Vengeance

Prologue

"Should I simply kill you or torture you until you beg for mercy first?"

Mikhail Russo's voice was glacial. His grey eyes focused on the man knelt before him. A relaxed smirk played on his lips as he leaned against the barren wall, arms crossed in a display of unshaken dominance, brows slightly raised in a mix of fury and curiosity.

The man's face was painted with pain on the canvas, with his wrists and legs bound behind his back, bruises staining eyes, and his lips colored with a deep purple. Blood, both dry and fresh, streaked across his face and soaked into his clothes.

Mikhail's gaze was fixed intently on his captive, reveling in the man's suffering. Two days of confinement had taken its toll, yet the man's defiance remained. He locked his eyes with Mikhail Russo, his gaze unwavering.

A big mistake.

"Kill me,"

Mikhail's expression darkened, his intense stare freezing on the man's courage. No one dares to betray Mikhail Russo and have the fortitude to tell the tale.

Not his peers and most definitely not traitors.

"Now, that would be an easy solution to my predicament," Mikhail replied, his voice low and even, yet laced with venom. "But everyone knows I don't do easy. Particularly not to the likes of you, Lopez. A man without honor." His eyes blazed with restrained fury, palms curled into fists. "I can accept mistakes, but not betrayal."

Jack Lopez had once been one of his most loyal and trusted men, serving in Mikhail's troop for years, even before the reign was passed to him.

But loyalty seems to be a frail thing.

The moment word of Lopez's defection reached him, his first instinct was to throttle the man's neck with his bare hands, riddle his heart with bullets, and stab him until his body betrayed no trace of life. But his principles restrained his hand.

Because Mikhail Russo doesn't kill.

This was one rule he lived by, and he expected everyone around him to abide by it. A non-negotiable periphery that set him apart from the rest of his world.

As one of the youngest, most prominent figures in the ruthless world of liquor, particularly in Huntsville City, Mikhail’s position carried enormous responsibility, as well as the constant shadow of inevitable danger.

The black market's brutal underbelly demanded strategic precision and constant vigilance, as a single misstep could spark a bloodbath. Competition was fierce, stakes were impossibly high, and the illicit trade's volatility threatened to boil over every single day. To remain clean in such a chaotic, blood-stained industry was not just difficult, it was impossible.

Here, loyalty was a fragile commodity, and morality a fleeting concept. Regardless of gender, no one hesitated to mark a target, making it challenging for him to uphold his no-killing principle.

Only once had Mikhail made an exception. Only once when he was faced with an imminent danger, and escape was impossible. Self-preservation had compelled him to strike lethally, and he tries not to live by that guilt. Every single day.

One may label it a loophole, but he saw it as self-defense, a grim necessity that could cost not just his life but those of his men on more occasions than he cared to count.

Despite his stone heart, deciding Jack Lopez's fate hadn't been easy. But it had to be done. Even after entrusting his life to this snitch, he refuses to break his principles for the likes of him. Yet, Lopez's betrayal, leaking trade secrets to the rival Waggons, jeopardizing Mikhail's empire, left no room for mercy.

"Betrayal?" Jack Lopez sneered. "You are s**t, Mikhail. The only reason you even got this position was because of your dead father. And let's be real, he wasn't even your biological father. Your entire empire is nothing but a black charity."

Lopez's words drip with venom, aiming to strike Mikhail's most vulnerable spot. And he succeeded.

Mikhail's fury erupted in two swift strides, his fist connecting with Lopez's smirking face with a force that split skin and wiped the grin away. His hot, furious eyes were blazing with the memories of his father. Dmitry Russo, the man who raised him, loved him and instilled the last vestiges of humanity within him.

He can endure intolerance towards himself but not towards his father. Blood or not, Dmitry Russo was and is always going to be his father and his family. No one dares to disparage his father and walk away on two feet. Not in this lifetime.

Mikhail gripped Lopez's collar tightly, their gaze locked at eye level. "Don't you dare sully my father's name with your treacherous lips and defile his memory in your vile thoughts," he snarled, his voice razor-sharp. "The only reason I am not killing you is because I want to savor the pleasure of destroying you. Slowly. Bit by bit."

Just as Mikhail was about to unleash another blow, his phone pierced the air, disrupting his momentum. He groaned, reluctance etched into every line of his face. He wasn’t done with Lopez. Not by a long shot. With a cursory glance at the screen, his entire demeanor changed. It was Robert Adams, his best pal and confidant.

Mikhail could not ignore his call.

Reluctantly, he released Lopez, letting him crumple on the floor. Without giving a second glance, he strode out of the room towards his cabin, phone pressed to his ear.

"Robert, you'd better have a damned good reason for interrupting me. I was in the middle of something very important." He growled. His voice was in stark contrast to the moments before, yet his irritation was palpable.

Trust his friend to call him at the worst possible time.

Robert's chuckle echoed through the line. "Being with your lady friends or tormenting a poor soul hardly qualifies for being in the 'middle of something important.'" His tone dripped with amusement.

"Then both our definitions of being busy are different." Mikhail rolled his eyes as he settled comfortably onto his chair.

He propped his legs up on the table, the anger of Lopez dissipating from his mind and body.

"It certainly does. Anyway, I had to interrupt your so-called 'busy time' because something happened. Something totally unexpected. You need to come to the hospital right away."

Robert's change of tone concerned Mikhail. His friend would never demand his presence without a grave reason. He prefers not to count the time when his friend puts on an SOS for a game night.

"Why, what happened?" Mikhail asked, his frown deepening as he placed his feet on the floor.

Robert hesitated. "It's best you come here and see for yourself. I don't think this is the conversation we should have over the phone."

He knew how hard-headed and temperamental his friend could be, and he didn't want his fury to be directed at someone else.

"Robert, I swear to you. I am not in the mood for your silly games. The last time you tricked me into a date with one of your nurses. She was lovely, but seriously, I am not interested. My bachelor life suits me just fine." Mikhail's skepticism flared.

"Mikhail, I just want you to experience the luxury of being settled down, as I have with my wife." Robert's words prompted Mikhail to roll his eyes. At the mere age of twenty-six, his friend married Alisa, and now they have been happily married for six years. "But this is not about matchmaking." Robert continued, his tone shifting. "I have got a patient who looks exactly like you. The resemblance is rather uncanny." He paused, measuring his words carefully. "If my theory holds, I am pissed that you hid such a huge fact from me."

Mikhail's attention jerked at the word 'looks exactly like you.'

He tuned out his friend’s rebuke, his mind racing. "Say no more. I will be there in five minutes." He said, rising from his seat, urgency threading his voice.

“It's a bloody fifteen-minute drive. I am not interested in treating the victims of your accident, nor do I relish the prospect of treating you with my own bare hands. So you f*****g reach here in no less than fifteen minutes." Robert snapped.

Mikhail bit back the retort, knowing better than to test Robert's patience. Given their bond forged over the years of friendship, only he dared to leverage the yelling at him. Robert, four years his senior, was like an elder brother, understanding Mikhail in ways no one could, except for his father.

As Mikhail drove, his mind swirled around the person who looked like him. He gravely struggled to keep his temper and anxiety under check, just as he held a great restraint not to press on the accelerator because if he showed his face even a minute early, Robert would have his head.

When Mikhail arrived at the hospital, Robert immediately led him to the patient's room. His deliberate steps slowed as he approached the bed. His friend was not joking when he mentioned that his resemblance to the doppelganger was uncanny. In fact, he understated it because the man lying on the bed, unconscious to the world, was a mirror image of him.

Dark black hair, tan skin, a chiseled jaw. Everything about him, down to the physique, mirrored Mikhail. The similarities were impossible to ignore.

"Mikhail?" Robert's voice broke the silence, interrupting the chaos in his mind.

Mikhail's eyes remained fixed on the man lying before him. He mumbled, astonished. "It's my twin."