Page 50 of Brutal Monster
But my hand betrays me, adjusting my platinum cufflinks for the third time. The weight of my holstered Glock presses against my ribs beneath my tailored jacket. Wedding day or not, I never go unarmed.
"Perimeter secure?" I ask, voice low.
Mikhail nods almost imperceptibly. "Triple-checked. Every entrance, exit, and blind spot is covered. Drones are monitoring the approach roads. Nobody gets within a kilometer without us knowing."
The string quartet begins a melody that floats across the gathering. Fifty guests rise from their seats—each one vetted,each one representing power. Cartel families. Bratva captains. Politicians whose campaigns we've funded. Predators dressed in their finest threads.
My breath catches.
There she is.
Inez appears at the end of the aisle, her father beside her.
The white dress clings to her figure before cascading down like molten silver. Her dark hair is swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Her eyes—those fierce green eyes that first challenged me across a crowded room—lock onto mine.
Mine. The word pounds through my blood like a war drum.
Juan Bravo's face remains impassive as he leads his daughter forward. The cartel patriarch wears his power like I wear my suit—tailored to fit perfectly. His eyes constantly scan, a habit I recognize in myself as well. Never entirely at ease, even giving away his only daughter.
As they approach, I catalog the security positions around us. Two of my men are at the left entrance. Three of Bravo's by the champagne fountain. Snipers positioned on the rooftop, invisible to the guests but reporting movement through the earpiece Mikhail wears.
"Breathe," Mikhail whispers, amusement coloring his voice. "You look like you might pass out."
I ignore him, focusing entirely on Inez as she glides closer. The sun catches the beading on her dress, making her shimmer like something out of this world. Yet I know the steel beneath that silk. I've seen her negotiate million-dollar shipments without blinking. Watched her order executions with the same calm she uses to order coffee.
Juan stops at the altar's edge, and his eyes meet mine with a hint of warning.
"Who gives this woman?" the officiant asks.
"I do," Juan answers, voice carrying across the gathering.
He places Inez's hand in mine. Her fingers are calm, steady. No trembling. No hesitation.
"Don't disappoint me, Zhukov," Juan whispers, for my ears only.
"I won't," I reply.
As Juan steps back, Inez moves forward toward me. Up close, I see the subtle tension in her jaw.Something's wrong.
"What is it?" I whisper as we turn toward the officiant.
Her lips barely move. "Adan. Unconfirmed status."
My grip on her hand tightens slightly. I was afraid of this. One stepbrother still alive is one too many.
The officiant begins speaking about union and strength, about two powerful families joining as one. Pretty words that mask the reality of our alliance. This marriage secures territories and consolidates power. It wasn’t meant to become a love match, but I’m happy it has.
And now a loose end threatens everything.
I scan the crowd without moving my head. Nothing seems out of place, yet the hair on my neck stands up. Instinct—the same instinct that's kept me alive through three assassination attempts and a territory war—screams danger.
"Dearly beloved," the officiant continues, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around us.
Mikhail shifts slightly beside me, hand drifting toward his concealed weapon. He's sensed it too.
Inez's fingers squeeze mine—our silent code. Stay calm. Stay focused.
I look down at her, at the woman who will be my wife in just a few minutes. In her eyes, I see the same calculation, the same readiness. We are perfectly matched, two predators joining forces.
