Chapter 20 Misha
MISHA
After dropping Vera off at the employee gate, I find a good vantage point to watch for Sonya, positioning myself at the rail overlooking the exercise ring.
The location gives me clear sightlines to the stable entrances and the parking lot—most importantly, it's where Sonya will see me the moment she steps out of her car.
The plan crystallized overnight as I lay in bed thinking about Vera's confession, about the fear in her eyes when she looked at me in the tunnel.
The Radich crew has been operating on borrowed time since Pavel's death, and yesterday's conversation with Sonya proved I'm out of time. It's time for a more direct approach.
At seven fifteen, the black sedan pulls into its usual spot and Sonya emerges, checks her phone, then scans the area as if making sure no one is watching her.
Her gaze finds me at the rail, and I see the exact moment she recognizes me, the disgust on her face.
Vera may be innocent of the knowledge of who I am, but Ms. Radich is not, and she's not happy that I'm fucking with her plans.
Instead of avoiding contact, I walk directly toward her, and her eyes hold my gaze the entire way.
"Morning," I say, stopping close enough to make the encounter unavoidable. "You're here early."
She studies me with cold calculation. Up close, I can see the hard lines around her eyes, the way she holds herself with confidence. She's been in this business a long time. She knows what to expect from this confrontation.
"I could say the same about you."
"Track management keeps early hours. Especially when there are concerns about security."
"Security concerns?" One eyebrow lifts, but the hint of a smirk at the corner of her lip reveals she's not surprised to hear it.
"People who don't belong here, asking questions about horses and jockeys. Making arrangements that affect race outcomes." I toe the ground with my shoe and square my shoulders. "You understand."
Her expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension in the way her lips press together. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not. But if you did, I'd want you to know that management takes a very serious interest in protecting our assets. Our people."
"Your people?"
"Everyone who works here. Everyone under our protection." I cross my arms over my chest and watch her eyes darken.
The threat might be subtle, but it's unmistakable. Sonya's eyes narrow slightly, reassessing me.
"And you are?"
"Someone who notices things. Someone who remembers faces and connections." I check my watch. "I should let you get to your business. Whatever that might be."
I walk away without waiting for a response, feeling her stare follow me across the parking lot. The message has been delivered—she's being watched, her operation is known, and the people she's been manipulating are under someone else's protection now.
I can't come right out and make a move yet or it will bring a shitstorm of trouble, and perhaps an all-out war between the Vetrovs and Sonya's crew, but I'm not about to stand back and let her keep working boldly without at least a warning.
When I see Vera leaving the feed shed with her cart, I intercept her before she reaches the stable entrance. She smiles as I approach, but I don't have time for pleasantries this morning.
"We need to talk," I tell her, guiding her toward the tack room at the far end of building two. The space is rarely used during morning hours—perfect for a private conversation. She leaves her feed cart behind but walks with me without protesting. At least I've gained her full trust now.
"Is everything all right?" she asks as I close the door behind us.
"That depends. Has Sonya contacted you since yesterday?"
"No." Her voice is careful, cautious. "Why?"
"Because I want to make sure you understand how dangerous this situation has become."
I position myself between her and the door, not to trap her but to ensure our conversation stays private. The morning light filters through a grimy window, but through it I see other trainers and stable hands passing. We don't have long before someone needs this room.
"Misha, what's going on?" She wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that makes something twist in my chest.
I move closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "From now on, I'm going to be more involved in your daily routine. Walking your routes with you, standing nearby when you're at the payout windows, staying in earshot whenever Sonya or her people are around."
"You want to follow me around all day?" Her eyes flick nervously toward the door where voices pass by, and she sighs. "I didn't think it was this bad. You don't have to babysit me."
"I want to protect you. There's a difference."
She searches my face, looking for something I'm not sure I can give her. "And if I say no?"
"Then you're on your own with people who've already killed one person to protect their operation." I let that sink in. "Is that what you want?" Lies come so easily for me, but it's simpler to let her believe Sonya killed Pavel than to explain why I had to take him out.
"Of course not," she says, letting her shoulders drop.
"Then we work together. You tell me when Sonya contacts you, what instructions she gives you, where she wants you to go. I make sure nothing happens to you while you're following those instructions."
"And then what? This can't go on forever, Misha." She wraps her arms around my chest in a move that startles me. I stiffen at first and then return the embrace.
"No, it can't. Which is why we're going to make sure it stops." The words come out a little unsteady, like how I feel. Vera isn't just a pawn in this game anymore, and when I told her I love her, I meant it. She looks at me with a mixture of hope and wariness.
"What does that mean?"
"It means Sonya and her crew are going to learn that using people to do their dirty work has consequences." My chest feels like it's on fire, warring between what I know my job is and what this woman in my arms means to me. "They can't come into our territory and—"
"Our territory?"
I realize my slip immediately. The possessive language, the territorial claim—it reveals more about my position than I ever wanted to let her know.
"The track, of course—the stable complex. The areas where you work and live." I keep my voice steady, matter-of-fact. "Places where people should be able to do their jobs without being threatened or manipulated."
She nods slowly, but I can see the questions in her eyes. Questions about why I speak with such authority, why I'm so confident about handling dangerous criminals, why my protection feels less like concern and more like ownership.
"Vera." I pull back and touch her cheek, the gesture both genuine and calculated. I have to make sure she understands I mean this with all of my heart. I need to protect her. "I know this is complicated. I know you're scared. But I need you to trust me."
"I do trust you."
"Even when you don't understand everything I'm doing or why I'm doing it?"
She hesitates, and in that hesitation I see her father's warnings, her own instincts telling her that something doesn't add up.
"I trust that you care about me," she says finally. "I trust that you want to keep me safe."
It's not a complete answer, but it's enough for now.
"Good. Because caring about you and keeping you safe—those are the only things that matter to me right now.
" Somewhere between seducing her for information and manipulating her trust, my priorities have fundamentally shifted.
The investigation, the family's interests, even my own survival—all of it has become secondary to the woman standing in front of me.
"What happens next?" she asks.
"Next, you go do your job. But you don't go anywhere alone, and you don't follow any of Sonya's instructions without telling me first."
"And you?"
"I make sure everyone understands the new rules."
I lean down and kiss her forehead, a gesture that's meant to be reassuring but feels more like a claim. She belongs to me now, whether she fully understands what that means or not.
"Stay close today," I tell her. "And if Sonya or anyone else tries to pressure you, you find me immediately. Don't worry about being polite, don't worry about making a scene. Just find me."
She nods, and I can see some of the tension leave her shoulders. Having someone else make the decisions, carry the responsibility—it's what she's needed all along.
I watch her leave the tack room, then follow at a distance as she begins her morning rounds. The protective instinct that drives me to shadow her movements, to position myself where I can intervene if necessary, feels less strategic now and more fundamental.
Now the urge to keep her clear of the Radich mess isn't about gathering intelligence or maintaining cover. It's about ensuring that the woman I love survives the war that's coming.
Because it is coming. Sonya's escalation, the threats against Vera, the broader territorial dispute between the Radich and Vetrov operations—all of it is building toward a confrontation that will leave bodies on the ground.
I just have to make sure Vera's isn't one of them.