Page 12 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

INEZ

T he private hangar gleams under the afternoon sun, the sleek white Gulfstream waiting on the tarmac like an escape hatch from the chaos Emilio has unleashed.

I stand at the foot of the stairs, scanning the perimeter while the medical team secures my father inside the cabin.

His oxygen tank hisses softly as they settle him into the customized medical berth.

"We need to move now." I check my watch as the medical team secures my father into the private jet. His color is better today, but the doctors' expressions tell a different story.

Vanya stands at my side, his presence a solid wall between me and the chaos we're leaving behind. "Your father is settled. We can take off as soon as you're ready."

I nod, scanning the airfield one last time. The sun beats down mercilessly, turning the tarmac into a shimmering mirage. Four of Vanya's men form a perimeter around our position, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

"Inez!" A familiar voice cuts through the loud hum of the engines.

My spine stiffens before I even turn. It’s my stepmother, Alicia. Of course she would come now.

Alicia strides across the tarmac in four-inch heels like she's walking a runway instead of interrupting our escape. Her Chanel suit is immaculate, her makeup perfect. Not a hair out of place while my father fights for his life.

"What is she doing here?" I ask no one in particular, my hand instinctively moving to the gun at my waist.

Vanya's eyes narrow. "Your call."

Alicia reaches the stairs to the jet, but two of Vanya's men block her path. She looks past them, directly at me.

"You can't take him away like this," she calls up. "The doctors in Tulum can't provide what he needs. I’m sill his wife, Inez.”

I descend three steps, close enough to speak without shouting but far enough to maintain advantage. "The doctors I've arranged are better than anything you could buy with the money you've been siphoning from his accounts."

Her perfect mask slips for just a second. Guilt flashes across her face before indignation replaces it.

"Let me come with you," she says, her voice honey-sweet now. "He needs me.”

I laugh, the sound sharp as broken glass. "What he needed was loyalty. What he got was a wife conspiring with her sons to take what was never theirs."

"That's absurd," she hisses, glancing nervously at the security team. "I would never?—"

"Three wire transfers to offshore accounts. Meetings with our enemies. The missing shipment manifests." I tilt my head. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? I'm my father's daughter."

For once, Alicia has nothing to say.

"Get your sons in order," I hiss, my voice a menacing whisper that slices through the air, meant for her ears alone. "Or start picking out the black dress you’ll wear to their funerals. These are your only options now, and the clock is ticking."

Her face pales beneath her perfect makeup.

"We're leaving," I tell Vanya without turning.

He signals to the pilot, and the engines roar louder.

I take one final, lingering glance at my stepmother, absorbing the defiant set of her jaw and the flicker of unease in her eyes. "You have forty-eight hours to decide which path you will choose," I say, my voice steady and unyielding. "And be sure to warn your sons—I will be coming for them."

Back inside the cabin, I strap myself in beside my father's medical bed. His eyes flutter open, finding mine.

"Is everything alright, mija ?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the engines.

I take his hand, feeling the paper-thin skin over prominent bones. The man who taught me strength now needs mine.

"Everything is exactly as it should be, Papá," I say, squeezing gently. "We're going to Tulum. You'll rest there."

As the plane lifts off, I watch Alicia's diminishing figure on the tarmac. Some bridges aren't meant to be repaired. Some are meant to burn with everyone still standing on them.

Vanya catches my eye from across the aisle, his expression unreadable to most, but I see the question there.

"Tulum is just the beginning," I tell him. "Once my father is secure, we have work to do."

He nods once, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I look forward to it."

Tulum's heat wraps around me like a second skin the moment we step off the plane. The air tastes different here—salt and earth mingling with the tang of tropical flowers. This was always my father's sanctuary, far from Mexico City's chaos.

"My men tell me the house is secure," Vanya says, guiding my father's wheelchair down the ramp where an armored SUV waits. The medical team hovers close, monitoring his oxygen levels. "My men swept it twice."

"Good." I scan the private airstrip, noting the positions of our security. No blind spots. No weaknesses.

The drive to my father's estate takes less than fifteen minutes, winding through dense jungle before opening to a sprawling beachfront property. White stone and glass rising from the lush green, the ocean a brilliant blue canvas behind it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Papá?" I say, but his eyes are closed, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Vanya catches my concern. "He's just resting. The flight took a lot out of him."

Inside, the house comes alive with movement.

Security teams position themselves at strategic points throughout the property.

Medical equipment is installed in my father's master suite.

Vanya's men patrol the perimeter while my soldiers—men loyal to me, not Alicia or her sons—secure the house once again.

I watch as they settle my father into his bed, the doctors connecting monitors and adjusting his oxygen. His eyes flutter open briefly, finding mine.

"You're safe now, Papá," I tell him, pressing my lips to his forehead. "Rest."

"Stay vigilant, mija ," he whispers, his voice like dry leaves. "They will come for you next."

"Let them try."

After he drifts to sleep, I find Vanya in the great room, standing before the wall of windows that face the Caribbean. The sunset bleeds orange and pink across the water.

"I need an hour," I tell him. "Then we plan our next move."

He nods, understanding without explanation. "I'll be here."

My suite is on the eastern side of the house, where the morning sun will pour through the windows.

I lock the door behind me, kick off my heels, and pull my hair free from its tight knot.

For just a moment, I allow myself to feel the weight of everything—my father's illness, the betrayal, the target now firmly fixed on my back.

Then I pick up my secure phone and dial.

"Cristian." I don't waste time with pleasantries. "I need you to find them."

"I've been waiting for your call." His voice is smooth, professional. My most trusted intelligence officer. "I already have preliminary locations on both."

"Emilio?"

"Spotted at his house in Polanco three hours ago. He's not hiding."

I pace the length of my room. "And Adan?"

"More careful. Last confirmed sighting was at a nightclub in Roma Norte last night. He's using cash, avoiding cameras."

"I want surveillance on both. No engagement yet." I pause at the window, looking out at the darkening sky. "I need to know who they're meeting with, who's funding them, who's supplying them."

"And when we have that information?"

My reflection stares back at me from the glass—my father's eyes in my mother's face. The weight of the Bravo legacy settles across my shoulders like a familiar coat.

"Then we hunt them down. One by one." My voice is ice. "Start with their associates. Work your way in. I want them isolated, desperate, and afraid before I deal with them personally."

"Consider it done." Cristian's tone carries a note of satisfaction. He's been loyal to my father for fifteen years. This betrayal cuts him too.

"And Cristian? If you find evidence linking Alicia directly to the attempted coup, I want it immediately."

"Of course. Anything else?"

I think of Alicia's perfect makeup, her manicured nails, the way she's played the devoted wife while plotting against my father. "Yes. Find out who she's been sleeping with. I have a gut feeling that someone else warming her bed."

After ending the call, I strip off my travel clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the tension in my muscles. Decisions must be made. Lines drawn. Blood spilled.

My father built this empire with ruthless precision. Now it falls to me to defend it with the same cold calculation.

When I emerge from my room an hour later, dressed in fresh clothes with my hair pulled back into its severe style, Vanya is waiting exactly where I left him. He turns from the window, his expression giving nothing away.

"I've had the staff prepare dinner," he says. "You need to eat."

"First, we plan." I move to the dining table where maps and dossiers are already laid out. "Cristian is tracking the brothers in Mexico City. I want to know who else we need to worry about."

Vanya joins me at the table, his presence steady and reassuring. "Your father's captains are divided. Some will follow you without question."

"And the others?"

His eyes meet mine, gray and unflinching. "Will need convincing."

"Then let's give them something to believe in."