Page 5 of Brutal Monster (Zhukov Bratva #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

INEZ

T he key slides into the lock of my childhood home, the click faintly audible over the security guard's breathing behind me. I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. This is family business.

Papá's room smells of medicine and stale cigars—an odd combination that somehow fits him perfectly.

The monitors beside his bed blink with reassuring regularity, though the man they're monitoring looks smaller than he did a month ago.

His skin has taken on the yellowish tinge of liver failure, stretched too tight across the bones of his face.

“Mi hija.” His voice is still strong, even as his body fails him. "You've signed the contract."

Not a question. Of course, my father knows already.

"Your spies are efficient as ever." I move to his bedside, pressing a kiss to his papery cheek. "Even from here, you miss nothing."

He takes my hand, his grip surprisingly firm. "Sit. Tell me why you look like you're marching to your execution rather than your wedding."

I sink into the chair beside his bed, kicking off my heels. Only here, in this room, do I allow myself the luxury of visible exhaustion. "I signed a piece of paper, Papá. That doesn't mean I'll go through with the ceremony."

His eyes narrow. "The alliance with the Zhukov organization?—"

"—is beneficial. I know." I rub at the tension headache forming behind my eyes. "Their distribution networks, their political connections in Eastern Europe, their army of soldiers. I've heard it all before."

"Then why hesitate?"

I stare out the window at the manicured gardens below, searching for the right words. "I won't be controlled. Not even for the good of our business."

"And you believe Vanya Zhukov wants to control you?" A wheezing laugh escapes him, triggering a coughing fit that has me reaching for his water glass. He waves it away. "You haven't been paying attention, mija ."

"I've been paying very close attention." The memory of Vanya's hand on mine as we danced flashes unbidden. The careful restraint in his touch. The respect in his eyes that never once slipped into condescension. "He's dangerous because he's not what I expected."

"He's a man who recognizes your worth." Papá shifts, wincing as the movement pulls at his IV. "Do you know how rare that is in our world?"

"I don't need a man to recognize my worth," I snap.

"But you need allies." His voice sharpens, a glimpse of the fearsome leader he once was. "Emilio and Adan are circling like vultures. They smile to my face while plotting behind my back."

My stepbrothers. Always ambitious, and increasingly bold as Papá's health deteriorates. "I can handle them."

"Perhaps. But why fight alone when you could have a formidable partner?" He studies my face. "Vanya Zhukov is not like the men your stepbrothers bring around—the ones who smile at you while looking to me for approval. He sees you clearly. And he is not afraid of what he sees."

I think of the contract, the unprecedented terms Vanya accepted without argument. No other man in his position would have done the same. "I don't love him."

"Love." Papá dismisses the word with a flick of his fingers. "What has love ever built? What has it protected? We deal in stronger currencies—respect, loyalty, mutual benefit."

"Is that what you had with my mother?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

His expression softens, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the cartel leader. "With your mother, I was blessed beyond what I deserved. But such matches are rare, Inez. And they often begin with something much more practical."

The monitors beep in the silence that follows.

"I won't marry a man I don't love," I say finally. "No matter how advantageous the alliance."

Papá sighs, his fingers tightening around mine.

"Then get to know him. See if there might be something worth building.

" He shifts, leaning forward with sudden urgency.

"But do not dismiss this opportunity lightly.

Your stepbrothers grow bolder. They have supporters within our organization. Alone, your position is vulnerable."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be." His voice drops, the words meant only for me. "Adan has been meeting with the Colombians and siphoning funds for months. Emilio is building an army. They wait only for my death to move against you."

Cold settles in my stomach. "You're certain?"

"I've built my empire on certainty." He taps his temple. "My mind remains sharp, even as my body betrays me. Allow Vanya to help you when necessary. He is just as formidable as you are—perhaps more so in the areas where you are weakest."

"And what areas might those be?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.

"You hesitate to use fear as a tool. The Russian does not." Papá's eyes lock with mine. "Sometimes, mija , our enemies must be reminded why they should fear us. Vanya Zhukov can deliver that message when your methods fail."

I think of Vanya's eyes when he spoke of respect—the steel beneath the civility. "You think we would complement each other."

"I know you would." He leans back against his pillows, suddenly looking exhausted. "I want to see you secure before I go. Safe. Not just financially, but protected by alliances that will outlast my influence."

"Papá—"

"I want to walk you down the aisle." His voice cracks, the first time I've heard it do so. "Give me that before I die. Let me see you joined to a man strong enough to stand beside you without diminishing you."

Something tightens in my chest. For all his faults, all his ruthlessness in business, Papá has never seen my ambition as a threat. Never tried to marry me off to secure his own power. His support has always been unconditional—a rarity in our world.

"Tulum," he says suddenly. "Have the ceremony at our summer house on the beach. Small, private. Just family and necessary allies."

I picture it—the white sand, the turquoise water. The place where I learned to swim, to drive, to shoot. Where I felt safest as a child.

"I'll plan it," I hear myself say. "But I make no promises about showing up."

Papá smiles, the expression transforming his gaunt face. "Plan it for two weeks from now. I'll be stronger by then."

We both know this is unlikely, but I nod anyway. “Two weeks.”

"Talk to him, Inez. Really talk to him." Papá's eyes drift closed, the conversation having drained what little energy he had. "You might be surprised by what you discover."

I sit with him until his breathing evens out into sleep, my thoughts circling like vultures. Vanya Zhukov. The contract. My stepbrothers' betrayal. A wedding in Tulum that I'm not convinced will happen.

My phone vibrates with a text. Unknown number, but I know immediately who it's from:

Dinner tomorrow. My place. Just us. No business, no negotiations. Just conversation.

I have two weeks to decide if I can marry a man I barely know. Two weeks to determine if respect can be enough of a foundation when love is absent. Two weeks to plan a wedding that I'm not sure I'll attend.

I type my response before I can overthink it:

I'll be there. 8pm. Don't try to impress me.

His reply comes seconds later:

Wouldn't dream of it. Be yourself. That's impressive enough.

Something flutters in my chest—not love, certainly not that. But curiosity, perhaps. Interest.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and press a kiss to Papá's forehead before leaving. The guards snap to attention as I pass, a reminder of my position–of what's at stake.

Two weeks to decide if Vanya Zhukov is an ally worth binding myself to—or a threat I can't afford to trust.

Two weeks to determine the rest of my life.