Page 62 of Brutal Monster
His skeletal fingers tighten around mine with surprising strength. "Not enemies anymore. They have become necessary allies."
The machines beep steadily in the background as I process his words. The Castros have controlled the northern territories for decades. We've fought bloody wars over shipment routes, lost family members to their bullets.
"Listen carefully," Father continues, each word costing him precious energy. "They have what we need—connections to Sicily. Direct pipeline to Europe." His eyes burn with urgency. "Together... unstoppable."
I shake my head. "They killed Tío Rafael. They?—"
"Business," he cuts me off. "Just business. And now... business demands alliance."
A coughing fit seizes him. I reach for the water glass, helping him take a sip. Blood tinges the liquid pink. When he settles back against the pillows, his face is ashen.
"Some of our men will fight this," I say quietly.
Father's eyes narrow. "They are not Bravo blood. They serve a purpose, but never forget—you are my heir. You decide."
The weight of his words settles across my shoulders. I think of the ambush, of Vanya fighting while I fled. How many more attacks will come when word spreads that Juan Bravo is dead?
"There's something else," Father whispers, his voice growing fainter. "Your husband."
My spine stiffens. "What about Vanya?"
"Guard your marriage." His gaze holds mine, intense despite his failing strength. "You and Vanya... rule together. Equal partners. Trust him completely."
I can't hide my surprise. My father has always taught me to trust no one and to keep my own counsel.
"But you said?—"
"I was wrong." The admission seems to pain him more than his illness. "Divided leadership invites challenge. United front... unbreakable."
The door opens behind me. The doctor enters, followed by Miguel. Their faces tell me what they don't say aloud—time is running out.
Father sees them too. His fingers clutch mine with renewed urgency.
"Promise me," he rasps. "The Castros. Vanya. Promise."
I swallow hard, pushing down the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "I promise."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "My daughter. Stronger than I ever was."
His eyes drift past me to some point beyond, growing distant. "Your mother would be proud."
The mention of my mother—who died when I was three, whose face I know only from photographs—breaks something inside me. A single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek before I can stop it.
Father's thumb brushes it away. "No tears for me,mija. I die as I lived. On my terms."
His breathing grows more labored. The machines register the change, beeping more insistently.
"Should I call the priest?" Miguel asks from the doorway.
Father's laugh is barely a wheeze. "Too late for that."
I grip his hand tighter, as if I could physically anchor him to this world. "Papá?—"
"Let me go," he whispers. "My fight is finished. Yours is just beginning."
His eyes fix on mine one last time, clear and sharp despite everything. "Remember who you are. Inez Bravo. My daughter.The queen."
His hand goes slack in mine. The machines wail their electronic grief as his chest stills, his eyes glazing over.
