Page 40 of Brutal Monster
The weight of the Glock 19 against my ribs reminds me I came prepared for betrayal.
I take a sip of my espresso at the outdoor café, the Veracruz harbor spread before me like a chessboard. Shipping containers in primary colors stack like children's blocks against the horizon. My father's words still echo in my head from our conversation three days ago.
"You're certain it's him?" Papá had asked, his fingers drumming against his mahogany desk.
"Yes." No hesitation. I never speak unless I'm certain.
Now I wait. The intel disclosed by Claudio was precise enough to be believable. A shipment of uncut diamonds, arriving on the Mariana Star at dock seventeen. Valuable enough to tempt, small enough to steal without much manpower.
My phone buzzes. A text from Marco, one of my most trusted lieutenants, positioned at the opposite end of the harbor.
Movement at the east entrance. Black Escalade.
I set down my cup without a sound. Check my watch. Forty-three minutes early—classic Emilio impatience.
All good. Emilio's car was spotted heading toward the docks. Two men were with him. Vanya is in position.
I slide my phone back into my jacket pocket, hiding my satisfaction behind the rim of my cup. The trap is set.
Vanya materializes from nowhere, sliding into the chair across from me. His presence draws stares—a six-foot-three Russian tends to stand out in Veracruz—but I welcome the attention. Let them look. Let them report back.
"Your stepbrother is punctual, at least," he says, voice low. His accent thickens when we're alone, a detail I've cataloged but never mentioned.
"He always is when money's involved." I set down my cup. “At least I know Claudio was telling the truth. He redeemed himself slightly before Cristian killed him.”
Vanya's gray eyes scan the harbor. "Your father's accountant—how long was he in Emilio’s pocket and why? He must have understood he was placing himself in danger."
"I’m not sure." I check my watch. "Papá never doubted his loyalty."
"Three o'clock," Vanya murmurs.
I don't turn immediately. Instead, I signal for the check, placing euros on the table with a casual flick of my wrist. Only then do I allow myself a glance toward dock seventeen.
There he is. Emilio, in his ridiculous white linen suit, flanked by two of his regular muscle. My stepbrother always did have a flair for the dramatic, even when committing treason against his own family.
"He brought Navarro and Diaz," I note, recognizing the enforcers. "No surprises there."
"Your father will want proof," Vanya reminds me, unnecessarily.
I reach into my pocket and touch the phone, already set to record. "He'll have it."
We rise together, Vanya falling two steps behind me as we make our way toward the shipping yard. The sun beats down, but I feel ice-cold, focused. Each step brings me closer to securing what's mine.
"If he pulls a weapon?" Vanya asks, so quietly only I can hear.
"Then you earn your reputation." I don't look back at him.
The plan is simple. Watch Emilio attempt to hijack a shipment that doesn't exist. Document his betrayal. Present the evidence to my father. The empty container waiting at dock seventeen is just stage dressing for my stepbrother's final performance as heir apparent.
I slip behind a stack of containers, Vanya's solid presence at my back. We watch as Emilio approaches the Mariana Star's designated offloading area. His body language screams anticipation—shoulders tight, steps quick.
He has no idea I'm here. No idea that while he thinks he's stealing from my father, I'm reclaiming my birthright.
My phone buzzes again. Multiple texts from my lookouts positioned around the perimeter. I check the screen.
*All in position. Ready on your command.*
I slide my fingers over the gold-plated Glock tucked in my shoulder holster—a gift from Papá on my twenty-fifth birthday. "Today it earns its keep," I whisper.
