Page 26 of Brutal Monster
A soft knock at the door interrupts us. I step back, adjusting my expression to neutral efficiency.
"Doña Inez," Cristian's voice calls through the door. "Your father is asking for you."
Vanya releases my arm, though the ghost of his touch lingers. "It seems we have much to discuss."
"Tonight," I say. "After I handle my father's lieutenants."
"Handle them how?"
I move toward the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "Depends on whether they choose to be assets or liabilities."
His low chuckle follows me into the hallway. "I'm beginning to see why your father chose you as his successor."
I don't tell him the truth—that my father didn't choose me. I chose myself, and made it impossible for him to choose otherwise.
Some inheritance isn't given. It's taken.
CHAPTER TEN
VANYA
The elevator doors slide open to Inez's floor, and something shifts in the air—a wrongness that prickles at the back of my neck before I've taken a single step inside.
Maksim's hand shoots out, blocking my path. "Wait." His voice drops to a whisper as his other hand moves to his weapon.
I scan the entryway. Everything looks exactly as I left it this morning—Inez's collection of antique silver frames gleaming on the console table, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. But something is off. The silence feels manufactured.
"Clear the rooms," I order, my voice barely audible.
Sergei and Timo fan out with practiced efficiency, weapons drawn. I remain in the doorway, hand inside my jacket, fingers wrapped around my Makarov. Seven days I've been sleeping here, seven nights with Inez's body curved against mine, and now this space that had begun to feel like a sanctuary has been violated.
A soft click from the kitchen. The sound of a drawer being closed with excessive care.
Maksim freezes, then signals toward the source of the sound. Three fingers up—multiple intruders.
I step silently into the apartment, hugging the wall. The marble floor gleams in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Too exposed here. I need to reach the hallway.
"Boss," Sergei hisses from the master bedroom. "Evidence of a search. Professional job."
My jaw tightens. The bedroom. Where Inez keeps her private files. Where we've tangled in sheets still warm from sleep.
A shadow shifts at the edge of my vision. The glass door to the balcony reflects a figure moving in the kitchen.
"Now," I command.
We converge from three directions. Maksim takes the main entrance, Sergei circles through the dining room, and I cut through the living area. Three men in tactical gear freeze at our approach. Not amateurs—their weapons are already up, fingers on triggers.
"Zhukov," one of them says, his accent unmistakably Colombian.
Cartel. Inez's territory.
"You're trespassing," I reply, my voice arctic. "In territory protected by both the Zhukov organization and the Bravo cartel."
The leader's eyes narrow. "We answer to Emilio De Leon."
Inez's older stepbrother. The one who's never accepted her leadership.
"Emilio doesn't give orders here," I say, keeping my gun trained on his chest. "This is Inez Bravo's residence."
