celebration or cries of aggravation. I heard the patter of feet as people made it to their bookies, desperate to know how much they had won. Hilarion had been one of the favorites so the sum couldn’t have been steep.
In the VIP area, decorated with whites and silvers, owners and patrons loitered. The outcome of the race had been in my favor—and not in theirs. Mitsuzo Ishida had joined me for the first half of the race, but had to leave to handle urgent business.
“When are you considering studding Hilarion?” someone asked me. It was usually the first question.
I gave my usual answer, “When he meets a girl he likes.”
The women tittered in response, the men chuckled, but their greedy eyes didn’t waver. A colt or filly from Hilarion would be a valuable thing to own.
That’s why I had no intention of giving one up.
My men and I began to leave, to join Hilarion and his jockey, when Dmitri said, “Good luck to anyone who wants a foal from Hilarion. It would be the worst behaved horse in history.”
Only Dmitri joined me at the races out of enjoyment. Artyom claimed it was ridiculous, without reason. Roman hated having to wear a tie, something required of him to enter the VIP area. Sometimes the ladies joined us—both Roksana and Danika enjoying wearing ridiculous hats—but not today.
Not now.
I took a sip of my champagne. “Perhaps the mare’s genes will give the foal a better temperament.”
Dmitri snorted. “Sure.”
We shared a laugh.
Well dressed women in fancy hats and men with brightly colored ascots filled the way to the stables. As we passed, their heads turned, either in admiration or understanding. Those who knew who I was turned away quickly, not wanting their faces to be etched into my mind.
Too late.
“This is how people used to look at me in Moscow,” I told Dmitri. “I’ve missed it.”
“Tatiana mentioned.” Dmitri’s blue eyes scanned the crowds. “She said it makes you feel powerful.”
I accessed him from the corner of my eye. “And do you?”
When he looked at me, all I could see was the young man with icy blue eye and skin the color of snow who showed up on my doorstep and declared his loyalty. I have served many Pakhans, he had said, but you will be the last.
“I will feel better when we have the dirt we need on all these people.” He looked back the way we had come, towards the investors and elite. “We need to find that key.”
“I’m aware,” I said coolly.
Dmitri bowed his head in respect. “Has Elena mentioned anything else?”
I hadn’t brought up the key since the first time we spoke about the subject. It had been a tender subject to her, one she had claimed not to have any knowledge about.
“Not yet,” I said. “She’s not ready to say anything yet.”
“But she knows?”
“She knows more than she thinks,” I confirmed. “What, however… Well, isn’t that the million-dollar question.”
Dmitri worked his jaw, stopping himself from saying something.
He pressed his lips together. “Tatiana told me that Roksana told Elena about how…about what happened to her.”
Animalistic anger crawled up my stomach at the mention of Roksana’s past. Once the most talented ballerina in Moscow…and then not. Because of her father’s failure to protect and provide for her.
He had gotten what he’d deserved. As did those who’d hurt Roksana.
Artyom had made sure of it.
“It is Roksana’s decision whom she shares her past with,” I said.
Dmitri couldn’t hide his cold anger, his icy protectiveness. “The women are growing attached to her. Danika adores her, Roksana shared her past with her and Tatiana is convinced Nikola knows when Elena is in the room. Fuck, even Anton calls her Auntie Lena.”
I had heard Anton call Elena that. He had been playing with his trucks on the kitchen floor and greeted her as she joined the family for breakfast with a joyful, “Auntie Lena!” Tatiana hadn’t reacted, or seemed that surprised, but Dmitri had almost choked on his coffee.
“Are you worried about Anton when she leaves?” I asked.
Dmitri shook his head. “When she leaves, I’ll be worried about you.”
I turned my head to him, expression appraising. “Is that so? Save your worries, brother. They are misplaced.”
“My loyalty is to you first,” he ventured. “If she is a threat, even for a second—”
I cut him off. “If you want to keep breathing, don’t finish that sentence.”
Low in my gut, I could feel my anger stirring from its slumber.