Page 14 of Brutal Monster
"When you first heard about me," I ask, "what did they tell you?"
Inez traces the rim of her glass with one finger. "That you were cold. Ruthless. Methodical." Her lips curve slightly. "That you once had a man dismembered for stealing from your underground casino."
"And yet you agreed to meet me."
"I admire efficiency." She shrugs one elegant shoulder. "Besides, the dismemberment story is exaggerated. I checked."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "Only partially exaggerated."
"I know." Her eyes meet mine, unflinching. "What did they tell you about me?"
"That you're brilliant. Dangerous." I pause. "That you killed your own cousin."
"He was my second cousin, and the bastard tried to have me kidnapped and murdered, hoping he would take my place as heir.” Her voice remains steady, but her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. "He made a grave miscalculation."
"Yes, he did."
The new bottle arrives. I sample it, nod approval, and watch as our glasses are filled. In the silence that follows, I study Inez's face—the sharp intelligence in her eyes, the careful composure that never quite reaches relaxation.
"Have you ever been in love, Inez?" The question surprises even me.
She blinks, the only sign my words have caught her off guard. "No."
"Never?"
"Love is a weakness." She says it like a mathematical formula, proven and irrefutable. "In our world, I can't afford to be weak."
I swirl the wine in my glass, considering. "I disagree."
"You've been in love, then?" Skepticism colors her tone.
"Once." I don't elaborate on who or when. Some ghosts are mine alone. "Real love isn't weakness. It's power."
"Power?" She scoffs. "Love makes people stupid and vulnerable.”
"That's infatuation." I lean forward. "Real love is different. It's knowing someone sees all your darkness and stands beside you anyway. It's having someone at your back who would die for you—not because they fear you, but because they choose you."
Her expression remains skeptical, but something flickers in her eyes. Curiosity, perhaps.
"And when that person is taken from you?" she challenges. "When your enemies use them against you?"
"Then you burn the world." The words come out soft, almost gentle. "But at least you had something worth burning it for."
Inez studies me as if seeing me for the first time. "You're not what I expected, Vanya Zhukov."
"Neither are you." I raise my glass. "To unexpected discoveries."
She hesitates, then touches her glass to mine. "To calculated risks."
As we drink, I wonder if this marriage might become more than a business arrangement. I don’t expect love—we're both too damaged for that fairy tale—but something rare and valuable nonetheless. Understanding. Respect. Perhaps even trust, eventually.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, I find myself intrigued by the possibility.
"Tell me about your first kill," I say, changing the subject. The night is young, and there are many layers yet to uncover.
"My first kill?" Inez's eyes flash with a dark and contemplative look. She takes another sip of wine, letting the question hang between us. "I was seventeen. One of my father's lieutenants thought I'd be easy to manipulate. He cornered me in my father's study, thinking no one would hear."
I nod, recognizing the familiar story pattern without needing details. "And?"
