Chapter Twenty-Eight
Adrik
Warnemünde, Germany
Adrik had barely kicked off his boots when his phone buzzed. Yakov’s name lit up the screen. Great. That was never good news.
He answered anyway. “Hey.”
“Adrik,” Yakov said, voice tight. “You need to come to Russia. Your mother’s in the hospital.”
A tight, uneasy pressure settled low in his gut. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s going into surgery and she needs blood transfusions.”
Adrik scrubbed a hand over his face, already moving toward the kitchen table like sitting down might steady him. “Send me everything. I’ll leave tonight.”
“Adrik… she’s in Seversk. There are no direct flights.”
He froze. “Fuck. Why the hell is she in a closed city?”
“That’s where Sergei told her to go. For safety.”
Safety. Right. His family’s version of safety always came wrapped in danger. “So how do I get there?”
“Rostock to Berlin, then to Antalya, then to Tomsk. Once you land, I’ll pick you up and get you through the checkpoints into Seversk.”
Adrik leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as if it might magically shorten the distance. “How long is this going to take?”
“Twenty-seven hours and thirty minutes.”
“Jesus.” A heavy rush of blood blurred the edges of sound. Almost thirty hours before he could even get to her.
“Call me when you get to Tomsk,” Yakov said.
“Will do.” He hung up, feeling like the floor had shifted under him.
Hans must’ve heard the tone in his voice because he came over and sat beside him on another chair, hand warm on Adrik’s thigh. “What’s going on?”
Adrik swallowed hard. “I have to leave for Russia tonight. My mother’s having surgery.”
Hans’ face softened instantly. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No.” The answer came out too fast, too sharp. He softened it with a sigh. “It’s not safe for us together.”
“Can I at least make the reservations while you pack?”
Adrik nodded, even though every part of him wanted to say no, to pretend this wasn’t happening. “I don’t want to go,” he admitted quietly. “But it’s my duty.”
He pushed himself up, grabbed a notepad, and started scribbling the airports in order—Rostock, Berlin, Antalya, Tomsk. He tried to keep his writing steady, yet the letters wavered just enough to betray him.
He handed the note and his documents to Hans, then went to pack. Every shirt he folded made his chest tighter. His mother could die. He didn’t even know what kind of surgery she was having. And she was alone. In Russia. In a closed city.
He zipped his bag and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, pressing his palms to his eyes.
This was all Viktor’s fault for putting a hit on him and Sergei.
She would have been home with her family.
With the best New York City treatment. He hated Viktor even more now.
And his fucking brother too, for stirring up all this shit. He hated them all!
He had to get to her. No matter how long it took.
Adrik sat stiffly in the train seat, staring out the window as the landscape blurred past. He barely registered any of it.
His mind kept circling the same terrifying thought—his mother needed surgery, alone, and he had no idea if she’d survive.
His chest felt tight, like someone had cinched a belt around his ribs.
Hans sat beside him, their knees touching. He kept glancing over, worry written all over his face. After a few minutes of silence, Hans nudged him gently.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
Adrik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“That’s impossible,” Hans whispered. “But you don’t have to sit inside your head alone.”
Adrik swallowed hard. He wanted to lean into him, to let Hans take some of the weight, but the fear was too big. “I just… I don’t know what’s happening to her. She’s in fucking in Western Siberia. And it’s so far. I hate that it’s so far.”
Hans reached over and took his hand, threading their fingers together. “You’re doing the right thing. She’ll be relieved the second she knows you’re coming.”
Adrik stared down at their hands. “I hate leaving you.”
“I hate it too,” Hans admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
That hit him harder than he had expected. He blinked fast, looking away before the emotion could spill over. “I know. I just… wish you could come.”
“I know,” Hans said. “But you’re not going through this alone. I’m with you, even if I’m not physically there.”
The train rattled on, and Adrik leaned his shoulder against Hans for the rest of the ride, letting the warmth ground him.
At the airport, everything was too bright, too loud. People rushed around them with suitcases and coffees, living normal lives. Adrik was moving in slow motion.
Hans walked beside him, close enough that their arms brushed. When they reached the security line, Adrik stopped. He didn’t want to take another step.
Hans turned to face him. “Hey,” he said gently, cupping Adrik’s cheek. “You’re going to be okay.”
Adrik’s throat tightened. “I’m scared, Hans.”
“I know.” Hans’ thumb brushed his skin. “But you’re strong. And your mother is strong. You’ll get to her.”
Adrik let out a shaky breath. “I hate leaving you like this.”
“I hate watching you go,” Hans said, voice cracking just a little. “But I love you. And I want you to get to her as fast as you can.”
A tremor ran through him, small but impossible to hide. He pulled Hans into a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder. Hans held him like he didn’t want to let go either.
When they finally separated, Hans smoothed his hands down Adrik’s arms. “Text me when you land in Berlin. And Antalya. And Tomsk. All of them.”
“I will,” Adrik promised. “I’ll call you whenever I can.”
Hans gave him a small, sad smile. “Go. Before I drag you back home.”
Adrik managed to make a weak laugh, then grabbed his bag and stepped toward security. He looked back once—Hans stood there watching him, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to be strong.
Adrik’s chest ached as he turned away. He hated leaving him. He hated the fear twisting in his gut. But he had to get to his mother.
He had no choice.
Adrik stepped out of the Tomsk airport into the snowy night air, exhausted and wired at the same time. His body felt like it had been folded and unfolded a dozen times over the last twenty-seven hours when he had to board different flights. He pulled out his phone and dialed Yakov.
“I’m here,” he said, voice rough.
“I see you! Hey, Adrik!” a man shouted from across the pickup area.
Adrik turned toward the voice he’d heard a hundred times over the phone.
He expected someone younger—someone closer to his own age.
Instead, a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray hair and a thick beard strode toward him.
Blue eyes, sharp and bright even in the dim light.
He looked like he could lift a car if he felt like it.
That’s Yakov? Adrik blinked. The man was at least two inches taller than he was.
“Yakov?” he asked, just to be sure.
“That’s me,” Yakov said with a grin, switching fully into Russian as he stepped close and kissed Adrik on both cheeks. Adrik returned the gesture automatically, still trying to reconcile the voice he knew with the man in front of him.
“Happy to finally meet you in person,” Adrik said.
Yakov clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Your grandfather would have been proud of you. That man loved you very much.”
The words about his grandfather really surprised him. His chest tightened. “I know. I loved him too.”
Yakov nodded once, like that settled something, then grabbed Adrik’s bag and tossed it into the back of an old SUV. “Come. Long drive.”
The moment the car heater kicked in, the exhaustion caught up with him. The hum of the engine, the blur of snowy roads, the weight of everything—his mother, the distance, the fear—pulled him under. He drifted off without meaning to.
A hand shook his shoulder gently. “Adrik. Wake up. Checkpoint.”
He blinked awake, disoriented. Bright lights, uniformed guards, the heavy gates of Seversk looming ahead. Yakov handled the paperwork, the questions, and the scrutiny. Adrik sat frozen, breath shallow, trying not to imagine the next thing falling apart.
Once they were cleared, Yakov drove him deeper into the city and eventually pulled up to a large house, bigger than Adrik expected, quiet and dark except for a single lamp in the entryway.
“This is your mother’s home,” Yakov said. “Eat something. Then we’ll go to the hospital.”
Adrik nodded, throat tight. He stepped inside, the warmth and familiarity of his mother’s things hitting him all at once. The place smelled faintly of her perfume.
He wandered through the rooms, touching the back of a chair, the edge of a picture frame, anything to ground himself. On the kitchen counter, he spotted her phone. He hesitated only a second before picking it up.
He scrolled through her contacts, searching for anything that might help him understand what she’d been doing here. Then he froze.
Sergei’s number. And an address.
He stared at it, pulse thudding.
He’s here. In Seversk.
Adrik transferred the information to his phone and put his mother’s down and let it continue to charge.
And his mother was somewhere in a hospital bed and waiting for him.
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself.
Tomorrow, he’ll face Sergei. Tonight, he needed to get to her.