Dinara rolled her eyes. “I get it. We all have to sleep uncomfortably to have the same conditions.” Fifteen minutes later, the three of us huddled together in our shared tent. Roman hadn’t woken. I admired him for his ability to fall asleep in a heartbeat and continue to sleep no matter what happened around him. With him between us, Dinara and I fell asleep. This had become a tradition for us. One of us always gave in and drove a bit slower so the other could catch up and we could have family time in the evening. Dinara and I were competitive but we didn’t really race to win. We raced because it was our life.
Dinara’s breathing evened out. She’d fallen asleep with her chin resting against Roman’s head and a peaceful expression on her face. Having Roman had really turned us into our own little family. We’d worried if it would be a problem to keep up our nomad life with a child but Roman never knew another way of living. He loved being fawned over by all the pit girls and getting to ride in all the cool race cars. And since we had him, my brothers and their families occasionally visited camp, even if Dinara and I tried to visit them as often as our tight racing schedule allowed.
Late the next morning, during our second breakfast, Aurora, Roman, Dinara and I sat around our kitchen table in the motorhome together and ate the khachapuri that Dinara had made.
“My father bought a new lodge near Aspen, a bigger one,” Dinara said as she checked her messages on her cellphone. Our main contact to our families during the season was via phone. Dinara saw her father and half-brothers even less frequently than my family. And her contact with Dima was limited to occasional text altogether. She showed me the screen with several photos of a splendid timber lodge.
“The last one was already too big for us. You told him that we won’t add more kids to our family, right?”
“I did, but I think he prefers to ignore it. Once Jurij and Artur start giving him grandkids we’ll be off the hook.”
“That can take a decade.”
“With so much space, we could all celebrate together. A big Falcone-Mikhailov Christmas,” I joked. The Bratva and the Camorra still only tolerated each other. There was no cooperation. Dinara’s and my marriage hadn’t changed that, not that we’d advertised our union. We didn’t want to stir up trouble in Chicago. Over the last decade, we’d established a routine. We celebrated Christmas with my family in December and then we celebrated again with Dinara’s family. Because her father didn’t want me to set foot in Chicago, he’d bought a lodge in Aspen where we could celebrate together and enjoy a ski and snowboarding holiday. It was a compromise that worked well and Roman was ecstatic over getting presents twice.
“I think it’s really cool that you celebrate Christmas twice,” Aurora said. “What do you say, Roman?”
“Yes!” he agreed enthusiastically.
Dinara and I exchanged an amused look. She took my hand under the table, pressing our tattoos together.
Roman clapped enthusiastically as he watched the awards ceremony. Aurora had to hold his hand tightly to stop him from running around.
It was only the second time that I’d managed to win the seven-day-circuit. In the past my constant pee breaks had destroyed any chance at winning, not to mention that Adamo and I often waited for each other in the first few days to spend the night together.
When I stepped on the winner’s rostrum, Roman clapped even harder, beaming all over his face.
Adamo climbed up on the rostrum beside me. He’d finished in third position. I gave him a coy look. So far he was still in the lead when it came to total wins, but I had every intention to catch up with him eventually.
After the ceremony, Roman rushed over to us and threw himself into my arms. I swung him up and he thrust his arms up over his head, as if he too had won. Adamo smiled broadly at me. Despite our competitiveness losing against each other never stung, even if we teased each other mercilessly in the days that followed. The winner always got the bragging rights and the loser promised retribution.
“You beat Dad, Mom,” Roman reminded me, before he turned to Adamo to say in a gravelly voice. “Sorry, Dad.”
Adamo tousled Roman’s unruly hair. “Don’t worry, buddy. Next time Dad will win again.”
I sent him a look that made it blatantly clear that wouldn’t happen.
“I want to race too!” Roman declared.
“Maybe next year,” Adamo said with a wink.
Over my dead body. This was one of the times where I wished Adamo and I hadn’t passed on our recklessness. Adamo always joked I was being overprotective, and he was right, but I just couldn’t help it.
Together we climbed down the rostrum, and I accepted the congratulations of fellow racers and many pit girls. Funnily enough, these girls had become much nicer to me since I’d given birth, probably because they didn’t see me as competition anymore now that I was a mom. Not that I’d ever competed with them for their prey—the bachelor racers. I’d only had eyes for Adamo from the beginning.
I still rocked jean shorts and crop tops, even if I had to have my belly piercing removed due to an infection during pregnancy. I now wore the tiny Fabergé egg as a pendant around my neck. Adamo had actually had the idea and gifted the necklace to me shortly after I’d given birth to Roman.
“I’m starving,” I said as I followed Adamo who cleared a path through the buzzing crowd, which was already prepping everything for the huge party that always followed the seven-day-circuit.
An hour later Adamo, Aurora, Roman, and I were square in the middle of the celebrations. A fire roared up into the sky and blasted us with heat. I held Roman’s hand tightly as he tugged to get closer to the raging flames.
“Someone was too fond of fire accelerant,” Aurora mused as she sipped at her Coke. While Adamo and I weren’t a stickler for rules, we’d given our word to Fabiano that we’d watch his daughter closely, so we didn’t allow her to have any alcohol.
A couple racers had checked Aurora out when she first appeared in camp, but one look from Adamo and a gentle reminder from me that her father was the Camorra’s Enforcer stopped any interest the male camp population might have had in her.
Roman yanked even harder at my arm and pointed at the flames with his free hand. “I want to watch the fire!”
“You can watch it from here,” I said, then turned to Adamo. “I wish he was less reckless.”
Adamo chuckled and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Did you really think a kid of ours would be the cautious type?”
Aurora hid a smile behind her can of Coke. A moment later she joined the dancing crowd. She’d borrowed one of my crop tops and combined it with baggy jeans and white sneakers covered with drawings in permanent marker, looking as if she belonged here and not in an elite high school. Adamo’s vigilant gaze followed her briefly, but when he saw that she was surrounded by pit girls, and that the guys kept a respectful distance, he locked eyes with me again.
Roman’s frustration rose as I kept him in place. His dark eyes sent me a reproachful look, as if he couldn’t believe I dared to restrict his desire for freedom so shamelessly. Adamo hoisted him up over his head and positioned him on his shoulders. I used my now free hand to grab a beer from the drinks table and took a sip while Adamo began to rock to the music, moving closer to the fire, much to Roman’s delight. His excited laughter made me smile and I followed along, my body losing itself to the fast beat of the music.