5. Mika

5

MIKA

A fiancée? He must be joking.

Alfie turns his striking hazel gaze back to meet mine, an air of indifference surrounding him. He’s still inches from my face, near enough that he could kiss me without warning. A moment ago, I got the feeling that he might.

I’m not sure I would have stopped him if he’d tried, because whatever this energy is between us, it defies all logic. Rationally speaking, I don’t like him. I can’t stand vain, cocky men who flash their money to get what they want. It’s men like him that spoil the sport I love so much.

But when he’s this close, I find it hard to keep that fact in my mind. I can feel the shortage of oxygen we’re sharing. The warmth radiating from him seeps into my clothes, unleashing tingling goosebumps across my flesh. I haven’t felt like this about a man in far too long. As if— even when he’s too close, he doesn’t feel quite as close as I want him.

And two seconds ago, I was in danger of doing something stupid. Something reckless—like letting him kiss me.

But a freaking fiancée ?

It takes my brain a few beats to translate the meaning behind that word. When it finally does, fury rips through me. I’ve spent the last few days trying to reevaluate Alfie from a different perspective—to account for the fact that he didn’t take advantage of the Carvers, to acknowledge that, as far as I know, he actually signed in writing that he would let me run the barn as I see fit.

But all that effort to try and understand him, all my good intentions of giving him a second chance, a fresh start, come crumbling down. As if it’s not bad enough that he’s hitting on me despite being my new boss—apparently, he’s doing so while he’s engaged to be married.

What the actual hell?

In my experience, rich assholes usually wait until they’re miserable in their marriage before their eyes start to wander. This puts my new boss in a whole new category of entitled. Not only is he arrogant. But he’s also a greedy, selfish, misogynistic pig. He can pretend to be charming all he wants, but it would seem I had him pegged from the start. I don’t know who Alfie Bonetti thinks he is, but he sure as hell won’t be coming near me again.

And I hope he can see every last thought written in my expression now.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he straightens to leave, but the movement is almost reluctant—the most hesitant thing he’s done since I met him.

When he puts space between us, I can finally think straight. “Please, use my office,” I insist, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I stand. “I’ll go.” I need to get the hell out of here before I blow a fuse.

I’m halfway across the room before he even has a chance to respond. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register the deep baritone of his voice—low and commanding—but whatever he says doesn’t stick. I don’t stop to hear it, nor do I care if it was directed at me.

My focus narrows to the barn’s entrance as I stride past his hulking bodyguard. The man doesn’t move an inch, just a living wall of muscle shadowing the doorway. I don’t dare look back as I march down the aisle, my boots echoing against the concrete. I don’t know where I’m headed until I stop in front of Fate’s stall.

The young filly’s delicate head lifts, her wide, liquid-brown eyes meeting mine. Calm, watchful, steady. She doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny, though my chest heaves with barely contained frustration. The soft wisps of her freshly groomed red forelock rest neatly between her alert ears, and her quiet presence pulls at me, offering something I desperately need—an anchor.

I pop open the trunk outside her stall and pull out a curry comb and brush, clinging to the task like a lifeline. Sliding the door open, I let my anger stay behind, dropping it like a stone in the alley. The twelve-by-twelve space is a peaceful sanctuary, generously bedded with straw and heavy with the sweet scent of hay and horse.

“Hey, girl,” I murmur, holding out a hand as I approach her.

Fate stretches her neck, nostrils flaring as she sniffs me with gentle curiosity. Relief floods through me, chasing away some of the heat coursing under my skin. When she nudges my palm, I let out a slow breath and run my hand over her forehead, savoring the cool, silken feel of her coat.

She settles, and so do I. Circling her with the curry, I fall into the rhythmic task of grooming, brushing in slow, deliberate strokes. Dust, dander, and stray hairs lift from her coat as my thoughts churn.

Alfie. The man is anything but subtle. His intentions were clear, his gaze far too familiar, and the heat radiating off him had been impossible to ignore. I’ve spent years brushing off men like him. Men that think their money is a golden ticket, that all women will fall at their feet for the price of a dinner or a shiny trinket. I’ve always found it repulsive. So why didn’t I pull away when he stood so close?

I pause mid-stroke, my hand hovering over Fate’s gleaming red coat.

He’s my boss. My engaged boss, no less. There’s nothing remotely appealing about the situation—or at least, there shouldn’t be. Yet I can’t shake the way my breath hitched when his lips were close enough to graze mine, the magnetic tension that crackled between us. It was—intoxicating. Dangerous. And wholly unprofessional .

Unbidden, a sharp exhale escapes me, startling Fate. She shifts, lifting her head, and I soothe her with a gentle stroke to her neck. “Sorry, girl,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Still, the thoughts won’t stop spiraling. I don’t want to want him—not his pretentiousness, his power, or the deadly confidence in his dark eyes. Most of all, I don’t want to deal with what feels like an inevitable implosion if I let this go any further.

And yet, the danger only deepens.

Francisco’s hushed voice drifts down the aisle as he approaches the grooming station beside Fate’s stall, his Spanish barely audible over the clatter of hooves on concrete. “—don’t want to get on his bad side.”

The low warning pricks at my attention. My grooming slows, and I hold my breath, straining to hear.

“Why not?” Alex’s voice carries back, equally cautious.

I don’t need to guess who they’re talking about. Alfie Bonetti’s name has been on everyone’s lips since he showed up, larger than life and twice as intimidating.

Francisco lowers his voice further, but the tension in his tone sharpens. “My cousin said he’s bad news. The Bonettis aren’t just a hotshot family from New York—they’re the Family. And our new bossman? He’s the don himself. They say he’s ruthless. Lupe says he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.”

A chill slices through me.

Alex’s nervous whisper follows. “Ruthless, how?”

Francisco hesitates, then drops the answer like a grenade. “Rumor is, he wiped out an entire family because the man wouldn’t sell his shop. They just… disappeared. Then he got the business for dirt cheap at auction.”

My blood turns to ice. My breath catches, and for a second, I forget where I am. Is that what would have happened if the Carvers hadn’t sold the farm to him?

Fate shifts under my hand again, sensing my tension, but I can’t bring myself to move. Pieces of the puzzle start falling into place— the money, the bodyguards, Alfie’s fearlessness. His dominance isn’t just swagger; it’s backed by something far more reckless.

I force myself to breathe, trying to mask my growing dread. But the sharp tap of dress shoes down the aisle snaps my focus, and my heart stutters to a stop.

Francisco and Alex immediately fall silent, the atmosphere charged with distinct fear.

“Give us the room, please, gentleman,” Alfie’s deep voice commands, calm yet unyielding.

Francisco and Alex scramble, releasing the horse they’ve been grooming and leading it out without hesitation. My pulse pounds in my ears as I catch a glimpse of one of Alfie’s bodyguards stopping in front of Fate’s stall.

“Marco. Vincent. Wait outside,” Alfie says, dismissing them too. His voice drops an octave, a quiet authority that sends a shiver down my spine.

I swallow hard, palms clammy against Fate’s coat, as the stall door creaks open behind me.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Alfie says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation—or permission.

My breath catches as he stalks toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s a power stare that tells me I have nowhere to run—even if I wanted to. And I’ll admit, I’m surprised when he doesn’t glance down to find a path that would avoid the manure. He doesn’t seem to care how dirty his designer shoes might get, or even notice if they do.

“It’s your barn,” I say curtly, fighting my urge to flee. “You have a right to take calls whenever you’d like. Besides, I can’t imagine you would want to keep your fiancée waiting.”

I don’t know what’s come over me. It must be my instinct to defend myself, since I have nowhere to run. Still, I shouldn’t have said that. Not only does it make me sound jealous—which I’m not—but the level of sarcasm imbued in my tone makes it perfectly clear how I feel about the matter. The last thing I should want is to get on this man’s bad side, if he’s willing to kill an entire family over a shop. Normally, I don’t take stock in barn gossip. But when you hear that kind of secret, I don’t think it’s one to take lightly. My stomach knots as I register the smile that curls the corners of Alfie’s lips at my response. He caught the jealous undercurrent of my words, and he likes the thought. Because that would mean I want him. That it might even excuse his transgression. As far as I’m concerned, it does not.

Heart hammering against my ribs in an effort to escape, I take an involuntary step back.

He follows my movement with his gaze, tracking it like a predator watching its prey. “Let’s resume our meeting then, shall we?” he offers, but the look in his eyes says that’s not why he came to find me. He came to finish what we started before we were interrupted.

“What more is there to discuss?” I ask, continuing my cautious retreat until he has me backed against the far wall. The coarse grain of the pine wood snags on my shirt, but I don’t dare step forward to fix it.

Once again, my new boss has removed the extra space between us. I can feel the air shift around me with each of his relaxed breaths. Heat radiates off him in waves, raising fresh goosebumps across my arms and the back of my neck.

“Well, we’ve established what you want out of this new business arrangement, so I think it’s time to talk about what I want,” he says, his voice low and oddly threatening for being so soft.

“What do you want, Mr. Bonetti?” I ask breathlessly, my heart lodged firmly in my throat. I think I already know. And I have no intention of giving in.

His hazel eyes hold mine captive as he lets my question linger between us, and for the first time, I’m struck by how tall he is. I’m well above the average height for a woman, and he must be at least a head taller than me, with enough muscle to fill out his considerable frame rather impressively. He’s big . Maybe not as large as his two guards, but I have no doubt this man is strong beneath his finely tailored suits. Strong enough that he could likely overpower me if he wanted to.

The observation makes my mouth go dry, and my pulse flutters—like a rabbit’s when it realizes that the greyhound has caught it. Skin tingling, I can’t stop the shallow, rapid breaths that rush past my lips as I stare into his light hazel eyes, pressing my palms against the rough wood behind me. Willing myself to melt through the wall.

“I’ve been thinking about that very question since I flew up here to buy a horse, Miss Harper,” he murmurs, his warm breath washing across my face, carrying with it a scent of patchouli and eucalyptus. “And I’ve decided that what I really want is a taste… of you.”