Page 64 of Brutal Monster
"We," Vanya corrects. "We need to approach the Castros."
The emphasis on the word catches me. Equal partners. My father's last command.
"We," I agree, testing how it feels. Less lonely, perhaps. But more complicated.
Vanya's thumb traces my jawline. "Your arm needs attention."
I glance down at my bloodied sleeve. "It's just a graze."
"Still." He calls for the doctor, who returns to clean and bandage my wound.
As the doctor works, I stare out the window at the Mexico City skyline. My city now. My empire. My responsibility.
"We have work to do." Vanya's voice is steady, calming. "First, we secure the immediate family. Then we deal with the Romeros. Then we consider how to approach the Castros."
The doctor finishes with my arm and leaves us alone again. I move to the window, watching as the sun begins to set over the city. My father died as darkness approached. Fitting, somehow.
"The Castros," I murmur. "Three generations of blood between our families, and he wants an alliance."
Vanya comes to stand beside me, his reflection appearing in the Glass next to mine. "Your father built his empire by making bold moves when everyone expected tradition."
"And now he expects me to do the same." I turn to face him. "Are you with me? Truly with me?"
His eyes hold mine, unwavering. "Until death, Inez. And perhaps beyond."
I take his hand, feeling the calluses from years of holding weapons, fighting battles—some of them mine.
"Then let's begin," I say. "We have a funeral to plan, an empire to secure, and apparently, some very surprising new allies to court."
Outside, the city lights begin to twinkle in the gathering dusk. Juan Bravo is dead. Long live the Bravos.
EPILOGUE: THREE YEARS LATER
VANYA
"Three years," I murmur, swirling the ice in my Moscow Mule.
The copper mug is cold against my palm, condensation beading on the metal like morning dew. Tulum's sun beats down relentlessly, but here under the shade of the palm fronds, with the breeze coming off the Caribbean, I'm comfortable. Perfect temperature. Perfect view.
Diego Serpico lounges in the chair beside me, designer sunglasses hiding his eyes, but not the slight smile that plays at the corners of his mouth. The scar along his jawline—a memento from our first meeting—catches the light when he turns to follow my gaze.
"Three years," he agrees, raising his glass in a silent toast. "From bullets to beach vacations. Life is strange, my friend."
I nod, my attention drawn back to the infinity pool stretching before us. The water is impossibly blue, seeming to merge with the ocean beyond, creating the illusion that the edge drops off into eternity. But my focus isn't on the architectural marvel.
It's on them.
Inez stands waist-deep in the water, her hair slicked back, droplets glistening on her shoulders. She's laughing—a sound Ionce thought I'd never hear—as she holds our daughter's hands. Natalia, two years old and fearless, kicks her pudgy legs, water wings keeping her afloat as she squeals with delight.
Beside them, Camila Castro guides her son, Dario, through the water. The toddler, three months older than Natalia, splashes with enthusiasm, sending water into his mother's face. Camila pretends to be shocked, which makes her son laugh even harder.
The Castros and Serpicos. Once our bitter enemies, now our closest allies. Family, even.
"Your wife looks happy," Diego observes, taking a sip of his drink.
"She is." I can't keep the pride from my voice. "The merger with the Castros doubled our territory and eliminated our most dangerous rival. The European pipeline is secure."
Diego chuckles. "Always the businessman, Vanya. I meant she looks happy as a mother."
