Page 35 of Brutal Monster
"From New York?" Sergei asks, his voice crackling slightly over the connection.
"Four from New York, two from Los Angeles." I pace along the edge of the terrace, calculating angles and sight lines, assessing potential vulnerabilities. "I want them armed but discreet. This is a wedding, not a military operation."
Though in truth, it's becoming both.
Inez emerges from the pool in one fluid motion, water streaming down her tanned skin. She reaches for a towel, utterly unaware of my scrutiny—or perhaps entirely aware and simply unconcerned. With her, it's impossible to tell.
"They'll be on the first flights out," Sergei confirms. "Anything else?"
"Have Maksim double-check the guest list against our watchlists. Anyone with even a hint of connection to Emilio gets flagged."
I end the call as Inez wraps the towel around her waist, her dark hair slicked back from her face. Even like this—without makeup, without artifice—she carries herself with the regal bearing of someone born to command. It's what drew me to her from the beginning. That and the calculating intelligence behind those green eyes.
My phone buzzes again. Mikhail.
"Cousin," I answer, switching to Russian. "Tell me you have good news."
"Define 'good,'" Mikhail replies, his deep voice tinged with the dry humor that's helped him survive three decades in our business. "I've been monitoring Emilio's known associates as you asked."
I tense, watching as Inez settles into a lounge chair, picking up a tablet. Always working. "And?"
"Three of them have disappeared from their usual haunts in the past week. Eduardo Vega, Carlos Fuentes, and that enforcer—the one they call El Cuchillo."
"The Knife," I translate automatically, mind racing through possibilities. "Where?"
"That's the interesting part. Facial recognition picked up Vega boarding a private jet to Cancún two days ago."
That’s too close for comfort.
"What about the others?"
"Nothing concrete yet, but I'd bet good money they're with him."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache forming behind my eyes. "Keep digging. I want toknow who's bankrolling them, what weapons they're carrying, and where they're staying."
"Already on it." Mikhail pauses. "Vanya, maybe you should postpone?—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. I modulate my tone. "We're not giving Emilio the satisfaction. The wedding proceeds as planned."
"Then I'm coming down," Mikhail says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll be on tonight's flight with the others."
I consider objecting, then think better of it. Mikhail is one of the few people I trust implicitly. "Fine. We'll need you."
"How's she handling all this?" he asks, the question catching me off guard.
My gaze returns to Inez, who's now frowning at whatever she's reading on her tablet. "Like she handles everything. Precisely. Methodically."
"And you?"
I almost laugh. "What do you think?"
"I think you're calculating how to eliminate every possible threat while pretending to your fiancée that you're not worried."
Too accurate. I remain silent.
"Am I wrong?" Mikhail presses.
"It’s not your job to psychoanalyze me, cousin. She knows I have concerns."
