barn before he can respond, before the crack in my voice gives away how close I am to falling apart completely.
Behind me, I hear him call my name, but I don't stop.
Can't stop. Because if I turn around now, if I see whatever expression he's wearing, I might do something stupid and reckless and completely irreversible.
The barn swallows me in familiar shadows and the smell of hay and horse sweat. Papa stands near the tack room, organizing bridles with the kind of nervous energy that means he hasn't slept either. He looks up when I enter, and I see my own fear reflected in his weathered features.
"The trailer arrived twenty minutes ago," I tell him, though he probably already knows. "Thunder's Shadow looks good. Calm."
He nods, hanging a bridle on its proper hook with unnecessary care. "Rusalka looks ready too. As ready as she can be."
The lie sits between us, unspoken but understood. Rusalka isn't ready for a race against horses with months more training and breeding worth more than our entire bloodline. Under normal circumstances, she would lose by lengths, maybe even injure herself trying to keep pace with superior animals.
But these aren't normal circumstances.
" Batya ." I move closer, lowering my voice even though we're alone. "We need to talk about the final step."
His hands still on the leather he's organizing. "The registration swap."
"You'll handle the paperwork submission this morning. Get our fake Thunder's Shadow documentation into the official files." I pull the sealed packet from my jacket pocket, the one we prepared last night with shaking hands and criminal intent. "I'll handle the physical tag swap at the staging area."
"And if someone notices? If they check too carefully?"
"They won't. Not if we give them something else to focus on." I take a deep breath, knowing what I'm about to propose will horrify him. "We need a diversion. Something big enough to pull security attention away from the identification checks."
Papa's face goes pale. "What kind of diversion?"
"A fire." The word tastes like ash in my mouth. "One of the equipment trailers. Nothing that would hurt the horses or people, just enough chaos to keep the stewards busy."
"Mira, no. That's arson. That's?—"
"That's survival." I grab his arm, feeling the tremor in his muscles. " Batya , look at me. Really look at me. Do you see someone who has any other choice?" I'm frantic, but I try to stay calm. "If they catch me before the race, I'm dead. You know that. This is the only way."
He stares into my face, and I watch him see what I've become. Not his innocent daughter anymore, but something harder, more desperate. Someone capable of burning down the world if it means protecting the people she loves.
"There has to be another way," he whispers.
"There is no other way. There never was." I release his arm, stepping back. "We can do this, or we can die honest. Those are the only options left."
The barn falls into terrible quiet around us. Even the horses seem to sense the weight of what we're discussing, their usual morning sounds muted by the gravity of our conversation.
Finally, he nods. "What kind of fire?"
Relief and guilt war in my chest as I outline the plan.
A small electrical fire in one of the transport trailers—something that would look accidental but create enough smoke and confusion to divert attention.
He knows people who work the loading crews, people who might be willing to help for the right price.
"It has to happen during the registration check," I emphasize. "Right when they're verifying identification tags. The timing has to be perfect… I have to do it myself."
"And if it goes wrong? If they figure out what we've done?"
I don't answer immediately, because the truth is too dark to speak aloud.
If we're caught, if our deception is discovered, we won't live long enough to face trial.
Vadim Vetrov doesn't forgive failure, and he certainly doesn't forgive fraud that embarrasses his family in front of the entire racing community.
"Then we run," I lie. "As far and fast as we can."
Batya sees through the deception, but he doesn't call me on it. Instead, he pulls me into a hug that smells like sawdust and old tobacco and twenty years of broken dreams.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against my hair. "I'm sorry I failed you so badly that this is where we've ended up."
"You didn't fail me, Batya . The world failed us." I hug him back, memorizing the feeling of his arms around me. "But we're going to win anyway. We're going to take everything they tried to destroy and make it ours."
When we break apart, his eyes are bright with tears he refuses to shed. "Your mother would be proud of you. Terrified, but proud."
The mention of Mama conjures grief I haven't felt in years, and for a moment I can almost smell her perfume, hear her laugh echoing through the barn. She would've hated what I've become, what I'm about to do. But she would've understood why.
"She would have told us to fight," I say. "To never let them break us completely."
"Then we fight."
Outside, a vehicle passes—probably Renat leaving for whatever pre-race preparations his family demands. The sound of the engine fading into distance reminds me that time is running out, that in a few hours all our careful planning will either save us or destroy us completely.
I look around the barn one more time, taking in details that might be lost to fire by evening—the way morning light filters through dusty windows, the patient breathing of horses who trust us to protect them, the smells of hay and leather and everything that makes this place home.
Then I square my shoulders and walk toward Rusalka's stall, ready to prepare her for the most important race of both our lives. Ready to bet everything on speed and luck and the desperate hope that sometimes the underdog actually wins.
Today, we find out if love and determination can overcome breeding and money and all the advantages that have always belonged to people who aren't us.
Today, we discover whether criminals and outcasts can steal victory from those who think they own it by right.
Today, everything changes.