Page 4 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

She studies me, searching for a lie or trap. "Men like you don't give up control willingly."

"You're right. We don't." I step closer, lowering my voice. "But I'm not giving up control. I'm recognizing that some things can't be controlled—they can only be earned."

"Like what?"

"Trust. Loyalty." I pause, observing her reaction. "Affection."

A flash of something crosses her face—vulnerability quickly masked by defiance. "I'm not part of this bargain. My body, my heart—they're not on the table."

"I wouldn't want them if they were." I reach out, adjusting the emerald pendant at her throat that's slipped slightly askew. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. "Things freely given are worth far more than things taken or coerced."

She steps back, breaking the contact. "You think you can seduce me into becoming the wife you want."

"No, Inez. You're already exactly the wife I want." The truth of this statement surprises even me. "Strong. Independent. Brilliant. I don't need someone to stand behind me. I need someone who stands beside me—who sees dangers I miss and opportunities I overlook."

"And when your brotherhood objects? When they expect me to know my place?"

"They'll learn to adapt. Or they'll be replaced." There's no hesitation in my voice. This, at least, is familiar territory. "My organization serves my vision, not the other way around."

She studies me for a long moment, calculation and curiosity warring in her expression. "You're either the most progressive Bratva leader in history or the most cunning."

"Why not both?" I offer her a genuine smile. "Sign the contract, Inez. Let me prove I can be what you need—a partner who respects your strength rather than feeling threatened by it."

Her fingers drum against her arm, a rare tell from a woman who keeps her cards close. "And if this experiment fails?"

"Then you walk away with everything the contract guarantees. No penalties, no repercussions."

"Nothing is ever that clean in our world."

"It can be. If both parties are honorable."

She laughs at this, a real laugh that transforms her face. "Honor among thieves?"

"Among leaders," I correct. "There's a difference."

The music changes, a slower melody filling the room. I extend my hand. "Dance with me, again. Let me entice you to marry me."

She hesitates, then places her hand in mine. "This proves nothing."

"But it's a start."

I lead her onto the dance floor, aware of the eyes tracking our movement. The Bratva prince and the cartel princess. They're all wondering the same thing––what game am I playing?

The truth is simpler and more complex than any of them realize.

I've spent my life fighting for control, for respect, for power.

I've won all three through calculation and force.

But standing here with this woman in my arms, feeling the careful distance she maintains even as we move in perfect rhythm, I understand that some victories require a different approach.

Some wars are won by laying down arms first.

"You're thinking too hard," she murmurs, reading my expression.

"I'm considering strategy."

Her lips curve slightly. "For the dance or the marriage?"

"Is there a difference?"

This earns me another glimpse of genuine amusement. "At least you're honest about your manipulations."

"Not manipulation. It's adaptation." I guide her through a turn, our bodies moving closer than necessary. "I suspect we'll both need to adjust our expectations."

"I have none," she says too quickly.

"Everyone has expectations, Inez. Even if it's only the expectation of disappointment."

Her eyes flash up to mine, startled by the insight. "And what do you expect?"

"Challenge. Frustration. Moments of surprising alignment." I hold her gaze. "Growth."

"Not love?" The question is meant to be mocking, but it lands with unexpected weight between us.

"Love is not a business transaction. It can't be negotiated or contracted." I keep my voice neutral, though something shifts in my chest. "But respect can become admiration. Admiration can become affection. Beyond that..." I shrug. "We'll see."

The music draws to a close. I release Inez, stepping back with a slight bow that would make my Russian grandmother proud. Old world manners in a new world arrangement.

"Sign the contract, Inez," I say quietly. "Not because you have to, but because you're curious. Because part of you wonders if there might be power in partnership rather than isolation."

She retrieves the document from the table, studying it one more time. "You realize this makes no sense from a business perspective. You're giving up too much."

"Only if you measure value solely in territorial control and immediate profit." I watch as she removes a pen from her clutch. "Some investments take time to mature."

Her signature is swift and decisive, a flowing script that stands in stark contrast to my own angular scrawl. She caps the pen, meets my eyes.

"Don't make me regret this, Vanya."

It's the first time she's said my name without it sounding like a challenge or an accusation. Progress, however small.

"I won't," I promise. "And when you realize I mean exactly what I say—that I want a partner, not a possession—I hope you'll consider offering more than what's written in those pages."

"Don't push your luck." But there's less edge to her words now, a hint of something that might, with time, become trust.

I take her hand, pressing my lips to her knuckles in a gesture that's both archaic and intimate. "Luck has nothing to do with it, future wife. This is pure strategy."

Her laugh follows me as I step away to arrange for the contract's proper filing. It's a sound I find myself wanting to hear again—unguarded, genuine. A first crack in formidable armor.

The game has just begun, but already the rules are changing.

For both of us.