Page 63 of Brutal Monster
I sit motionless, still holding his hand as the doctor rushes forward, checking vitals, making official what I already know. Juan Bravo, the most powerful man in Mexico for three decades, is gone.
The room fills with people—security personnel, household staff, and my father's many lieutenants. Their voices wash over me like distant waves. Miguel touches my shoulder, saying something I don't hear.
I rise slowly, gently placing my father's hand on his chest. The cut on my arm throbs, blood still seeping through my sleeve. It seems appropriate somehow—blood for blood, pain for pain.
"Señora," Cristian approaches, his face grim. "We've recovered Señor Vanya. He's wounded but alive, being treated downstairs."
Relief floods through me so intensely I nearly stagger. "How bad?"
"Gunshot to the shoulder, some cuts. Nothing critical."
I nod, composing myself. "And the Romeros?"
"Six dead, the rest scattered. We have men hunting them now."
"Good." I look around the room at the faces watching me, waiting for direction. My father's men—my men now.
"My father is dead," I announce, my voice steady and clear. "I am in command. And your first job is to kill Adan. Make it quick and send his ashes to his mother in Brazil. Ensure she remains under house arrest."
No one challenges this. They've known this day was coming.
"Cristian, double security on all properties and businesses. Miguel, arrange for the body to be prepared according to my father's wishes. Everyone else out."
They obey without question, filing from the room until only I remain with my father's body. In the silence, I allow myself ten seconds—ten heartbeats of raw, private grief.
Then I straighten my shoulders and turn away from the bed. There will be time for mourning later. Now, I have promises to keep.
I find Vanya in one of the downstairs guest rooms, shirtless, a doctor finishing the bandage on his shoulder. His face is bruised, a cut above his eye freshly stitched. He looks up when I enter, reading the answer in my face before I speak.
"He's gone," I say simply.
Vanya dismisses the doctor with a nod. When we're alone, he holds out his good arm to me. I go to him, allowing myself to be pulled against his chest, careful of his injuries.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs into my hair.
I breathe in his scent—gunpowder, antiseptic, blood. Alive. "He told me something unexpected."
Vanya waits, giving me space to continue.
"He wants us to ally with the Castros."
I feel his body tense against mine. "The Castros? Are you certain?"
"He said they have connections to the Serpicos in New York, leaders of the five families. He believes that together we'd be unstoppable." I pull back to look at his face. "And he said something else. About us."
"What?"
"That we should rule together. As equals." I search his eyes, looking for his reaction. "That a united front is unbreakable."
Something shifts in Vanya's expression—surprise, then a deeper emotion I can't quite name.
"Your father was a wise man," he says quietly.
"Even in death, he surprises me." I touch the bandage on his shoulder gently. "You could have died today."
"So could you." His hand cups my face. "Yet here we are."
The reality of our situation crashes back over me. "The Romeros will regroup and will soon make their move to unseat me. And now I need to somehow approach the Castros without starting another war."
