Page 15 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

VANYA

T he morning sun sparkles on the pool, making the water shimmer with blue streaks. I'm on the terrace, phone in hand, watching Inez cut through the water with strong, steady strokes. Her technique is spot-on—smooth, effective, unstoppable, just like everything else she does.

"I need six more men by tonight," I tell Sergei, my eyes never leaving Inez as she reaches the end of the pool and executes a flawless turn. "Make sure they're our best. People who've proven themselves."

"From New York?" Sergei asks, his voice crackling slightly over the connection.

"Four from New York, two from Los Angeles." I pace along the edge of the terrace, calculating angles and sight lines, assessing potential vulnerabilities. "I want them armed but discreet. This is a wedding, not a military operation."

Though in truth, it's becoming both.

Inez emerges from the pool in one fluid motion, water streaming down her tanned skin. She reaches for a towel, utterly unaware of my scrutiny—or perhaps entirely aware and simply unconcerned. With her, it's impossible to tell.

"They'll be on the first flights out," Sergei confirms. "Anything else?"

"Have Maksim double-check the guest list against our watchlists. Anyone with even a hint of connection to Emilio gets flagged."

I end the call as Inez wraps the towel around her waist, her dark hair slicked back from her face.

Even like this—without makeup, without artifice—she carries herself with the regal bearing of someone born to command.

It's what drew me to her from the beginning.

That and the calculating intelligence behind those green eyes.

My phone buzzes again. Mikhail.

"Cousin," I answer, switching to Russian. "Tell me you have good news."

"Define 'good,'" Mikhail replies, his deep voice tinged with the dry humor that's helped him survive three decades in our business. "I've been monitoring Emilio's known associates as you asked."

I tense, watching as Inez settles into a lounge chair, picking up a tablet. Always working. "And?"

"Three of them have disappeared from their usual haunts in the past week. Eduardo Vega, Carlos Fuentes, and that enforcer—the one they call El Cuchillo."

"The Knife," I translate automatically, mind racing through possibilities. "Where?"

"That's the interesting part. Facial recognition picked up Vega boarding a private jet to Cancún two days ago."

That’s too close for comfort.

"What about the others?"

"Nothing concrete yet, but I'd bet good money they're with him."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache forming behind my eyes. "Keep digging. I want to know who's bankrolling them, what weapons they're carrying, and where they're staying."

"Already on it." Mikhail pauses. "Vanya, maybe you should postpone?—"

"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. I modulate my tone. "We're not giving Emilio the satisfaction. The wedding proceeds as planned."

"Then I'm coming down," Mikhail says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll be on tonight's flight with the others."

I consider objecting, then think better of it. Mikhail is one of the few people I trust implicitly. "Fine. We'll need you."

"How's she handling all this?" he asks, the question catching me off guard.

My gaze returns to Inez, who's now frowning at whatever she's reading on her tablet. "Like she handles everything. Precisely. Methodically."

"And you?"

I almost laugh. "What do you think?"

"I think you're calculating how to eliminate every possible threat while pretending to your fiancée that you're not worried."

Too accurate. I remain silent.

"Am I wrong?" Mikhail presses.

"It’s not your job to psychoanalyze me, cousin. She knows I have concerns."

"No, it’s my job to keep you alive. Which is considerably harder when you're distracted by a woman."

I watch as Inez stands, stretching her arms above her head. The movement pulls her swimsuit taut against her body, highlighting curves that I know intimately. "She's not a distraction. She's an asset."

"She's both, and you know it."

I end the call without responding, slipping the phone into my pocket. Mikhail isn't wrong. Inez complicates things—makes me consider variables I'd normally dismiss without a second thought. Makes me vulnerable in ways I can't afford.

And yet, the thought of walking away never crosses my mind.

She spots me watching her and raises an eyebrow in silent question. I cross the terrace to join her, schooling my features to reveal nothing of my concerns.

"Productive swim?" I ask, keeping my tone casual.

"Always." She studies my face with those perceptive eyes. "Productive calls?"

I consider lying, then dismiss the impulse. We're beyond that now. "Emilio's making moves. His men are headed this way.”

She absorbs this without visible reaction, though I notice the slight tightening around her eyes. "How many? How close?"

"Cancún, at least for one of them. Mikhail is tracking the others."

"Cancún can be reached by boat in under two hours," she notes, calculating just as I had. "When were you planning to tell me?"

"I just found out myself." I reach for her hand, surprised when she doesn't pull away. "Mikhail is coming with the additional security I've called in. We'll be ready."

"We should be more than ready," she says, her fingers cool against mine. "We should be hunting them instead of waiting for them to come to us."

"After the wedding," I promise. "For now, we focus on securing the perimeter, controlling access points, and ensuring every guest is thoroughly vetted."

She nods, but I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. Inez isn't accustomed to playing defense. Neither am I, for that matter.

"Your cousin," she says suddenly. "Do you trust him completely?"

The question surprises me. "With my life. Many times over."

"Good." She steps closer, drops her voice. "Because I don't trust anyone right now. Not even my own people."

This is new. "You think you have a leak?"

"I think Emilio knows things he shouldn't." Her gaze is steady, unflinching. "Details about security protocols, about our schedule changes. Things only someone close would know."

The implications settle like ice in my veins. If Inez is correct, we're more vulnerable than I thought. "We'll need to compartmentalize information. Create a need-to-know circle."

"Already started." She releases my hand, reaching for her robe. "I've prepared a list of people I believe are above suspicion. It's short."

"How short?"

"Three names besides us." She slips the robe over her shoulders. "Santos, Mikhail, and Lucia."

I nod, mentally reviewing what I know of each. Santos has been with Inez since before her father's death. Lucia—her personal security chief—has taken bullets for her. And Mikhail... well, blood still counts for something in our world.

"Agreed," I say. "We'll bring them in this afternoon, establish protocols."

She ties the robe at her waist, her movements economical. "And in the meantime?"

I step closer, lowering my voice though we're alone on the terrace. "In the meantime, we play the happy couple preparing for our wedding. We give Emilio nothing to suggest we're onto him."

A cold smile crosses her face. "I've always enjoyed a good performance."

"It's not entirely a performance," I remind her, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek.

Something flickers in her eyes—vulnerability, perhaps, or simply calculation. With Inez, the line blurs. "No," she agrees. "Not entirely."

As she moves past me toward the house, I allow myself a moment to watch her go. In six days, she'll be my wife—this brilliant, dangerous woman who matches me step for step. If we survive that long.

My phone buzzes again. Another update from Mikhail.

The game continues.