Chapter 16 Misha
MISHA
Iarrive at the track two hours before dawn, when the air still holds the night's chill and the stables are empty except for the horses shifting in their stalls.
Three weeks have passed since I sat in Anatoly Kovalenko's cramped living room and answered his questions about my intentions toward his daughter.
Three weeks since I watched Vera's face light up when her brother approved of me.
Three weeks of playing the devoted protector while mapping every connection in the Radich operation.
The rumors about Pavel's death have settled into whispered speculation that always follows violent endings in this business.
Some say he owed money to the wrong people.
Others claim he was caught fixing races and paid the price.
The official investigation concluded he was killed while trying to thwart race saboteurs.
Probably best for everyone that he's being hailed a hero.
I walk through the stable complex, noting which stalls hold horses running today, which trainers are already preparing for morning workouts, which paths Vera will take during her rounds. By the time she arrives for her shift, I want every moment of her day mapped out.
Not for her protection, though that's what she'll believe. For mine.
The Radich crew has grown bolder since Pavel's death, not more cautious.
Yesterday, I watched Sonya approach two different stable hands with envelopes, her movements too smooth and practiced to be anything innocent.
She's expanding her network, replacing Pavel with multiple smaller assets.
The operation is evolving, and I need to understand the full scope before Nikolai loses patience with my progress reports.
He's given me a few weeks to do more ground work following the dead jockey being discovered, but I don’t have long if I want to keep my blood inside my body.
My phone buzzes with a text from Vera.
Vera 7:13 AM: On my way. Coffee?
I respond immediately.
Misha 7:13 AM: Already have it waiting.
The response comes back with a heart emoji, and I feel that familiar twist in my chest—part satisfaction at her trust, part something more dangerous that I refuse to examine too closely.
I don't have time to get wrapped up emotionally, though I know I'm already in too deep.
If I don't keep my wits about me, this situation will get us both killed.
I need clear thinking if I'm going to extricate Vera from Sonya's network and keep her out of Nikolai's crosshairs.
Twenty minutes later, she appears at the track's employee entrance, her hair in its usual braid, work boots laced tight. The morning light catches the green of her eyes as she spots me waiting with two steaming cups.
"You're early," she says, accepting the coffee with a smile that makes my pulse quicken.
"Wanted to make sure you were safe getting in." I fall into step beside her as we head toward the stables. She may have refused my ride, but I have men following her anyway. "How did you sleep?"
"Better, knowing you were going to be here." She glances up at me, and I lean in and press a kiss to her temple. I intend for it to be warm toward her, but I feel the heat of it too.
"Let's walk," I say, pulling back so the aura of her sweet scent doesn't get beneath my skin this early in the morning.
We reach the stable office, and I hold the door for her. "What's your schedule today?"
"Morning turnout for the horses in building three, then I'm helping with pre-race prep for tonight's card. The usual." She sets her coffee on her desk and pulls up the day's assignment sheet. "Storm's End is running in the fifth race. Want to check on him with me?"
"Absolutely."
This is perfect. Storm's End's stall is in building three, the same section where Sonya conducted yesterday's envelope exchange. If the pattern holds, she'll be back there this morning, and having Vera with me gives me cover to linger in the area.
We walk toward building three together, and I note every person we pass, every face that turns to watch us.
Two stable hands nod respectfully when they see me—they know I represent track management, even if Vera doesn't. A trainer waves from the exercise ring.
Everything appears normal, but I've learned to look for the details that don't fit.
"There," Vera says, pointing toward Storm's End's stall. "He looks good today. Alert."
The horse is indeed alert, head up, ears forward. A good sign for tonight's race. I approach the stall door and run my hand along the animal's neck, feeling for any sign of tension or discomfort.
"How's his appetite been?"
"Excellent. He cleaned his bucket last night and took a few apples too." Vera checks the water supply, making notes on her clipboard. When the horse nudges her sweetly, she leans in and kisses his nose. "The trainer wants him walked for thirty minutes before noon."
"I'll handle that," I say. "You can focus on the other horses."
She looks surprised. "You don't need to—"
"I want to. Besides, I know my horse. We understand each other."
It's not entirely false. Storm's End is one of three horses I own under shell companies, placed strategically to give me insight into race conditions and training schedules.
But my real motivation is different—walking Storm's End will give me reason to stay in this section of the stables for an extended period where I can keep my eyes on Vera and watch the activity.
We spend the next hour systematically moving through the building.
Vera checks each horse, makes her notes, coordinates with the trainers and grooms. I stay close, offering help with feed buckets, checking water supplies, playing the attentive companion.
To anyone watching, I'm a man in love, eager to spend time with his woman and learn about her work.
The performance is so convincing that I almost believe it myself. Being near Vera is as natural as gravity. I don't have to think about staying close. My body is pulled in her direction wherever she is.
At ten thirty, I spot movement near the feed storage area.
Sonya emerges from behind a stack of hay bales, adjusting her jacket to close it, which means she had it open.
And if that's the case, she likely took out one of her fancy little envelopes from it.
She doesn't look in our direction, but her presence confirms my suspicions about her expanded operations.
"Stay close to me," I whisper, because I don't know what Sonya is capable of and until I do, I won't leave Vera alone near the woman.
"I'm fine," she mutters, but her body language tells a different story.
Her shoulders are tight, her grip on the clipboard tenser than necessary.
She knows exactly who Sonya is and what she represents, but she's not ready to admit it.
To do so would be to admit she made a poor choice by working with the woman.
"Stay here," I tell her. "I want to check something."
I approach the feed storage area where Sonya emerged, scanning for any sign of what she was doing there.
Behind the hay bales, I find a small metal lockbox hidden beneath a tarp—empty now, but recently used based on the dust patterns around it.
A dead drop location, likely for payments or instructions.
And they planned it in a blind spot where track security feeds can't see the interactions.
When I return to Vera, she's moved on to the next stall, but I can see the tension in her movements.
"Everything all right?" I ask.
"Fine. Just… I don't like when she's here."
"Why?"
"She makes me nervous. I just want to be done working for her.” Vera glances toward where Sonya disappeared. "Some of the other workers think she's connected to what happened to Pavel."
"What do you think?"
She's quiet for a long moment. "I think there are dangerous people at this track, and the smart thing is to stay away from them."
"Good advice."
We continue our rounds, and I note every person Sonya spoke to, every location she visited, every interaction that might reveal the scope of her operation.
By noon, I have a clearer picture of how the Radich network functions—at least a dozen stable hands and grooms acting as information sources, three dead drop locations for payments and instructions, and a rotation system that makes detection difficult.
It's more sophisticated than I expected, which means the threat to the Vetrov interests is larger than Nikolai initially assessed.
"I need to make some calls," I tell Vera as we finish the morning's work. "Business matters. Can you handle lunch on your own?"
"Of course. But…" She hesitates. "You're coming back, right? For the afternoon?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
I kiss her forehead, another gesture that reads as affectionate protection but serves to mark territory. Anyone watching knows she's under my attention, which means she's under my protection. It also means any approach to her will be noticed.
I retreat to the track's administrative office, where I have access to the security system and communication equipment.
The surveillance cameras cover most of the stable areas, and I spend twenty minutes reviewing this morning's footage, confirming my observations and identifying two additional Radich contacts I hadn't spotted in person.
Then I call Nikolai.
"Progress report," he grunts as soon as he answers the phone. The last conversation I had with him was tense and ended with him reminding me that if I failed, my death would be painfully slow.
"The Radich operation is larger than we thought. At least fifteen people are involved, sophisticated dead drop system, multiple revenue streams beyond simple betting manipulation." I tap my finger on the desk and stare at the computer monitor.
"And the girl?"
"She's their money mule, nothing more. They're using her desperation to fund her brother's medical care."
"Will she be useful?"
"Potentially. She has access to their handler, knows the betting patterns, could provide intelligence if handled correctly." My eyes flick over toward the window where I see Vera across the paddock working Storm's End.
"Or she could be a liability." Nikolai is making a point. In this business, liabilities are dealt with harshly.
"She's not a liability," I say firmly. "She's an asset."
"Your call. But Misha…" Nikolai's voice takes on a warning tone. "Don't let personal feelings cloud your judgment. The family's interests come first."
"Understood."
"Good. Clean this up. The longer the Radich crew operates on our territory, the weaker we look. Make an example if necessary."
The line goes dead, leaving me staring out the office window toward the paddock area. Vera has no idea that her life hangs in the balance of decisions being made in offices and back rooms, that her value as an asset is the only thing keeping her safe.
The thought makes my jaw clench with protective anger.
It's a dangerous game, protecting someone while using them. But as I watch her laugh at something one of the trainers says, as I see the way her face lights up when she spots me across the paddock, I know I'm already too deep to turn back.
The bigger play Nikolai described—tightening control, cutting access, making examples—it all runs through Vera now. She's the key to understanding their network, and she's the leverage I need to bring it down.
She's also becoming the most dangerous threat to my objectivity I've ever encountered.
But that's a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I have work to do.