Page 11 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)
CHAPTER TEN
VANYA
T he elevator doors slide open to Inez's floor, and something shifts in the air—a wrongness that prickles at the back of my neck before I've taken a single step inside.
Maksim's hand shoots out, blocking my path. "Wait." His voice drops to a whisper as his other hand moves to his weapon.
I scan the entryway. Everything looks exactly as I left it this morning—Inez's collection of antique silver frames gleaming on the console table, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. But something is off. The silence feels manufactured.
"Clear the rooms," I order, my voice barely audible.
Sergei and Timo fan out with practiced efficiency, weapons drawn.
I remain in the doorway, hand inside my jacket, fingers wrapped around my Makarov.
Seven days I've been sleeping here, seven nights with Inez's body curved against mine, and now this space that had begun to feel like a sanctuary has been violated.
A soft click from the kitchen. The sound of a drawer being closed with excessive care.
Maksim freezes, then signals toward the source of the sound. Three fingers up—multiple intruders.
I step silently into the apartment, hugging the wall. The marble floor gleams in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Too exposed here. I need to reach the hallway.
"Boss," Sergei hisses from the master bedroom. "Evidence of a search. Professional job."
My jaw tightens. The bedroom. Where Inez keeps her private files. Where we've tangled in sheets still warm from sleep.
A shadow shifts at the edge of my vision. The glass door to the balcony reflects a figure moving in the kitchen.
"Now," I command.
We converge from three directions. Maksim takes the main entrance, Sergei circles through the dining room, and I cut through the living area. Three men in tactical gear freeze at our approach. Not amateurs—their weapons are already up, fingers on triggers.
"Zhukov," one of them says, his accent unmistakably Colombian.
Cartel. Inez's territory.
"You're trespassing," I reply, my voice arctic. "In territory protected by both the Zhukov organization and the Bravo cartel."
The leader's eyes narrow. "We answer to Emilio De Leon."
Inez's older stepbrother. The one who's never accepted her leadership.
"Emilio doesn't give orders here," I say, keeping my gun trained on his chest. "This is Inez Bravo's residence."
"And yet you're the one we find here." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Interesting arrangement."
The implication hangs in the air between us. That I'm sleeping my way into cartel business. That Inez is compromised.
"Your choices are simple," I tell him, advancing a step. "Leave now with a message for Emilio, or leave in bags. Your preference."
Tension crackles in the air. Three against three, but my team is the better one. They know it. We know it.
The leader makes a small gesture with his left hand. "We were never here."
"And yet, you were," I counter. "You were searching through Ms. Bravo's personal items. Taking what isn't yours to take."
His jaw tightens. "We have orders."
"And now you have new ones. From me." I move closer, until my gun nearly touches his chest. "Whatever you came for, leave it. And tell Emilio that the next time he sends men into Inez's home, I won't be so generous."
The standoff stretches for five more seconds. Ten. Then the leader nods once.
"Check them," I order Maksim, who pats them down efficiently, retrieving several flash drives and a folder of documents.
"Now go," I say when he's finished. "And remember to deliver my message exactly as stated."
They back toward the door, weapons still raised until the last possible moment. Only when the elevator doors close do I lower my gun.
"Secure the apartment," I tell my men. "Then call in a team to sweep for bugs."
I move to the bedroom, taking in the subtle signs of intrusion—the drawer of Inez's nightstand slightly ajar, the corner of the rug not quite aligned with the floor tile. They've been thorough.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Inez.
"We have a problem," I say when I answer.
"I know," she replies, her voice tight with controlled fury. "Emilio's making his move."
"Stay where you are," I order, pacing across the bedroom. "These weren't random thugs. This was a coordinated search team."
"I'm already in the car, Vanya." Her voice is steel wrapped in silk. "Ten minutes out."
My blood runs cold. "Turn around. Now. If they're bold enough to hit your penthouse?—"
"Then I need to see what they took." She cuts me off. "Besides, I have Diego and Javier with me."
I curse in Russian, already striding toward the elevator. "I'm coming down. Don't enter the building until I'm there."
I end the call before she can argue and snap orders at Maksim. "Keep sweeping. Document everything they touched. I want to know what they were looking for."
The elevator descends too slowly. I check my weapon, mind racing through scenarios. Emilio's men wouldn't risk this without a specific target in mind, not in broad daylight, not in Inez's personal space. This is an escalation—calculated and dangerous.
I exit through the private lobby, scanning the street. Inez's black Escalade pulls up precisely as I reach the curb. Perfect timing, as always. She steps out before her security can open the door, sunglasses masking her expression, but I read the tension in her shoulders.
"They're gone," I say, taking her elbow and guiding her back toward the vehicle instead of the building. "But we need to talk. Not here."
Her eyes flash behind the dark lenses. "My apartment?—"
"Is being swept for surveillance." I lower my voice. "Emilio's men were inside. Looking for something specific."
She goes perfectly still, the way she does when processing a threat. "Show me what they took."
I hand her the flash drives and folder Maksim retrieved. She glances at them, her expression unreadable.
"These aren't what they came for," she says finally. "These are decoys."
"We need to move," I tell her, glancing at the street. Too exposed. "Tulum. Now. Your father needs to know Emilio has crossed this line, and your allies should hear it from you, not through cartel whispers."
She studies my face, calculating. "You think Emilio's really showing his hand so soon?"
"I know he is." I open the car door. "My jet is fueled and waiting. We can be in Tulum in two hours."
Her security team watches us, faces impassive but alert. They're loyal to her, not Emilio, but cartel politics shift like sand.
"My father is dying," she says quietly, so only I can hear. "If I move him, he could die."
"The city isn’t safe, and you can’t leave him here. They could torture him in your absence.” I hold her gaze. "Emilio wouldn't have risked this unless he's already secured support. We need to know who's still with you."
A police car cruises slowly past the building. Not a coincidence.
"We have complications," I murmur, nodding slightly toward the patrol car.
Inez notices immediately. "Local police captain is on Emilio's payroll." She slides into the vehicle. "Tulum it is."
I follow her inside, signaling Diego to drive. "We'll need to make a stop first. I have documents at my place that your father should see.
"What documents?" she asks, removing her sunglasses as we move.
"Insurance." I meet her eyes. "Every transaction Emilio's been hiding from the cartel. Every side deal, every skimmed profit. Enough to turn your father's old guard against him."
Her lips curve into a dangerous smile. "You've been busy."
"I protect what's mine." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Her expression shifts, that familiar wall beginning to rise. "The cartel isn't yours, Vanya."
"I wasn't talking about the cartel." I hold her gaze until she looks away.
The Escalade weaves through midday traffic as Diego takes an evasive route to my building. I watch the mirrors for tails, but my mind is already in Tulum, mapping out the coming war.
Because that's what this is now. Emilio has forced our hand.
"Call your father," I tell her. "Tell him we're coming. But don't mention why, not over the phone."
She nods, already dialing. As she speaks rapid Spanish into the phone, I watch her transform—her voice modulating to hide any hint of concern, her words carefully chosen to convey normalcy while alerting her father that something isn't right.
This is the woman I've aligned myself with. Brilliant, dangerous, and now threatened.
Emilio has no idea what he's unleashed.