Page 12 of Brutal Monster
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.
CHAPTER FIVE
VANYA
The weight of my gun against my ribs is the only familiar thing in this city of strangers.
The restaurant sits like a fortress of luxury in the heart of Polanco's manicured district. My security team cleared it an hour ago—every table, every corner, every employee. Now the place is half-empty, the remaining patrons carefully vetted. Still, I scan the room as we enter, noting exits, sight lines, potential threats. Old habits die hard.
Inez notices. "You never stop working, do you?"
"Neither do you." I pull out her chair, catching the faint scent of rosewater as she sits. "Your security detail is positioned at three points outside. Professional work."
She smiles, tight-lipped. "We're both careful people. It's why we're still alive."
The waiter approaches, hovering at a respectful distance until I nod. He recites specials in flawless Spanish, then retreats. I order in Russian, just to see if he understands. He doesn't flinch.
"Showing off?" Inez asks, arching one perfect eyebrow.
"Testing boundaries." I switch to English. "This arrangement between us—I need to understand its limits."
She sips her water, eyes never leaving mine. "You mean our marriage."
"I mean our alliance."
Silence stretches between us, taut as piano wire. The candlelight catches the small scar along her jaw—a mirror to my own, though hers is more elegant. Everything about her is.
"My father taught me chess when I was six," she says suddenly. "Not because he wanted to play with his daughter, but because he needed me to understand strategy."
I lean back. "My father taught me to shoot at five. For similar reasons."
Her lips curl slightly. "We were never children, were we?"
