Page 2 of Brutal Monster
I recognize that look. I see it in my mirror every morning.
For three days, I dig deeper into the Bravo operation than anyone outside their inner circle has likely ever gone. I call in favors from contacts across intelligence agencies, border patrol,even a former girlfriend at Interpol. The picture that emerges is fascinating.
Inez Bravo isn't just running her father's empire—she's transforming it. Where Juan Bravo built power through brutality and fear, his daughter operates with surgical precision. She has eliminated wasteful violence, streamlined distribution channels, and created legitimate business fronts that actually generate profits.
I find myself studying her photographs for hours. The sharp intelligence in her eyes. The slight asymmetry of her lips makes her more striking. In most images, she's dressed conservatively—wearing power suits, minimal jewelry, and her hair pulled back. But in one rare candid shot, taken at a charity gala in Mexico City, her hair falls in dark waves around her shoulders, and she's caught mid-laugh, looking directly at the camera.
Something tightens in my chest. I close the file, annoyed at my reaction.
"Impressive woman," says Maksim, my head of security, placing a fresh stack of intel on my desk.
"What do we know about her stepbrothers?" I ask, pushing the photo aside.
Maksim's expression darkens. "Two of them–Emilio and Adan De Leon, sons of Juan’s second wife, Alicia. They’re currently estranged. Emilio, the oldest, is the most dangerous. Military training, known for his temper. Adan handles distribution, spends most of his time in Colombia. Both were passed over when Juan named Inez as his successor. She’s his only biological child."
"And they're planning something."
"Our sources say yes. They're forming alliances and stockpiling weapons. Waiting for the old man to die."
I stand, walking to the window. "The brothers will start a war."
"One that will spill into our territory," Maksim confirms. "Unless..."
"Unless I marry her." The words feel strange in my mouth.
"The brothers would hesitate to move against both the Bravo and Zhukov organizations united. But they may try anyway."
I study the Los Angeles skyline, thinking of the blood that would flow if the cartel erupted into civil war. Territory disputes. Civilian casualties. Police crackdowns. Years of careful building destroyed.
"Get me everything on her security detail. I want to know who's loyal to her versus her brothers."
Maksim raises an eyebrow but nods. "You're considering this arrangement."
I don't answer immediately. The truth is, I find myself thinking about Inez Bravo more than strategy requires. About the weight she carries. About what it would mean to stand beside someone who understands power the way I do.
"I'm considering all options," I say finally.
The night before the Getty benefit, I review surveillance footage of Inez arriving at her Beverly Hills Hotel. She exits her vehicle with effortless grace, flanked by security. The camera catches her profile as she pauses, scanning her surroundings with the practiced eye of someone who knows they're always a target.
She's wearing a simple black dress that skims her curves, revealing strong shoulders and the elegant line of her neck. My body responds immediately with a rush of heat I haven't felt in years. Not just desire—something more primitive.Possessiveness.
"Fuck," I mutter, shutting off the video.
This is business. Strategy. I can't afford to think with anything but my head. Tomorrow, I'll meet Inez Bravo asa potential business partner, nothing more. I'll evaluate the arrangement based on its merits for our organizations.
But as I pour myself another drink, I know I'm lying to myself. Something about this woman has gotten under my skin before we've even exchanged a single word in person.
And that makes her more dangerous than any enemy I've faced.
CHAPTER TWO
INEZ
"Ten more minutes, Ms. Bravo."
"Make it five." I don't look up as the makeup artist hovers with her brush. She knows better than to argue.
The suite smells of hairspray and expensive perfume. Too many people, too close. Three stylists, my personal assistant, and two security men by the door. All this for a charity gala, I could have dismissed it with a check and a form letter.
