Mikhail
At the end of a winding drive, the tall iron gates creak open despite the lack of rust on the painted hinges. I drive onto the grounds of the Long Island mansion where Maria was born while she sits quietly beside me in the Mercedes with her hands folded in her lap. I decided we would come here alone, assuming neither of us could have anticipated the sight looming over us. In a neighborhood filled with sheltered clapboard houses close to the ocean, the imposing mansion looks like a gothic misfit.
Momentarily, the wind off the ocean fills the silence with an eerie rustle before it rushes through the trees.
“Can you believe it?” she says, her eyes wide.
It’s too bizarre to comment. I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from the towers that rise above the roofline like devil’s horns. “It’s like looking at a twisted reflection of my late father’s home.”
The silhouette is strikingly similar to the Ivanov mansion, and it’s precisely the kind of thing Gennady would use to overtly remind people they belonged to him. The car passes by a garden folly of a granite gargoyle carved with a fierce expression, eyeing the gravel drive. Another example of my father’s excesses. It looks down on us as we drive by, like a warden over its prisoners.
“Your father must’ve had a sick sense of humor.” Maria’s tone is laced with the bitterness I feel.
“And a blatant sense of excess,” I reply firmly. The concrete drive is in shambles, so we exit the car and walk down the slate path. The solitude of the setting surrounds us and announces the perception of dread that clings to this place. “Are you sure about this?” I ask Maria with concern.
“Yes,” Maria replies firmly, staring at the brick monstrosity. “I need to see this place and to understand what happened that night. And maybe then I can find some closure.”
I nod, understanding the significance of being here. I also want closure. The tragedies in our lives bear down on us as we stare at the red brick facade. It’s a physical manifestation of all the love taken away from us.
I sneak glances at Maria, silently admiring how she holds her growing belly. Her tender gesture stirs something in me, and the need to protect Maria is gradually replacing the blinding drive for revenge. But am I replacing one madness with another? Of course, my wife and child need me, which will always justify my actions, even the most heinous ones.
“Stay close to me, Maria,” I say softly, taking her hand in mine and holding a skeleton key in the other. My father gifted many properties, but he always made sure he had access to all of them.
Maria slips her hand out of mine and walks toward the overgrown yard leading into a small, wooded area. The backyard is a chaotic patch of weeds and bushes with barely visible pathways disappearing into the shadows of many tall trees. The drone of cicadas hums in the stillness, beckoning Maria to follow. I navigate the unruly garden after her, noticing freshly broken twigs on the ground. I look back at the house, wondering if we’re really alone.
“They left in the middle of the night, according to Uncle Vito,” she says. “They were supposed to follow a specific path through the woods to meet him.”
Scowling, I say nothing. I know the rest.
“I want to find the path they took, Mikhail,” she continues. “Maybe there’s a clue.”
My gaze falls on the unkempt bushes blocking the narrow path into the woods and the grass encroaching on the bare soil.
I can’t keep quiet. “That was eighteen years ago, Maria.”
“I know, but maybe …” her voice trails off. Her gaze combs the landscape in search of something that might still be there.
After Desmier was killed, my father went with his men to the site-an abandoned watch factory in Newark, far from the protective boundaries of New York City. Gennady went anyway, though the place had been scrubbed of all evidence; he thought he would find something despite the odds.
He never did, and he knew he wouldn’t. But he insisted on going anyway.
I nod. “All right, let’s search together.”
We start our search for the elusive path they took that night. However, it quickly becomes apparent that finding it won’t be easy. Time and nature have taken over, and detecting any clear trail through the woods is nearly impossible.
The sun dips behind a cloud, and the shadows of the tree branches overhead lengthen across the ground. Tall ferns wave in the breeze, playing with the bit of light left. The trail plays hide-and-seek as we try to follow it, turning us in every direction until I worry we’ll lose sight of the house.
“What if I never find it?” Maria says in frustration as the path vanishes under a crisscross of gnarly roots rising above the ground. “What if it’s just gone forever? Like her?”
“Hey.” I pull her into my arms. “We may not find it, Maria. But we’ll find out what happened together.”
“Together.” Her eyes flash as her determination returns.
Hand in hand, we continue our search, carefully stepping over uneven ground and pushing small branches out of the way. We continue, though soon, we’re surrounded by thick greenery.
“Dammit!” she exclaims, yanking her hand from mine. “We’ll never find it.”
“Maria,” I speak softly. “Calm down.”
“No, Mikhail.” Her voice cracks. “I just want to know the truth. Someone knows. Why can’t I know too? She was my mother. Is the truth too much to ask for? I deserve it.”
Her words strike me in the gut and echo the pain I felt for days, weeks, and years after I lost my own mother. She died without answering the one question that meant so much-why? It’s a cruel twist of fate that we both have this one thing in common, but I had the chance to know my mother while Maria’s was cruelly taken from her in infancy. I wrap my arms around Maria, drawing her close as she cries on my chest.
“Maybe …” Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Maybe I should just give up.”
My shirt collects the tears off her cheeks. “Don’t give up, Maria. I’ll get them. I promise.”
She flinches when I mention revenge and places a hand on her belly. It’s a subtle reaction, but it’s there-a tightening of the muscles around her mouth, a slight withdrawal of her hands as if to shield herself from me.
“Maria,” I stare until she returns my gaze. “What is it?”
She hesitates. “Mikhail, will you ever consider giving up your vendetta?”
I stare at the darkening sky over the mansion. “It’s not that simple to let go of anger and pain. But you know that, Maria. There is no other way to remain a pakhan and save our lives.”
Her gaze follows mine because it’s easier to look at the sky. “You’ll win, Mikhail. But will it be worth it when it’s over? You see how this vendetta is destroying my father. Don’t let it destroy you.”
I take her hand. “I’m letting one lone adversary ruin me.” I hold her hand too tightly. “I love you, Maria, but you will not change me. Or your father. More is at risk than lives.”
“My father’s vengeance has cost us,” Maria continues. “Do you really want to ruin what we could have for the sake of revenge? It’s not a declaration of defeat to change your mind.”
I’ve thought about how much I have to lose and how close I have come to losing it already. My chest tightens as I recall the night that nearly changed everything between us, the night when vengeance consumed me. The night I almost ended Maria’s life.
“Do you ever think about that?” she asks.
“Maria,” I start, barely able to get the words out. “There’s something I need to tell you. That night when we … I almost lost it all. I thought about ending you because I believed you were a traitor.” I can’t bring myself to look her in the eyes. “But I couldn’t do it …”
Maria freezes, shock then disbelief in her expression. Wavering on her feet, she wraps her arms tighter around her growing belly as if protecting our unborn child from me.
“Did you hear me?” I’m desperate for a response. “I nearly killed you, Maria.”
Her gaze meets mine, and the sadness in her eyes cuts me deeper than a stiletto could. “I heard you, Mikhail.” Her voice is steady. “And as much as it terrifies me to think what might have happened if you’d given in to your darkness, I know that you didn’t. You made a choice, and that means something.”
“Does it?” I ask. “How can we move forward, knowing what I’m capable of?”
“Because you’re also capable of love, Mikhail,” she argues. “You can overcome this for us if you want to. If your ego wasn’t bigger than both of us.”
Maria is right. I must choose to let go of the past and embrace the future we could have together or risk losing everything that truly matters.
My heart aches with love for her, and I try to tell her. “I promise you, Maria. I’ll do everything in my power to protect our family and end the threat.”
Her protective and determined grip around her belly tenses while Larissa’s words echo in my mind. Almost word for word the same ones that Vito said at the sit-down.
I’m tired of burying one Ivanov after another. The truth hits me like a bullet, barreling through every justification I’ve ever made for my actions.
I stare at Maria, my heart pounding as I finally understand what I almost lost in my blind pursuit of vengeance-her love, our family, and any chance at happiness. My hands tremble as I try to find the right words to express the depths of my remorse.
“Maria,” I begin, my voice cracking with emotion.
She watches me, her eyes filling with concern. “Mikhail, I know how much pain you’ve been carrying. But it doesn’t have to define you. You are more than a pakhan.”
I move toward her, lifting my hands. “It’s not easy to walk away.”
“I’m not asking you to walk away.” Her voice is strong as she backs away. “I’m asking you to let go of your need for revenge. We have to break the cycle for the sake of our family.”
“Will you?” My voice rises in anger as my hands tremble with rage. I want to scream, but instead, I take a step toward Maria and extend my hands, my fingers twitching as if they’re going to wrap around her throat.
Sensing danger, Maria pivots on her heel to escape. A hidden root sends her tumbling. Instinctively, I reach out and grab her before she fully crashes to the ground. She lands on her knees, moaning, as I pull her into my arms.
“I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you, and I know what I did was unforgivable. I just … I need you to know how much you mean to me,” I confess, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions.
She gazes into my eyes. “Mikhail, nothing is unforgivable.”
“But can you forgive me?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if releasing her pain. “Yes, I will, but I need your forgiveness for not telling you about the text and everything else I’ve kept from you.”
“Of course I forgive you,” I reply without hesitation.
“Thank you,” she whispers, a faint smile gracing her lips.
She faces the imposing mansion, its towers casting long shadows across the overgrown grass. “I want to go inside.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods.
With her hand in mine, we walk up the stone stairs toward the oak door.
“Ready?” I ask, my grip on her hand tightening.
“Ready,” Maria confirms, matching the strength of my grasp. I unlock the door, and Maria pushes it open, stepping inside as I follow her.