Page 3 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER THREE

VANYA

" L et me be clear, Mr. Zhukov, these terms are absurdly one-sided."

I lean back in my chair, watching Anton pace the conference room like a caged bear.

My lawyer's face is flushed with indignation as he jabs his finger at the contract spread across the polished table.

Outside, the gala continues, the dull roar of music and conversation seeping through the closed doors.

"They're asking for full autonomy over her family's operations while gaining access to our distribution networks.

She maintains separate finances. And this clause here—" Anton flips to page seven, tapping furiously, "—gives her the right to nullify the arrangement with minimal penalties if you, and I quote, 'interfere with her business decisions. '"

I take a slow sip of vodka, savoring the burn. "Is that all?"

Anton's head snaps up. "All? Mr. Zhukov, with respect, this isn't a marriage contract. It's a hostile takeover disguised as an alliance."

"Sit down, Anton."

He obeys, but his leg bounces beneath the table. Nervous energy. He's been with me for fifteen years, handled negotiations that would make federal prosecutors weep. I've never seen him this agitated.

"What exactly troubles you about Ms. Bravo's terms?" I ask, my voice deliberately calm.

"Everything! She wants access to our shipping routes, our political connections, our muscle when needed—while offering only nominal integration of her cartel's operations.

" Anton loosens his tie. "And the personal terms are equally unbalanced.

Separate residences when desired. No obligation for children.

Freedom to travel without consultation."

I study the amber liquid in my glass. "Inez values her independence."

"She values your resources while giving up nothing of substance." Anton leans forward, lowering his voice. "Walk away. Or at minimum, counter with terms that don't make you look like a lovesick fool."

I set my glass down, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Careful, Anton."

He doesn't flinch. Loyal men can speak the truth. It's why I keep him.

"You've spent years building this empire," he continues. "Your father?—"

"My father would have seen the strategic value."

"Your father would never have accepted such terms from a woman."

I smile thinly. "Perhaps that was his limitation."

Anton stares at me, realization dawning in his eyes. "This isn't about business for you."

I stand, walking to the window overlooking the museum gardens. Below, I can see Inez Bravo speaking with her security team. Even from this distance, her presence commands attention. The emerald dress catches the light as she moves, every gesture precise and deliberate.

"Do you know what I saw when we danced, Anton?

" I don't wait for his answer. "I saw a woman who's had to fight for every inch of respect in a world that wanted to reduce her to a pretty face or a bargaining chip.

A woman who built something formidable despite the men around her—including her father—underestimating her at every turn. "

"So you admire her. That doesn't mean?—"

"I recognize her," I correct him. "The isolation of power. The constant vigilance. The necessity of appearing invulnerable." I turn back to face him. "She's not trying to take advantage of me, Anton. She's protecting herself the only way she knows how."

Anton sighs heavily. "And you think giving her everything she wants will make her respect you?"

"I think meeting strength with strength will earn her trust." I return to the table, flipping through the contract pages. "Besides, these terms aren't as unbalanced as you believe. What appears to be autonomy is, in fact, responsibility. She's not asking for protection without accountability."

"She's asking for a husband who won't act like one."

I laugh, the sound echoing in the conference room. "When did you become so traditional? The brotherhood has arranged marriages for centuries. They're business transactions, not love matches."

"Exactly my point. This doesn't even make good business sense."

I lean forward, tapping the final page of the contract. "Sign it."

Anton's jaw tightens. "Mr. Zhukov?—"

"The terms are acceptable. Sign it."

He picks up his pen with apparent reluctance. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I'm securing an alliance with the most formidable woman I've ever met." I watch as he scrawls his name on the witness line. "And I'm allowing myself the opportunity to win something money can't buy."

"Her loyalty?"

"Her heart."

Anton looks up sharply. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly." I take the pen from his hand and sign my name with a flourish. "The Bratva understands power and control, Anton. What they've never understood is partnership. Real partnership."

"And you think that's what this will be?"

I cap the pen and slide it into my jacket pocket. "Eventually. Once Inez realizes I have no intention of caging her."

"Or once she's taken everything she wants and left you with nothing."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." I stand, straightening my cuffs. "Have copies made. I'll deliver this to Ms. Bravo personally."

Anton gathers the papers, shaking his head. "Your uncle will say you've gone soft."

"My uncle still thinks women are only good for two things." I adjust my tie in the reflection of the window. "His narrow-mindedness has cost him opportunities. I don't intend to make the same mistake."

"And when she tests these generous boundaries? When she makes decisions that conflict with brotherhood interests?"

I smile, thinking of the fire in Inez's eyes when she told me she wouldn't be subordinate. "Then we'll negotiate. As equals."

"God help us all," Anton mutters.

I clap him on the shoulder as we move toward the door. "Don't worry. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Falling in love with a cartel princess wasn't part of the expansion plan."

"Plans change." I pause, hand on the doorknob. "And I'm not falling in love. I'm recognizing a worthy opponent."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

I don't answer, stepping back into the gala. The crowd parts instinctively as I move through it, eyes scanning for emerald green. I find her near the bar, deep in conversation with an older man I recognize as Senator Harrington—one of her father's political connections.

She senses me before she sees me. I watch her posture shift subtly, shoulders squaring as she turns. Our eyes lock across the room, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The noise, the people, the glittering pretense of the charity event—all of it reduced to background static.

This woman could be my greatest ally or my most dangerous adversary. Possibly both. The brotherhood will never understand why I've accepted her terms, why I'm giving her the space to maintain her power rather than absorbing it into mine.

They think power is something you take. Something you hold over others.

I know better. True power is what happens when equals choose to combine their strengths.

As I walk toward her, contract in hand, I see the wariness in her eyes. She's expecting a negotiation, a counter-offer, another man trying to dictate terms.

I'm going to enjoy surprising Inez Bravo. And then I'll enjoy the game of earning her trust. Her respect.

Her heart.

The most valuable prize I've ever pursued—because it can't be taken. Only given.

I cross the room, weaving through Los Angeles’s elite with practiced ease. Inez excuses herself from the senator with a graceful nod, turning to face me fully. Her emerald dress catches the light, complementing eyes that narrow slightly as they track the contract in my hand.

"You signed it," she says, her voice flat.

"As written. No amendments." I offer her the document.

She takes it, fingers brushing mine—a touch that sends an unexpected current up my arm. Flipping through the pages, her expression shifts from surprise to suspicion to something that looks remarkably like anger. A muscle tightens in her jaw.

"This is a mistake," she says, voice low enough that only I can hear. "I expected you to counter. To negotiate."

"Why would I? The terms are acceptable."

Her laugh is sharp, brittle. "Bullshit. No man in your position would accept these conditions without a fight."

I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume—something with notes of amber and spice. "Perhaps you've been dealing with the wrong men.

"Or perhaps you're playing a longer game." She taps the contract against my chest. "What is it you really want, Vanya?"

The sound of my name in her mouth does something to me I hadn't anticipated. I recover quickly, taking her elbow and guiding her toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

"I want exactly what this contract stipulates—an alliance between our organizations. One that respects your autonomy and leverages our combined strengths."

Her eyes narrow. "You're either lying or delusional."

"Neither. I'm practical."

"Then let me be practical too." She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow cuts sharper than a shout.

"I will not be the wife you want. I won't host your dinners or charm your associates.

I won't be available whenever you want. I will make decisions you disagree with. I will challenge you at every turn."

I can't keep from smiling. "Good."

This catches her off guard. Her lips part slightly before pressing back into a firm line. "I'm serious, Zhukov. I will make your life difficult."

"I'm counting on it." I take the contract from her hands, setting it on a nearby table. "You think I want a decorative wife? A silent partner? I have yes-men, Inez. What I need is someone who sees the world differently than I do. Someone who will push back when I'm wrong."

"And when I refuse to bend to your will? When my interests conflict with yours?"

"Then we'll find a solution that works for both of us." I hold her gaze steadily. "This isn't about control. It's about respect."