Page 22 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

INEZ

I scan the room as Vanya leads me to the center of the dance floor, one hand pressed firmly against my lower back, the other holding mine.

My wedding dress shimmers under the crystal chandeliers, catching light with every movement.

The guests part like water, their eyes following us—some with admiration, others with scrutiny. In our world, there's always scrutiny.

"You're tense," Vanya says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

"Just alert," I correct him, offering a practiced smile for the benefit of our audience. "There's a difference."

His hand tightens slightly at my waist as he guides me into a turn.

The orchestra plays something classical and elegant—chosen for appearances, not personal taste.

Nothing about this day was personal, except for the vows we exchanged in private before the ceremony.

Words meant only for us, promises darker and more binding than what we spoke before witnesses.

"We found him," Vanya whispers against my ear, his breath warm on my skin.

My step doesn't falter, but something cold slides down my spine. "Adan?"

"Yes." Vanya pulls me closer as we move across the polished floor. "My men intercepted him half a kilometer from the compound. He had three others with him. Armed."

I keep my expression neutral, though rage flares hot beneath my skin. "Casualties?"

"One of his men. The others are secure."

The music swells around us. I catch my father watching from the edge of the room, his expression unreadable to anyone but me. He knows something's happening– he always knows.

"Where is he now?" I ask, my fingers tightening around Vanya's.

"Warehouse at the marina. The old processing facility." Vanya's eyes hold mine, steel-gray and calculating.

"He's my stepbrother," I say quietly. "And he's my responsibility."

"Our responsibility now." Vanya's correction is gentle but firm. "That's what today means."

The music shifts, and he guides me into another turn. I catch glimpses of faces as we move—business partners, rival families, politicians who've taken our money for years. All smiling, all watching. No One knows that beneath this perfect veneer, blood is about to be spilled.

"I want to see him," I say. "Tonight."

"I know." Vanya's lips quirk into something almost like a smile. "I've already arranged for us to slip away after the next hour. The car will be waiting."

Of course he has. This understanding between us—this perfect synchronicity—is why our arrangement works. Why this marriage of convenience has become something more, something dangerous.

"What will you do with him?" Vanya asks, his voice neutral. Is he testing me or giving me space to make a decision?

"What would you do?" I counter.

His eyes darken. "He threatened what's mine. There's only one answer to that."

Mine. The word echoes between us, loaded with meaning. I am Vanya's now, as he is mine. Our empires merged, our enemies shared. Adan didn't just betray me—he betrayed us. The distinction matters.

"I need to hear why," I say finally. "What did Adan hope to accomplish? Then..." I let the sentence hang unfinished.

Vanya nods, understanding the unspoken. Then we end it. Permanently.

"Your father will want involvement," he warns.

"No. My father needs to rest. He gave me the cartel for a reason." The words come out sharper than intended. "He trusts my judgment."

"And I trust your ruthlessness," Vanya replies, approval evident in his tone.

The music reaches its finale. Vanya dips me low, his powerful frame supporting mine effortlessly.

For a moment, suspended in his arms, I feel the weight of what we're building together—an empire stronger than either of us could create alone.

And anyone who threatens that must be eliminated. There's no room for mercy.

He pulls me upright, and applause erupts around us. We separate slightly, acknowledging our guests with smiles and nods.

"One hour," he murmurs. "Then we leave."

"One hour," I agree.

We move through the reception, playing our parts perfectly. I laugh at the right moments, accept congratulations with grace, kiss cheeks, and shake hands. All the while, counting minutes, planning questions, and considering outcomes.

My stepbrother made his choice. Now I'll make mine.

And tonight, Adan De Leon will learn precisely what it means to cross me.

The hour drags on like a knife across stone. By the time the final guests depart, I'm exhausted from maintaining the facade—the blushing bride, the gracious hostess, the ruthless leader who chose today of all days to cement two empires. My face aches from smiling.

I slip away while Vanya concludes a conversation with a couple of Ukrainian mobsters. We lock eyes across the room. A slight nod passes between us—silent confirmation. Thirty minutes.

The hallways of the estate echo with my footsteps as I make my way to our bedroom. Two guards posted outside straighten as I approach. I dismiss them with a flick of my wrist. "Twenty feet down the hall. I need privacy."

Inside, I exhale for what feels like the first time all day.

The weight of the dress suddenly feels suffocating.

I reach behind, struggling with the clasp until I bust free.

The dress pools at my feet, a puddle of white satin and pearls.

I step out of it without remorse. My wedding night attire can wait until later.

Tonight requires something else entirely.

I move to the closet, my fingers skimming past silk and lace until I find what I need: black tactical pants, a fitted t-shirt, and a leather jacket.

Clothes for business, not pleasure. I dress methodically, muscle memory from years before Vanya, before I was officially head of the cartel.

The weight of the shoulder holster settles against me like an old friend.

In the bathroom, I wash away the makeup, the artifice. The woman who stares back from the mirror is sharper, clearer. This is who Adan will face tonight. Not the bride, but the sister he betrayed.

"You don't have to kill him."

I don't startle at my father's voice. Somehow, I knew he'd find me here. My father stands in the doorway, leaning on his cane more heavily than he did during the ceremony.

"Don't I?" I turn to face him. "He came armed to my wedding. What would you have done in my position?"

"Exactly what you're about to do." His eyes—like mine—crinkle slightly. "But killing family, even step-family leaves marks, Inéz. Not all scars are visible."

I check my weapon, the familiar weight grounding me. "Adan stopped being family when he chose to betray us."

"Us?" My father raises an eyebrow. "Or you?"

The question hangs between us, sharp and uncomfortable. I holster my gun rather than answer immediately.

"I need to know why," I say finally. "Before I decide."

My father nods, satisfied with this small concession. "Your husband is waiting in the car. He's... impatient."

"He understands the importance of information before action." I move past him, pausing briefly at his side. "This is my decision to make."

"Of course." My father's hand catches mine, squeezes once. "Make him beg for his life." He releases my hand. "Then you can decide if he lives or dies."

I stare at him, searching for more, but his expression gives nothing away. Another test, perhaps. Or a manipulation. With my father, it's often both.

"I'll see you in the morning," I say, neither a promise nor a lie.

"I hope so." He steps aside, allowing me to pass. " Felicidades on your marriage, mija . May it bring you everything you deserve."

The words follow me down the hallway, heavy with meaning. I straighten my spine and check my weapon once more.

Vanya waits by the car, his own wedding suit exchanged for darker attire. His eyes rake over me, and his approval is evident in the slight curl of his lips.

"You look more like yourself," he says, opening the door.

"I feel more like myself." I slide into the car, the leather seat cool against my skin.

As we pull away from the estate, lights fading behind us, I watch the moon rise over the water. My wedding day. The day I'm supposed to begin a new life. Instead, I'm ending one—possibly Adan's, definitely the life I led before.

"Having second thoughts?" Vanya asks, his hand finding mine in the darkness.

"No." I turn to him, my decision crystallizing. "But I want answers before blood."

"Fair enough." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "And after the answers?"

"After the answers," I say softly, "we'll see what kind of wedding present my stepbrother deserves."