Vengeance

CHAPTER 2

Mikhail lay on the hospital bed, impersonating Anatoly, waiting for his plan to be carried out.

Convincing Robert to join his ruse had been surprisingly easy. His friend had agreed, but not before warning him to keep his temper in check. When they were alone, though, he noticed a flicker of hurt and disappointment in his friend's eyes.

"You bloody well have a good excuse for what I just witnessed." Robert snapped, pacing in his office, his voice filled with frustration and disbelief. "You have a twin brother, Mikhail. A twin! And you never thought about mentioning this?"

He had to give it to his friend so as not to lose his cool after learning about the existence of his twin brother. Unlike him, Robert is rather level-headed.

"I do,” Mikhail admitted. “I have nothing to do with that family. They do not matter. That is why I didn't tell you." He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in the chair.

"That’s absolute bullshit, Mikhail, and we both know it. Your mother’s rejection, choosing Anatoly over you? That is a whole new level of emotional scar. You don’t have to put on this brave façade with me."

"What do you want me to do? Bawl my eyes out? Sorry, pal. I already did that as a kid. Now, I have got no tears left inside me." His voice was filled with hardened detachment.

He had suffered and cried when he was abandoned. Now he has no place for emotions.

"There is no winning from you." Robert sighed in resignation, his voice softening.

"Robert, I did not mention anything about my twin because he is a part of my past. Past which I have buried deep inside with no intention of revisiting.

"I understand." After a contemplative silence, Robert asked. "So, what are you planning to do? Have a family reunion?"

Mikhail let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "No. I had something else in mind.”

When Mikhail narrated his entire shenanigans, Robert's eyes expanded in sheer astonishment.

"That's insane."

"I know, but this is the only way I can think of finding the truth."

"Wouldn’t it be better just to confront your mother?" Robert stated the obvious, his brows furrowed in concern.

Mikhail shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Confronting her did cross my mind, but I highly doubt she’d be honest. Why would she suddenly come clean now, after hiding me from their life for over two decades? No, I need to see for myself. I need to understand how much of my existence my mother has erased from their lives, and more importantly, why."

"Okay." Robert's reaction was surprisingly straightforward.

Mikhail blinked, slightly surprised. "Just okay? No long lecture on my misdoings and betrayal? I was fully prepared for the whole speech."

Robert shrugged, his face calm. "No. I don’t fully understand how deep your scars run, but I know you need this. If this is your way of finding closure, I’m all in."

"Thanks, man," Mikhail stated, his voice laced with genuine gratitude.

He hadn’t expected his friend to be so unwaveringly supportive of him. But deep down, Mikhail knew that he couldn’t do it alone. To pull off something this bold, he would need Robert’s complete support, and more. A handful of his most trusted people would also have to help keep an eye on Anatoly while he executed his plan.

It had been twenty-one long years since he last saw his twin. Twenty-one years of silence and separation. He had no idea who Anatoly was anymore.

Correction. He didn’t know his brother at all.

Despite his little affection for his brother, he did not fully trust him. A lot could change in a matter of weeks, and here they have been talking about more than two decades. Their mother's deliberate action has created an unbridgeable gap between him and Anatoly.

However, he was fortunate to be adopted by Dmitry Russo, who took him under his wing and treated him like his own son. But the bitterness towards his mother never fully went away. Instead, it festered, growing painful with each passing day. Conflict of emotions plagued him to date, bitterness towards his mother's abandonment, and deep-seated longing for her love and presence.

He never had the chance to share his tears of sorrow with her during his childhood. There were no nagging words from his mother to teach him to respect women or to scold him when he misbehaved. Instead, it was his father, the man who had adopted him, who pulled his ears and taught him what it meant to be loved and disciplined. It was a kind of care he had never asked for but came to cherish, even if it never erased the absence of the woman who should have been there all along.

Despite being part of a two-person family that ran a liquor business, his adoptive father never mistreated women, nor did he allow anyone around him to do so. p**********n is the harsh reality of their work, but Dmitry Russo drew a clear line.

His principles didn't permit him to exploit or disrespect women, and he refrained from objectifying them. These values made him stand out and instilled the same respect in Mikhail from the very beginning.

Mikhail, on the other hand, wished to toss that respect into a bin when he saw his mother for the first time after two decades. She hurried towards him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was hysterical as she took hasty steps toward him, engulfing him in a tight, suffocating hug.

Time had been kind to her. Her beauty maintained a delicate touch of youth, with just subtle signs of aging. Her eyes were covered with gentle wrinkles, and her hair was barely streaked with salt and pepper texture. Yet, what surprised him more was that he still remembered her as clearly as a day.

Mikhail remained frozen, unable to process the surge of emotions flooding through him with his mother's embrace. A long-dormant ache stirred within him, threatening to break free. He fought desperately to hold back the tears he had buried so long ago. Though he had long accepted the void left by her absence, a part of him yearned to collapse into her arms, bury his face in her stomach, and let the years of anguish out. The childhood that had been stolen from him by the very person who should have protected him seemed just out of reach, and for the first time in years, he wanted it back. He wanted her back.

Unfortunately, his wishes were nothing more than mere desirable fantasies of a lost child pining for his mother's love.

Pathetic, isn't it?

He inhaled deeply, trying to restore his composure. He made a hesitant move to loosely wrap his arm around her mother, but quickly pulled it back.

While his mother was smothering him, he managed to maintain a casual demeanor, careful not to let his vulnerability show.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of taking advantage of his mother’s love, which he knew was not for him but for Anatoly. But he would only be fooling himself. The truth hung heavy in the air.

When his mother stroked his hair, he was transported back to his boyhood. He could almost hear the soft lullabies she used to sing, her gentle voice lulling him and Anatoly to sleep.

"Anatoly, baby. You scared me," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and fear.

For Mikhail, her words were a harsh slap of reality. This was the confirmation he dreaded. His mother only cared about his twin brother, not him. Did she even remember his existence, or had she completely erased him from her heart and mind?

"Anatoly?" Mikhail asked, trying to appear befuddled. Fortunately, it wasn't difficult because he was rather bewildered. He no longer knew his mother. "Who are you?"

His mother gasped, her hand flying to her chest as she took a step back. Her face crumbled, disbelief engraved in every line. "I am your mother," she said, her voice breaking. "Anastasia Petrov."

'Anastasia Petrov. So she remarried.' Mikhail thought as he watched her rush out of the room in search of the doctor.

He didn’t begrudge his mother for moving on after the death of his biological father, Maxim Rostova. He was a victim of a robbery gone wrong. Thanks to his good memory, he remembers how his mother was a mess during those dark days. She had been inconsolable, a broken woman struggling to make sense of the world without her husband. He was glad that she chose to move on with her life because no one deserves a life of solitude. But along the way, she left him alone to fight his own battles at the mere age of just seven.

When Robert entered the room alongside his mother, Mikhail barely suppressed the urge to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the situation. It was rather ridiculous and quite tricky not to let his eyes reflect amusement of any sort. Even after staying with her beloved son Anatoly for such a long time, she could not make a difference between them.

Some mother she is.

"Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Petrov, but your son has lost his memory. It appears to be long-term, as he is unable to recognize anyone. However, it's unpleasant and premature to determine how long it will last or if he will ever be able to recall anything."

"Oh my God! But how is this possible?" His mother whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

She did genuinely seem worried about him, but then he knew that it was for Anatoly and not him. His heart ached terribly. It was hard to maintain his composure and look confused at the same time.

"He was in a nasty car crash. It's a miracle he came out alive and isn't in a state of comatose," Robert explained, his tone carefully laced with sympathy. Yet, Mikhail could clearly see the flicker of amusement in his friend's eyes. Robert was enjoying this far too much, likely indulging his secret passion for acting. A skill he often employed during practical jokes.

"My baby doesn't deserve this," Anastasia exclaimed.

"I understand, Mrs. Petrov. But he is alive, and one can only pray that he remembers everything over time. The brain functions in an unpredictable fashion. You have to be patient with him." Robert replied, offering her an empathetic smile before excusing himself.

His mother nodded softly and stepped closer to Mikhail, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead, right beside the bandaged wound swathed in white gauze. He instinctively closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the momentary illusion of maternal love.

But it was not for him.

It was for f*****g Anatoly. Her precious son, not the son she heartlessly abandoned in an orphanage all those years ago. His fingers tightened into a fist beneath the blanket, claws cutting into his palm as he fought the rising need to get out of bed. Every fiber of his existence pleaded with him to demand answers, the truth she owed him.

Mikhail knew that this was not the right time. He could not just reach the end game without first leaving the starting line. Despite being temperamental, he knew the art of being patient. His adoptive father had helped him master it and trained him to maintain his calm. He had practiced it through meditation. Since he had already waited for his entire youth and part of his adult life for answers, a few more days wouldn't kill him.

Not like it would make any difference to his dear mother.