Page 13 of Brutal Monster
"I was. Once." The admission surprises me. "Before my eldest uncle died and my father moved up from third to second son."
The waiter returns with the wine, a ritual of uncorking and pouring that gives me time to consider how much truth to share with this woman. My future wife. My potential executioner.
"What happened to your uncle?" she asks when we're alone again.
"Car bomb. Meant for my grandfather." I rotate the wine glass, watching the liquid catch the light. "I was fourteen. The next day, my training intensified."
Inez nods. Understanding without pity—this is why she's dangerous. This is why she might be the perfect choice.
"One of my father’s men tried to poison me when I was sixteen," she offers. "To this day, I still think the man was framed by my stepmother, but I have no proof.”
“Has she tried again?"
"I think she fears my father too much. No doubt she’s waiting for him to die to finish the job." Her green eyes flick up to mine. "Family is complicated."
I laugh, a sharp sound that turns heads. "That's one word for it."
Our first course arrives—something delicate and expertly arranged. I wait for Inez to take the first bite.
"I won't poison you, Vanya."
"Not tonight, certainly. Too obvious."
She actually smiles at that. "What kind of marriage can we have, do you think? With this foundation of mutual suspicion?"
I consider the question seriously. "Honest, at least. No pretense of love."
"And fidelity?"
"Necessary." I cut into my food with surgical precision. "For appearances. For security. For heirs, eventually."
She tilts her head. "You want children?"
"I want a legacy." I meet her gaze. "Don't you?"
"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. "But I don’t want my husband to use them to control me."
"I don't want a subordinate, Inez. I want a partner."
"Partners have equal power."
"Yes."
She studies me, searching for the lie. Finding none, she nods once. "Separate bedrooms within a shared residence. Joint decisions on business matters that affect both families. I keep control of my operation, you keep yours."
"And when those operations conflict?"
"We discuss. We compromise. Or we don't, and deal with the consequences." She leans forward. "But we never move against each other. That's the one unbreakable rule."
I consider this woman across from me—brilliant, dangerous, as lonely in her power as I am in mine. Perhaps this is what compatibility looks like for people like us.
"Agreed." I raise my glass. "To a marriage of equals."
Her glass meets mine with a crystalline sound. "To mutual survival."
We drink, eyes locked. The wine tastes like possibility—bitter and sweet at once.
The server clears our plates, and I signal for another bottle of wine. The first has loosened something between us—not trust, exactly, but a willingness to speak without calculating every word.
