Page 21 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

VANYA

T he sea breeze carries the scent of salt and dahlias as I stand beneath the canopy of flowers.

White roses intertwine with orchids above me, casting dappled shadows across the makeshift altar.

Behind me, the gulf stretches endlessly blue, waves crashing against the cliffs below the compound.

Perfect backdrop for a wedding. Ideal cover for armed guards positioned at every vantage point.

"Stop fidgeting," Mikhail mutters beside me. "You look like you're waiting for a firing squad, not your bride."

I shoot him a cold glance. "I don't fidget."

But my hand betrays me, adjusting my platinum cufflinks for the third time. The weight of my holstered Glock presses against my ribs beneath my tailored jacket. Wedding day or not, I never go unarmed.

"Perimeter secure?" I ask, voice low.

Mikhail nods almost imperceptibly. "Triple-checked. Every entrance, exit, and blind spot is covered. Drones are monitoring the approach roads. Nobody gets within a kilometer without us knowing."

The string quartet begins a melody that floats across the gathering. Fifty guests rise from their seats—each one vetted, each one representing power. Cartel families. Bratva captains. Politicians whose campaigns we've funded. Predators dressed in their finest threads.

My breath catches.

There she is.

Inez appears at the end of the aisle, her father beside her.

The white dress clings to her figure before cascading down like molten silver. Her dark hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Her eyes—those fierce green eyes that first challenged me across a crowded room—lock onto mine.

Mine. The word pounds through my blood like a war drum.

Juan Bravo's face remains impassive as he leads his daughter forward. The cartel patriarch wears his power like I wear my suit—tailored to fit perfectly. His eyes constantly scan, a habit I recognize in myself as well. Never entirely at ease, even giving away his only daughter.

As they approach, I catalog the security positions around us. Two of my men are at the left entrance. Three of Bravo's by the champagne fountain. Snipers positioned on the rooftop, invisible to the guests but reporting movement through the earpiece Mikhail wears.

"Breathe," Mikhail whispers, amusement coloring his voice. "You look like you might pass out."

I ignore him, focusing entirely on Inez as she glides closer.

The sun catches the beading on her dress, making her shimmer like something out of this world.

Yet I know the steel beneath that silk. I've seen her negotiate million-dollar shipments without blinking.

Watched her order executions with the same calm she uses to order coffee.

Juan stops at the altar's edge, and his eyes meet mine with a hint of warning.

"Who gives this woman?" the officiant asks.

"I do," Juan answers, voice carrying across the gathering.

He places Inez's hand in mine. Her fingers are calm, steady. No trembling. No hesitation.

"Don't disappoint me, Zhukov," Juan whispers, for my ears only.

"I won't," I reply.

As Juan steps back, Inez moves forward toward me. Up close, I see the subtle tension in her jaw.Something's wrong.

"What is it?" I whisper as we turn toward the officiant.

Her lips barely move. "Adan. Unconfirmed status."

My grip on her hand tightens slightly. I was afraid of this. One stepbrother still alive is one too many.

The officiant begins speaking about union and strength, about two powerful families joining as one. Pretty words that mask the reality of our alliance. This marriage secures territories and consolidates power. It wasn’t meant to become a love match, but I’m happy it has.

And now a loose end threatens everything.

I scan the crowd without moving my head. Nothing seems out of place, yet the hair on my neck stands up. Instinct—the same instinct that's kept me alive through three assassination attempts and a territory war—screams danger.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant continues, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around us.

Mikhail shifts slightly beside me, hand drifting toward his concealed weapon. He's sensed it too.

Inez's fingers squeeze mine—our silent code. Stay calm. Stay focused.

I look down at her, at the woman who will be my wife in just a few minutes. In her eyes, I see the same calculation, the same readiness. We are perfectly matched, two predators joining forces.

"Today," the officiant intones, "we witness the union of not just two people, but two legacies."

I lean closer to Inez, my lips near her ear, appearing to any observer like a man whispering sweet nothings to his bride.

"If he's alive," I breathe, "he won't be for long."

Inez's eyes flash with cold understanding. That silent communication between us—the true foundation of our alliance—speaks volumes more than any wedding vow.

"I promise to honor and protect," I say, loud enough for the assembled guests to hear. The official words mask my real promise: blood for anyone who threatens what's mine.

The officiant continues, his voice carrying across the clifftop garden. I barely hear him. My attention splits between Inez's face and the area around us. Mikhail shifts his weight again, finger tapping twice against his thigh—our signal that something's happening.

I don't react visibly. Years of discipline have taught me to keep my face impassive even when adrenaline floods my system. The guests see only a groom focused on his bride, not a predator scenting danger.

"The rings," the officiant prompts.

Mikhail produces a platinum band and passes it to me with steady hands. I take the ring, my fingers brushing against the cold metal.

"With this ring," I say, sliding it onto Inez's finger, "I thee wed."

Her hand remains steady as steel. No trembling, no hesitation. Even now, with threats lurking somewhere beyond our sight, she doesn't falter. This is why she's perfect and why we'll rule together.

She takes my ring from her maid of honor—one of her most trusted lieutenants—and slides it onto my finger. "With this ring, I thee wed." Her voice carries strength and certainty.

Through my earpiece, I hear the faint click of a channel opening. Then Sergei's voice, almost imperceptible: "Movement in sector four. Unidentified vehicle approaching from the south access road."

The south road. The one route we deliberately left less fortified as a potential trap. Clever, Adan. But not clever enough.

"By the power vested in me," the officiant declares, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

I pull Inez close, our kiss a perfect display of the love that's grown between us. Against her lips, I whisper, "South road. My men are handling it."

She kisses me deeper, her fingers tightening on my arm. To everyone watching, it's passion. To me, it's an acknowledgment of the threat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the officiant announces, "I present Mr. and Mrs. Zhukov."

Applause erupts around us. We turn to face our guests with smiles perfectly in place. Predators in formal wear, celebrating the union of bodies and empires.

As we walk back down the aisle, I keep Inez slightly behind me, my body between her and any potential threat. The string quartet plays something triumphant. Guests throw white rose petals. The perfect wedding scene.

And beneath it all, the current of danger, of business unfinished.

Juan approaches as we reach the reception area, his security detail forming a loose circle around us. "Congratulations," he says, embracing his daughter. When he turns to me, his eyes are hard. "A word, son?"

I nod, squeezing Inez's hand before releasing it. "Of course."

We step away from the crowd, into a small alcove overlooking the ocean. Two of his men and two of mine maintain distance—close enough to protect, far enough for privacy.

"Adan?" Juan asks without preamble.

"Being handled," I reply. "My men intercepted an approaching vehicle."

Juan's weathered face remains impassive, but his eyes narrow slightly. "Alive?"

"For questioning. Then it depends on Adan's answers."

He nods once, satisfaction evident in the slight relaxation of his shoulders. "My son always followed his brother, Emilio. Never smart." He looks out over the Pacific, sunlight reflecting off the water. "You understand what this means?"

"He's gone too far.."

"Yes." Juan turns back to me, eyes harder now. "And what does a Zhukov do with traitors and threats?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "The same as a Bravo. We eliminate them."

“You understand our world, but I want to ensure my daughter knows she doesn’t always need to take a life. The decision should be hers.” He places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "Now go back to your bride. Enjoy the celebration. Later tonight, you can settle this matter permanently."

"Agreed."

We rejoin the party, where Inez is speaking with a senator's wife, champagne glass in hand. She looks completely at ease, as if there isn't a potential assassination plot unfolding at her wedding. When she sees us, something flickers in her eyes—understanding passing between us without words.

I slide my arm around her waist, pull her close. "All good?" she murmurs.

"For now." I press my lips to her temple. "Your brother made his move. We'll handle it tonight."

She takes a sip of champagne, her lipstick leaving a perfect crimson mark on the glass. "I want to be there."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Mrs. Zhukov."

Her smile is razor-sharp. "I think I like the sound of that."

Around us, the reception continues—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses. A celebration of our union, unaware of the blood that will be spilled before the night is through. The perfect wedding day for people like us.

A beginning written in vows and sealed in blood.