Page 17 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

INEZ

I take a sip of my espresso at the outdoor café, the Veracruz harbor spread before me like a chessboard. Shipping containers in primary colors stack like children's blocks against the horizon. My father's words still echo in my head from our conversation three days ago.

"You're certain it's him?" Papá had asked, his fingers drumming against his mahogany desk.

"Yes." No hesitation. I never speak unless I'm certain.

Now I wait. The intel disclosed by Claudio was precise enough to be believable. A shipment of uncut diamonds, arriving on the Mariana Star at dock seventeen. Valuable enough to tempt, small enough to steal without much manpower.

My phone buzzes. A text from Marco, one of my most trusted lieutenants, positioned at the opposite end of the harbor.

Movement at the east entrance. Black Escalade.

I set down my cup without a sound. Check my watch. Forty-three minutes early—classic Emilio impatience.

All good. Emilio's car was spotted heading toward the docks. Two men were with him. Vanya is in position.

I slide my phone back into my jacket pocket, hiding my satisfaction behind the rim of my cup. The trap is set.

Vanya materializes from nowhere, sliding into the chair across from me. His presence draws stares—a six-foot-three Russian tends to stand out in Veracruz—but I welcome the attention. Let them look. Let them report back.

"Your stepbrother is punctual, at least," he says, voice low. His accent thickens when we're alone, a detail I've cataloged but never mentioned.

"He always is when money's involved." I set down my cup. “At least I know Claudio was telling the truth. He redeemed himself slightly before Cristian killed him.”

Vanya's gray eyes scan the harbor. "Your father's accountant—how long was he in Emilio’s pocket and why? He must have understood he was placing himself in danger."

"I’m not sure." I check my watch. "Papá never doubted his loyalty."

"Three o'clock," Vanya murmurs.

I don't turn immediately. Instead, I signal for the check, placing euros on the table with a casual flick of my wrist. Only then do I allow myself a glance toward dock seventeen.

There he is. Emilio, in his ridiculous white linen suit, flanked by two of his regular muscle. My stepbrother always did have a flair for the dramatic, even when committing treason against his own family.

"He brought Navarro and Diaz," I note, recognizing the enforcers. "No surprises there."

"Your father will want proof," Vanya reminds me, unnecessarily.

I reach into my pocket and touch the phone, already set to record. "He'll have it."

We rise together, Vanya falling two steps behind me as we make our way toward the shipping yard. The sun beats down, but I feel ice-cold, focused. Each step brings me closer to securing what's mine.

"If he pulls a weapon?" Vanya asks, so quietly only I can hear.

"Then you earn your reputation." I don't look back at him.

The plan is simple. Watch Emilio attempt to hijack a shipment that doesn't exist. Document his betrayal. Present the evidence to my father. The empty container waiting at dock seventeen is just stage dressing for my stepbrother's final performance as heir apparent.

I slip behind a stack of containers, Vanya's solid presence at my back. We watch as Emilio approaches the Mariana Star's designated offloading area. His body language screams anticipation—shoulders tight, steps quick.

He has no idea I'm here. No idea that while he thinks he's stealing from my father, I'm reclaiming my birthright.

My phone buzzes again. Multiple texts from my lookouts positioned around the perimeter. I check the screen.

*All in position. Ready on your command.*

I slide my fingers over the gold-plated Glock tucked in my shoulder holster—a gift from Papá on my twenty-fifth birthday. "Today it earns its keep," I whisper.

I nod to Vanya. "Begin."

He touches his earpiece. "Execute."

We move like shadows between the shipping containers, Vanya two steps behind me, six of our best men fanning out in a precise formation.

The plan unfolds with mechanical precision.

Through fleeting gaps between the containers, I witness Marco ruthlessly incapacitating a guard at the eastern entrance with a shot to the head–his silencer muffling the sound.

Domingo silently materializes behind Emilio's driver, pressing his hand over his mouth as a knife slices his throat.

I check my watch. Seventy-three seconds.

"Diaz is down," Vanya murmurs into my ear, his breath warm against my neck.

I spot Navarro scanning the bustling warehouse, his eyes darting with intent as his hand stealthily reaches inside his jacket.

The atmosphere is tense, charged with the anticipation of his next move.

Just as his fingers brush against the concealed weapon, Rafael emerges like a shadow from behind a forklift, moving with the grace of a predator.

In one swift motion, he presses a stun gun to Navarro's ribs, the electric crackle barely audible amidst the ambient noise, then finishes him off with a stab to his heart.

Navarro's body stiffens for a moment before collapsing to the ground without a sound, his death as silent as a whisper.

"Clear," comes the confirmation through my earpiece.

I step out into the open, Glock drawn, the sun catching its gold plating. Emilio doesn't notice me at first, too busy examining the manifest paperwork he's stolen from a dock worker now unconscious at his feet.

"Looking for something, brother?" I keep my voice light, conversational.

He spins, his expression cycling through shock, fear, and finally settling on that smirk I've always hated. "Inez. What a surprise."

"Is it?" I close the distance between us, gun steady. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

His eyes dart left and right, registering his fallen men. "This is a misunderstanding."

"No." I level the gun at his chest. "This is a family meeting."

"You wouldn't shoot me." His confidence wavers as I take another step forward. "Papá would never?—"

"Papá sent me. Did you think he didn't know about the skimmed profits, the side deals with the Colombians?"

His face pales. "You're bluffing."

I circle him slowly. "The Russo shipment last month. The missing product from Tijuana. The weapons that disappeared in Cancún."

With each accusation, his shoulders slump further. I can practically see his mind racing, calculating odds, looking for escape routes.

"Claudio told you," he realizes suddenly. "That fat bastard?—"

"Claudio is dead," I correct him. "I had him killed as soon as I had proof he betrayed us.”

Vanya steps into view, his massive frame blocking Emilio's path to the dock exit. My stepbrother's eyes widen as he grasps the full extent of the situation.

"On your knees," I order.

"Inez, be reasonable?—"

I press the barrel to his forehead. "I said, on your knees."

He complies, sweat beading on his upper lip. "What do you want?"

"The truth. Then your resignation."

Emilio laughs, a desperate sound. "My resignation? From the family? You can't be serious."

"You have exactly one minute to convince me not to pull this trigger." I check my watch, making sure he sees the gesture. "Fifty-nine seconds."

"We can share," he blurts out. "The territory, the business—there's enough for both of us."

I circle him, keeping the gun trained on his head. "Forty seconds."

"I have connections you need! Contacts in the government, judges on payroll?—"

"Thirty seconds."

His desperation is palpable now, sweat darkening the collar of his ridiculous white suit. "I know where the Sinaloa cartel is moving next! I have inside information!"

I stop in front of him. "Last chance, Emilio."

He looks up at me, hatred replacing fear in his eyes. "You were always Papá's favorite. His precious daughter. No matter what I did, it was never enough."

"Time's up." I press the gun harder against his forehead.

"Wait!" He raises his hands. "I can give you the names. Everyone involved in the coup against your father. Everyone."

My finger eases slightly on the trigger. This, I hadn't expected.

"We already know their names," Vanya says, his voice dangerously curt.

Emilio nods frantically. "Not everyone. They’re meeting next week in Guadalajara. I can take you there."

I study his face, searching for any signs of deception. Finding none, I make my decision.

"I know who's behind all of this." I smile, cold and precise as a surgeon's blade. "Guadalajara is just another trap you're setting. I don't need your help."

The confidence drains from Emilio's face, replaced by genuine fear as he realizes I'm not bluffing. His lips part, struggling to form words.

"Your mother put you up to this, didn't she?" I press the gun harder against his forehead. "Always whispering in your ear that you deserved what was mine. That Papá made a mistake choosing me."

"Inez—"

"And Adan? Your brother laundering our money through his nightclubs." I click off the safety. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice the patterns? The missing funds? The coincidental police raids?"

Emilio's breathing quickens. "Leave them out of this. This was my idea?—"

"Too late." I lean closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your ambition has sealed their fate. My men are in position right now."

"No!" His voice cracks. "Inez, please. My mother—she's still your father's wife."

"She stopped being family the day she started plotting against him." I straighten my spine. "The same day you did."

Tears gather in his eyes. "You won't get away with this."

"I already have." I glance at Vanya, who gives me an imperceptible nod.

"They're dead, Emilio. I can’t afford any loose ends.

You must understand, I need to ensure my future children are safe from your delusions of grandeur.

" I lie to his face, hoping his last moments on earth are filled with regret.

His mother has been kidnapped and taken to a family property in Brazil, where she'll be under house arrest and given time to repent her transgressions.

However, Adan will meet his brother's fate.

His face crumples as the truth sinks in.

"Your ambition did this." I step back and aim at center mass. "Any last words?"

"You'll regret this," he spits. "You think you're so perfect, so worthy. You're just like me—worse even."

I pull the trigger twice. The shots echo across the harbor, but I know no one will investigate. This is our territory.

Emilio slumps forward, blood pooling beneath him, staining his white suit crimson. I holster my weapon and turn to Marco.

"Clean this up. Make it look like a deal gone wrong." I check my watch. "I need to call Papá."

Marco nods, already speaking into his earpiece to coordinate the cleanup crew. I walk away from my stepbrother's body without looking back, pulling out my phone.

My father answers on the first ring. "Is it done?"

"Yes, Papá. Emilio is dead, and Alicia is in custody. I'm waiting on word about Adan."

His silence stretches for several seconds. "And you're certain? About their involvement?"

"Completely. I have the proof you asked for." I pause at the edge of the dock, looking out over the water. "The recordings, the financial trails, everything."

"Good." His voice suddenly sounds older. "Come back, Inez. We have much to discuss about the future."

I end the call and take a deep breath of salt air. The future. My future. The empire I was born to inherit is finally, truly mine. No more pretenders, no more threats from within.

Behind me, I hear Vanya approaching. "The cleanup is underway. Twenty minutes and there will be no trace."

"Excellent." I turn to face him. "And the shipments? The real ones?"

"Redirected as planned. The profits will be in the Cayman accounts by morning."

I nod, satisfied. "Then we're done here."

As we walk back toward the waiting car, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. Three problems eliminated in one day. My father's empire secured. My position is unassailable.

"You did well," Vanya says quietly as he opens the car door for me.

I slide into the black leather interior, the air conditioning a welcome relief from the harbor heat. "I did what was necessary."

As the car pulls away, I don't look back at the shipping container where my stepbrother lies dead. As much as it pained me to kill him, I have no doubt he would have happily killed me with far less mercy if and when he got the chance.

As we merge into the chaotic flow of traffic, Vanya thrusts a towel into my hand to wipe away the blood splatter that stains my skin. I scrub it off with an eerie detachment. Emilio is dead, and his lifeless body marks another obstacle removed.