28. Mira #2
And then Renat's walking. Not toward the winner's circle where protocol demands he should go, but toward the stewards' office with murder written across his shoulders.
"I have to get to him." I turn away from the rail, but Batya 's grip tightens on my arm.
"Mira, no. You stay away from that man."
" Batya , you don't understand. When he finds out what we did?—"
"When he finds out, we'll both be dead." Batya 's voice cracks with exhaustion and fear. "At least here you might have a chance."
I pull free from Batya 's grasp and push into the crowd. Bodies press against me from all sides—men in expensive suits celebrating their winnings, women clutching programs and betting slips, children wide-eyed at the spectacle.
But I force my way through them, fighting against the tide of humanity flowing toward the winner's circle. Every step takes me closer to the stewards' building and whatever confrontation is building inside those concrete walls.
"Mira!" Batya 's voice follows me, but I don't turn back. Can't turn back. Every second I delay gives Vadim more time to enact his sentence. He'll kill Renat.
The crowd parts ahead of me as security rushes toward a commotion near the paddock area. Through the chaos, I catch glimpses of familiar figures—broad shoulders in expensive suits, Vadim's unmistakable profile. They're moving with purpose toward a maintenance building behind the grandstand.
My blood turns cold. This isn't heading toward what's supposed to happen. They're going to kill him.
I push harder through the dispersing crowd, elbowing past spectators still celebrating their winnings. The maintenance building sits in shadow, tucked away from the main track facilities. No cameras here. No witnesses.
The kind of place where conversations end badly.
I reach the building as voices explode from inside. Not the controlled anger I expected, but raw fury barely contained by concrete walls.
"—told you this would happen!" Vadim's voice carries through the thin door, sharp with accusation. "Told you she couldn't be trusted!"
"The race isn't over." Renat's reply comes lower, more controlled, but I can hear the tension coiling beneath each word. "The results?—"
"The results are final." Vadim cuts him off. "Your horse lost, Renat. Third place. The Karpins aren't going to accept that."
A crash echoes from inside—furniture overturning, glass breaking. When Vadim speaks again, his voice has dropped to the dangerous whisper I remember from the night they ordered him to burn our barn.
"Dima knows the horse failed. He knows you convinced us to delay the destruction of that ranch. And now he wants blood to make up for the disappointment." Another sound—this time the unmistakable noise of a body hitting the wall. Hard.
"You think I'm afraid of the Karpins?" Renat's voice has gone deadly quiet. "You think I won't tear Dima's throat out with my bare hands?"
"I think you're a dead man." Vadim's reply leaves no room for argument.
"The race was never about winning, you fool.
It was about proving the ranch had value.
About showing the Petrovs we could produce champions on demand.
Instead, you let that little whore manipulate you into believing her animal could actually compete, and she failed. "
The sound that comes from inside the building raises every hair on my arms. Not quite human, not quite animal, pure rage given voice. Renat's growl erupts before I hear him shout.
"Don't." Renat's voice has gone completely flat. "Don't call her that."
"Call her what? What she is? A lying little?—"
The next crash is louder, followed by a grunt of pain. But Vadim's voice continues, breathless now but still venomous.
"She played you, Renat. Made you think with your cock instead of your brain. And now the Karpins are coming for all of us. They'll hit the ranch first—burn it to the ground, kill everyone on the property. Then they'll come for you."
My hand finds the door handle, turning it slowly. The hinges creak as I push it open just enough to see inside.
Vadim stands pressed against the far wall, Renat's forearm across his throat. Blood trickles from Vadim's nose, and his expensive suit is rumpled and torn. But his eyes hold no fear—only cold calculation.
"You want to save yourself?" Vadim continues, his voice strained but steady. "There's one way. Kill her yourself. Bring me her head, and I'll convince Dima you were never compromised. That this was all part of a longer game."
Renat's grip tightens. Vadim's face begins to purple, but he keeps talking.
"Otherwise, they'll take their time with her. Make her suffer for the disrespect. Make you watch before they put a bullet in your skull."
"There has to be another way."
"There is no other way!" Vadim's voice rises to a rasp. "You chose this girl over the family. Now live with the consequences."
I step into the room, and both men freeze. Vadim's eyes find mine first, and something shifts in his expression—not surprise, but satisfaction. As if my appearance was exactly what he'd been hoping for.
"Mira." Renat's voice breaks on my name. "You shouldn't be here."
"Please." The word tears from my throat before I can stop it. "Please don't do this."
Vadim laughs, the sound ugly and wet. "Look at her, Renat. Look at how she begs. Is this what you threw everything away for?"
Renat's hand drops from Vadim's throat. The older man staggers forward, straightening his jacket with shaking fingers. When he looks at me a sardonic smile stretches his thin, pale lips.
"You have until midnight," Vadim says to Renat, never taking his eyes off me. "Bring proof, or the Karpins will provide their own resolution."
He moves toward the door, pausing beside me. "You should have run while you had the chance, little girl. Now it's too late for everyone."
Renat stands with his back to me, shoulders rigid with tension. When he finally turns around, his face holds an expression I've never seen before—not anger, not betrayal, but something far worse.
Resignation.
"Mira," he says quietly. "What have you done?"