Page 23 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

VANYA

T he headlights cut through the fog rolling off the bay as I drive toward the marina.

Beside me, Inez sits calmly, her profile sharp against the darkness.

The wedding band on her finger catches light whenever we pass under a streetlamp, and I'm reminded that today should be about us, not blood and death.

However, this is business, and people like us can't shirk our responsibilities just because the timing is bad. I shift my focus to the ring on my left hand. It feels heavy and unfamiliar—but it’s a weight I wear with pride.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I say, keeping my eyes on the road.

She doesn't answer immediately. When she does, her voice is cold precision. "I'm thinking about the last time I saw Adan. Six months ago. He smiled, kissed my cheek, and told me he was happy to see me."

"While planning to kill you."

"While planning to kill me," she agrees.

I turn down the access road leading to the warehouse district. The security gate opens as we approach—my men expecting us. The car's tires crunch over gravel as we pull up to the old processing facility. Two guards materialize from the shadows, nodding respectfully as we exit the vehicle.

"Anything to report?" I ask the taller one.

"He's been asking for water. We gave him some."

I glance at Inez. Her face reveals nothing, but I can feel the tension radiating from her body. "Your call," I tell her. "Your stepbrother."

She nods once, then strides toward the entrance. I follow a half-step behind, signaling the guards to remain outside. This is family business now. Our family business.

The warehouse interior is cavernous, mostly empty except for the single metal chair in the center, illuminated by a hanging work light.

Adan sits slumped forward, hands bound behind him.

Blood has dried along his temple, matting his dark hair.

His expensive suit is torn, stained with more blood and dirt.

Inez pauses ten feet away from him. I stop beside her, close enough to intervene if necessary, far enough to give her space. This is her interrogation to lead. Her justice to dispense.

Adan lifts his head at the sound of our footsteps. His left eye is swollen shut, but the right widens when he sees Inez. "Sister," he croaks, then coughs. "Come to finish me yourself?"

"That depends on you," Inez says, her voice unnervingly calm. She circles the chair slowly, heels clicking against concrete. "Three armed men. On my wedding day."

"Congratulations." Adan spits blood onto the floor. "I brought a gift, but your husband's men took it."

I remain silent, watching. Studying. The two may not be blood, but they were raised in the same world. But where Inez is a controlled fire, Adan burns wild and unpredictable, even now.

"Why?" Inez stops directly in front of him. "I want to hear you say it."

"Why?" Adan laughs, the sound ugly and raw. "Because it should have been Emilio and me. Father promised—" He breaks off, coughing again.

" My father never promised you anything," Inez says. "You weren't blood."

"He treated me like blood!" He lunges forward in the chair, the sudden movement making me tense, ready to intervene. But the restraints hold. "You're not better than us. But you—" His voice cracks. "You were always the favorite."

I watch Inez's shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly. Most wouldn't notice, but I've learned to read the subtle tells in her body language. This hurts her, though she'd never admit it.

"So you came to kill me out of jealousy?" she asks. "That's disappointingly simple, Adan."

"Not jealousy. Justice." He straightens as much as his bindings allow. "I know about Emilio. And who knows what you’ve done to my mother."

Emilio’s name hangs in the air between them. I don't recognize it, but Inez goes completely still. Her hand drifts toward her weapon.

"Be careful what you say next," she warns.

Adan smiles through bloody teeth. "Does your new husband know? Does he know what you did to my brother?"

I step forward now, unable to remain passive any longer. "Whatever grievance you have with my wife, bringing armed men to our wedding crosses a line you can't uncross."

"Your wife." Adan's good eye fixes on me. "Do you know what kind of woman you married, Zhukov? What she's capable of?"

"Better than you," I reply evenly. "And I respect it."

Inez moves with sudden, fluid precision. The knife I didn't even see her draw presses against Adan's throat. "Emilio made his choice," she hisses. "Just like you made yours."

"He loved you," Adan whispers. "And you had him killed."

I watch the muscles in Inez's arm tense as the blade presses harder. A bead of blood appears beneath the edge. I could stop her, but this is her battle and decision. The loyalty I pledged hours ago means standing beside her, not in her way.

"You're wrong," Inez says finally. She withdraws the knife, steps back. "I didn't have Emilio killed. I killed him myself. Because he betrayed me, just like you're betraying me now."

Adan's face contorts with rage and grief. "You bitch?—"

My fist connects with his jaw before the insult fully leaves his mouth. The chair rocks but doesn't topple. Adan's head hangs limp for a moment before he regains consciousness.

"Speak to her with respect," I say quietly. "Or the next blow won't be so gentle."

Inez gently places her hand on my arm, a silent gesture of gratitude that speaks volumes.

Her touch is as light as a whisper, yet it communicates her appreciation with undeniable clarity.

She then shifts her attention back to her stepbrother, fixing him with a piercing gaze.

"You have one chance, Adan," she says, her voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

"Tell me who else is involved. Who backed you?

Who supplied the weapons?" Her words are measured and deliberate, each question a step deeper into the truth she seeks.

"Give me something valuable," she continues, her tone almost pleading yet undeniably resolute, "and perhaps you live. "

"You think I'd betray them to save myself?" Adan scoffs, his laughter a raw, jagged sound that erupts, sending a trickle of blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. The crimson liquid glistens in the dim light, a stark contrast against his pallid skin. "Unlike you, I understand loyalty."

"Loyalty." Inez muses, nodding with a measured, thoughtful air. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicker with a mix of admiration and skepticism. "Admirable. Misplaced, but admirable." She shifts her gaze, fixing her penetrating stare on me. "What do you think?"

I scrutinize Adan's face, my eyes tracing the lines etched by pain and resolve, searching for any crack, any sign of weakness or leverage. "He's protecting someone," I conclude, my voice steady, though my mind races. "Someone he fears more than death."

"Or loves more than life," Inez interjects, her voice softening with a hint of understanding. Her words hang in the air, heavy and poignant, adding a new layer to the tense silence.

We exchange a glance that speaks volumes, a moment of perfect understanding passing between us. Whoever is orchestrating these events has a grip on Adan that is more powerful than his instinct for self-preservation. This makes him a formidable threat. Unpredictable and volatile.

"My father proposed keeping him alive," Inez says, her voice steady but laced with caution. "Using him to our advantage."

I mull over this suggestion, carefully balancing the possibilities and the inherent dangers. "We could do that. We might be able to extract valuable information from him over time. But remember, he'll never stop trying to harm you."

"No," she agrees. "He won't."

Adan watches our exchange, his good eye darting between us. Fear has finally begun to seep through his defiance. "What are you going to do?" he asks.

Inez steps close to him again, bends down until they're eye-to-eye. "I'm going to find whoever put you up to this," she says softly. "And I'm going to dismantle their operation piece by piece. Then I'll come back to finish our conversation."

She straightens, turns to me. "Have your men take him to the secondary location. No comforts, but keep him alive."

I nod, pulling out my phone to arrange the transfer. As I step away to make the call, I hear Adan's desperate voice.

"You can't just leave me here! Inez! We're family!"

"No," she says, her voice carrying across the warehouse. "We're not. Not anymore."

When I return to her side, she's staring at Adan with something like regret. Not for her decision—Inez never second-guesses herself—but perhaps for what might have been in another life.

"My men will be here in ten minutes," I tell her. "We should go."

She nods, but doesn't move immediately. "Adan knows something. Something bigger than a simple power grab."

"We'll find out what it is," I promise. "Together."

"Together," she echoes, finally turning away from her stepbrother. As we walk toward the exit, she slips her hand into mine. A rare public display, even with no real audience. Her fingers are cold.

Outside, the fog has thickened, wrapping the waterfront in gray. My men arrive, efficient and discreet, disappearing into the warehouse without needing instructions. I help Inez into the car, close the door, then round to the driver's side.

"Take me home," she says as I start the engine. "I believe we have a wedding night to finish."

I glance at her, searching for signs that this is a distraction, an attempt to push away what just happened. But her eyes meet mine steadily. This is Inez—compartmentalizing, moving forward, never dwelling. It's what makes her dangerous. It's what makes her mine.

"As you wish, Mrs. Zhukov," I reply, my voice steady as I steer the car away from the dimly lit warehouse.

The engine hums softly beneath me, and the tires crunch over the gravel as we move.

I catch a glimpse of my men in the rearview mirror, their figures silhouetted against the harsh glow of the warehouse lights, as they heave Adan's limp form into the back of a waiting van.

His days are numbered. No one dares to threaten what is rightfully mine and walks away to tell the tale.