Page 19 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

VANYA

I ce melts in my glass, diluting the whiskey I haven't touched in twenty minutes. I stare at the water instead, at the way late afternoon sun fractures across its surface. Tomorrow, I marry a woman as ruthless as I am. It should scare me, but that’s one of the many things I love about her.

"You're doing that thing again," Mikhail says, sprawled in the lounge chair beside me. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, his posture relaxed in a way mine never is.

"What thing?"

"That brooding, calculating look. Like you're planning a hostile takeover instead of a wedding." He takes a long swallow of his drink. "It's just us here, Vanya. No one to impress."

I grunt, letting my gaze drift across the infinity pool that edges into the sky. The Bravo estate sits high above the city, removed from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Just how I've always preferred it.

Until Inez.

"How's Kira feeling?" I ask, changing the subject.

Mikhail's face transforms, softening in a way I've never seen before his marriage. "Sick as hell in the mornings. Ravenous by afternoon. Beautiful always." His thumb absently turns his wedding band. "She's started talking to the baby in Russian and English. Says the kid will come out bilingual."

"Smart woman."

"Terrifying woman," he corrects, but his voice holds nothing but pride. "Six and a half months pregnant and she still caught one of our runners skimming last week. Had him confessing before I even knew there was a problem."

I nod, unsurprised. Mikhail's wife is a formidable presence. Although no one compares to my Inez.

"Remember when we thought the hardest fight would be taking Brighton Beach?" Mikhail asks suddenly.

"We were children."

"We were twenty-two."

"Children," I repeat. "With guns."

The memory surfaces: Mikhail and I, backs against a warehouse wall, outgunned and surrounded. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth. The certainty we wouldn't see morning.

"We should have died a dozen times over," he says, echoing my thoughts.

"At least."

Mikhail refills our glasses from the crystal decanter between us. "To cheating death."

I lift my glass but don't drink. Death isn't what I've cheated. It's something else – something I never thought I'd want or need.

"Kira thinks it's hilarious," Mikhail continues, "that I used to be this ruthless enforcer. Now I wake up in cold sweats worrying about school districts and college funds."

"You're still ruthless."

"Only when necessary." He studies me over the rim of his glass. "It changes you, Vanya. Having someone who sees past all this." He waves his hand, encompassing the mansion, the guards patrolling the perimeter, the empire we've built through blood and calculation.

I say nothing. What could I say? Inez and I operate in the same world.

"You know what Kira asked me last week?" Mikhail's voice drops lower. "She asked if I thought you were happy."

My jaw tightens.

"I've known you since we were still in diapers. I've seen you expand my father's empire through sheer determination. I've seen you survive things that would break most men." He pauses. "I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Inez."

Heat crawls up my neck. I blame the sun. It’s hard to show vulnerability. Inez is the only person who brings it out in me."

"It's not a weakness," he says, reading my silence. "Finding someone who makes you want to be more than what they made us."

"They?"

"The old men. The ones who taught us that power was everything and emotion was nothing." Mikhail shrugs.

I close my eyes, feeling the warmth on my face, the weight of tomorrow pressing down. "Inez is not what I expected."

"The best ones never are."

"She challenges everything."

"Good." Mikhail laughs. "You need someone who doesn't fear you."

The truth of it hits harder than I expect. Fear has been my currency for so long I've forgotten how to trade in anything else. But Inez never flinches. She matches me, move for move.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit, the words barely audible.

Mikhail doesn't pretend to misunderstand. "None of us do. We make it up as we go." He reaches over, claps a hand on my shoulder. "But I've seen you adapt to survive worse than loving a woman who loves you back."

I don't correct him, don't tell him that Inez has never used that word, that word that feels like a grenade with the pin pulled. Neither have I. We speak in actions, in concessions, and in desire.

But I know what I feel when she enters a room. I know what it means that I've changed my security protocols to accommodate her presence. I know why I wake up reaching for her before I'm fully conscious.

"To the women who've ruined us," Mikhail says, raising his glass again.

This time, I drink.

I drain my glass and push to my feet. "I'm going to check on Inez."

Mikhail nods, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "Go. I'll entertain myself."

The cool air of the mansion hits me as I step inside, a welcome relief from the heat. Security nods as I pass, eyes forward, hands ready. I've trained them well. They see everything and nothing.

The hallway to our suite stretches long, and my footsteps echo against the marble. Our suite. Still strange to think of anything as ours. I've never shared space, not willingly.

I open the door quietly, slipping inside. The room is dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. And there she is. Inez lies curled on her side atop the covers, still in the black silk slip dress she’s worn since morning. Her breathing comes deep and even, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

I stand watching her for a moment. In sleep, the sharp edges that match my own soften just slightly. The furrow between her brows eases. But even now, her jaw remains set with determination.

I remove my shoes, my watch, and place my phone on silent. Then I slide onto the bed behind my future wife, careful not to disturb. The mattress dips beneath my weight. She stirs slightly, but doesn't wake.

Slowly, I curve my body around hers, fitting us together like nested blades. My arm slides over Inez's waist, drawing her against my chest. She makes a slight sound in her throat, then relaxes back into me.

"Mmm." Her voice is thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Early still." I press my lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her. "Go back to sleep."

She turns in my arms instead, facing me. Those green eyes blink open, instantly alert despite the drowsiness. Always ready. Always vigilant. Just like me.

"How was your talk with Mikhail?" Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, warm through my shirt.

"Good." I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. "He's becoming domestic."

Her lips curve. "And you find that amusing."

"I find it... unexpected."

She studies my face, reading what I don't say. No one has ever been able to do that before. It's both terrifying and exhilarating.

"What is it?" she asks.

The whiskey makes me brave. Or perhaps it's the way she looks at me, like she sees past the empire to the man. The question I've been avoiding rises to my lips before I can stop it.

"Could you ever love me, Inez?"

Her body stills against mine. For a moment, I think I've poorly miscalculated. Then her fingers curl into my shirt, holding on.

"What makes you think I don't already?" Her voice is barely audible.

The admission hits like a bullet – clean, precise, devastating. I struggle to find words, my usual command of language deserting me.

"You've never said."

"Neither have you." Challenge flashes in her eyes. "We aren't people who say things, Vanya. We're people who do things."

I cup her face in my hands. "Then let me do this.

Let me be clear." I hold her gaze, refusing to look away from what I'm about to admit.

"I love you. Not for what you bring to the table.

Not for the alliance. For you. The woman who calls me on my bullshit.

The woman who thinks three steps ahead of everyone else.

The woman who makes me want more than power. "

Her breath catches. For a terrible moment, I think I've shown too much, given her a weapon she never asked for.

Then she kisses me, fierce and demanding. Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me to her as if I might try to escape. As if I would ever want to.

When she pulls back, her eyes shine with something I've never seen before. Vulnerability, perhaps. Or hope.

"I do love you. “It feels impossible, but I do,” Inez whispers against my mouth. "God help us both."