Page 15

15

SAbrINA

“I don’t want to go back,” I mutter.

Oleksi doesn’t say anything for a moment. We’re still standing under the trees near where I met the strange man—his words still hang in my head like smoke. I can’t shake the chill his presence left in my bones.

“I know,” Oleksi says finally. His voice is low, soft in the way only he can make it. “But we have to tell your mother. Now.”

I nod. My stomach clenches. I want to curl up in a ball somewhere quiet, not walk into another fucking confrontation. But I follow Oleksi anyway, because this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about Tara. About my mom. About Elena. About stopping this twisted generational cycle of secrets, sacrifice, and silence.

The moment we step into the foyer of the Golden Palace, it hits me like a gust of cold air: I don’t belong here. Not really. The place is beautiful, sure—walls of polished wood, warm lighting, the faint scent of lemon oil and smoked cedar that clings to wealth like perfume—but I feel like a ghost haunting a life that was never mine. A stranger stepping into a family where everyone already knows the script except me.

Two people are waiting in the foyer. They don’t hover or hesitate—they move forward like they’ve been waiting years for this moment. The woman’s silver curls are pinned in a flawless twist, her navy wool dress as regal as the emotion in her face. The man beside her is tall and broad-shouldered, his white hair thick, his eyes the same sharp blue I see every day in the mirror.

“Sabrina,” the woman breathes, her voice thick with emotion.

Before I can even process it, I’m engulfed in jasmine and lavender. Her arms wrap around me like vines, like she’s trying to graft me back into the family tree by sheer force of will. The man lays a hand on my shoulder—steady, strong, protective.

“My God,” she whispers, her hand brushing my cheek. “You look just like your mother at your age.”

“You mean she looks like you, Anya,” the man—General Timofey Morozov—says with a warm smile. “She has your strength and tenacity, too. I can see it.”

I should say something. Anything. But I’m stuck in this weird in-between place where I’m both awestruck and resentful. Anya Novikov and Timofey Morozov. My grandparents. Legends. Figures from history books I once devoured with reverence. And now I’m standing here in front of them, apparently part of their bloodline, their legacy.

I give them a nod that’s more polite than warm. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

That’s a fucking understatement. A month ago, I would’ve sold a kidney for a chance to shake Anya Novikov’s hand. I grew up idolizing her work—her fierce independence, her brilliance. And now I know why it always felt so… familiar.

It wasn’t just admiration. It was blood.

My eyes flick to General Morozov. I’m not one to romanticize war heroes, but the man had fascinated me for years. His name was always whispered in connection with Anya’s in historical op-eds and academic circles. And here I am. Standing in front of them like some bizarre footnote come to life.

But I can’t even enjoy the moment. Not really. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on my chest.

“Rina!”

The sound cuts through me like a blade.

I turn and see her. Carla. My mother. Standing a few feet away, watching me like she’s afraid to blink.

And that’s when it hits me full force.

I’m angry.

So fucking angry.

Not just because of the lies, though there were many. Not just because I had to learn the truth from a stranger wearing my family’s DNA like a crown, or because I was taken, used as bait, toyed with, broken down to nothing, and forced to piece myself back together in some godforsaken underground hellhole.

No.

I’m angry because I missed her. Because I thought I’d never see her again. And I wasn’t ready to lose her.

I feel like a pressure valve is about to snap, and before I can do or say anything, she moves.

She rushes toward me with wild, desperate steps, and then she’s there—arms around me, squeezing so tightly I forget how to breathe.

“Oh my baby… my sweet girl…” she chokes out, clutching me like I’ll vanish if she lets go. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Her voice shatters something in me. My legs go weak, my throat burns, and for a second—just a second—I let myself melt into her.

Because even when you’re furious, even when your world’s been ripped out from under you, even when you have every reason to keep your distance…

Sometimes, you just need your mom to hold you.

I don’t hug her back, not really. My arms hover, then touch her lightly. I’m still too raw. Too uncertain. But I don’t pull away either.

She holds me like she’s trying to absorb my pain, to rewind time, to erase every nightmare I lived in that sterile prison. But she can’t. And when I feel my own composure starting to crack, I do the only thing I know how to do.

I pivot.

“Elena,” I rasp, swallowing the sob trying to crawl up my throat. “Where is she?”

Carla pulls back instantly, as if sensing the limits of my emotional bandwidth. “She’s in the west wing playroom,” she says softly. “Galina’s with her.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I turn without another word and walk out of the room, trying not to break into a run as I head toward the distant sound of Elena’s laughter echoing off the marble. Because right now? I don’t need more answers.

I need her.

She’s in her little chair, spinning a toy, her curls wild and cheeks flushed. When she sees me, her whole body wiggles with excitement.

“Hi, peanut,” I breathe, scooping her up into my arms.

She smells like baby shampoo and powder. My chest swells with love. She giggles and pats my cheeks with chubby hands, babbling in her toddler language.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” I whisper, carrying her toward the guest suite Oleksi uses when he stays here. The room smells faintly of him—leather, soap, and something sharper, spiced.

I step inside and freeze. There’s a wardrobe open against the wall, and it’s bursting with clothes. I walk toward it and draw in a breath, looking at the tags. Okay, designer labels aside, the clothes are all in my size, so I don’t have to walk around in borrowed clothes that are too big. I sort through the beautiful dresses, jeans, sweaters, and even underwear, all neatly folded or hanging, waiting for me. And fuck me if my eyes don’t fill with tears thinking someone went out and got these for me.

“They thought of everything,” I murmur, kissing my little girl’s cheek. “At least now we can go for a walk and you won’t have to slink into your stroller hoping none of your baby bros recognize you.”

Elena squirms and giggles in my arms like she’s agreeing with me. I smile. “I take you want me to change now, then, huh?” I’m rewarded with a pat on the cheek for her soft little hand. “What should I change into?” I look at her. “And don’t say a fairy godmother…” I kiss her forehead and freeze as I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Do you think it could be too much to hope it’s room service?” I say, walking to the door. “I’m starving.”

Elena gurgles as I open the door, and my stomach drops—Carla.

Behind her—Oleksi. And flanking them like a detail team—Syd, Ivan, and Clyde.

“We need to talk,” Carla says.

I narrow my eyes and look straight at Oleksi. “You told her about the messenger.”

He nods once.

Elena squeals happily, throwing her arms out toward the group.

“She didn’t want to talk in front of your grandparents,” Syd says. She glances at Elena. “We came to see if you wanted us to take the little princess.”

“You needed three people to fetch Elena?” I ask skeptically. “Or did you come to protect Carla and Oleksi from me?”

“The latter,” Ivan says with a sheepish grin. “But can we take her? Cook makes this pudding around this time and?—”

“You all want in on the pudding and to use my baby girl to get it,” I mutter with a shake of my head. I kiss Elena on the cheek and whisper, “Be good for Ivan. No throwing pudding in Clyde’s face.”

Ivan gathers her like she’s the Crown Jewels and backs out of the room with Syd and Clyde.

I step aside, holding the door open. “Come in.”

Oleksi starts to step back. “I’ll let you two?—”

“No,” I say quickly. “Stay. I don’t want secrets between us. Not anymore.”

He nods, steps inside, and closes the door behind him.

I glance at the closet as we move to the small seating area where a fire crackles in the hearth.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I say, knowing it was either my mother or Oleksi who organized them.

“Your mother got them for you,” Oleksi says, sitting beside me on the small sofa while my mother sits in the armchair closest to me.

“Thank you.” I turn to her. “I appreciate it.”

She gives me a warm smile as she sits, clasping her hands and twisting her fingers. “I know you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be.”

“You think?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I never wanted you to end up in that place. The moment I realized what Tara was investigating, and that you were in Russia… I begged Sam to get you and Elena out. But it was too late.”

I stare at her. “So it’s all true, then? You and Dad are really Mariya and Leonid Zorin?”

“We are,” she nods. “I’m guessing you met my sister, Yelena?”

“Oh yes,” I mutter. “What an absolute delight she is.”

My mother snorts, and then her face becomes serious.“Rina, she doesn’t know about you, does she?” Worry resonates in her eyes. “About how gifted you are?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I realized that all Dad’s helping us to dumb down so we could live normal lives was actually how to survive being caught and shoved into an RMSAD detention center techniques.” I sigh. “I’m afraid your sister thinks I’m the shame of the Novikov-Morozovs.”

Carla’s eyes blaze. “She’s a fucking snob, sweetheart. Don’t let her get in your head. She always hated living in our mother’s shadow. She’s always wanted to be the next Anya Novikov.”

“She may be smart and cunning, but Yelena is no Anya Novikov,” I say softly.

“No,” Carla agrees. “She’s not. She’s not even close. And believe me… she knows it.”

“It’s one of her biggest weaknesses, trying to prove she’s the smartest person in the room,” I look down. “So it’s true then. The RMSAD is the true reason Dad taught us to play dumb?”

“To protect you,” Carla says. Her eyes shine. “Because we couldn’t risk the RMSAD finding out what you could do. Their reach extends far beyond Russia, and they have scouts constantly on the lookout for exceptional people like you.”

“Awesome,” I say.

“We couldn’t risk them ever being alerted to you, especially, sweetheart,” she tells me, her voice wobbling slightly with emotion. “Not after what they did to Tara.”

I look up sharply. “What did they do to her?”

“They used a treatment I co-developed,” she admits. “While Tara was still in the womb.”

My blood runs cold.

“I warned Yelena it was too unstable,” Carla continues. “It made lab rats violent. Strong, yes, and increased their mental acuity.”

It sounds so strange to hear my usually absent-minded mother saying things like increased mental acuity and looking at me with sharp, laser-focused eyes. Fuck, maybe I was just blind to it.

“But it also made them mentally unstable. It was nowhere near ready to be tested on an adult human, let alone a newborn baby or fetus.”

I lean forward. “Mikhail Erogrov… he was given that same treatment?”

My mother’s eyes widen in shock. “He was the first newborn I was forced to treat.” She nods grimly. “I was going to give him a placebo to tank the experiment, but my sister was there, right beside me, as if she knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to leave after that, but I couldn’t. Not only did I have an airtight contract that basically said the RMSAD owned me, there were rumors of others who’d left and were never heard from again.”

“Nice place to work.” I shake my head, feeling ill. “Why even join it in the first place?”

Her jaw clenches. “They threatened your grandmother, who at the time was ill.”

“I guess extortion is just a drop in the hat to a division that has so many human rights violations it should never be running,” I say in disgust. My brow furrows. “I’ve seen firsthand what Mikhail Ergorov was like.”

My mother looks at me, startled. “Yes, Syd told me.” Her eyes darken. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to,” I tell her with a spurt of anger rushing through my veins. “It’s his sister and mother the fucker abused all of their lives.”

“Even after he brutally stabbed a puppy because it licked him, when he was three, nothing was done about him,” my mother tells us. “I warned them. But they kept the program going and wouldn’t take any of my advice on how to fix it.”

“But it didn’t affect Tara that way,” I point out.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t remember,” my mother says, and I feel cold fingers creeping up my spine. “Tara hurt you on more than one occasion during one of her violent outbursts. Eventually, I tried to keep the two of you separated until I perfected the cure.”

I blink. “What?”

“On this one occasion, your father had bought each of you a doll. She chose the one with the blonde hair, and your father gave you the one with the red hair.” She sits back in the chair. “While the two of you were playing, she suddenly decided she wanted the red-haired one. You wouldn’t give it to her, and she attacked you, beating you with her doll.”

Oleksi sucks in his breath. “Jesus.”

A flash of memory hits me, of a fight with Tara, and her taking my doll, but I don’t remember her beating me.

“I don’t remember her beating me,” I whisper.

“You blocked it out,” Carla says gently. “It wasn’t the only time. As she got older, the outbursts grew worse. If you won an award or recognition for school or sports, she’d lose it.”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember that.”

“You would,” she says quietly, “if you let yourself.”

I stare into the fire. “You always seemed to favor Tara.”

“I didn’t,” she says. “I love both my girls the same. But I had to keep Tara close, watching her. Making sure she didn’t hurt you.”

I nod, piecing it together. “And those pills Tara takes every day?”

“Just vitamins. My own formula. To keep Tara calm.”

“You’re a geneticist, a surgeon, and a chemist?” I ask her

She gives me a tight smile and nods. “If it weren’t for the stain of my past with the RMSAD, I’d love my profession. But I’ve seen the darker side of it.”

“Like something good being used for evil,” I clarify. Fuck it’s like some wicked movie. “So, how did you cure Tara?”

“I had been working on a project for many years,” my mother explains. “One that could help with things like Alzheimer’s, PTSD, and brain injuries. A treatment to heal, not weaponize. I took all my research with me when we left and made sure no remnants of it were left behind when your father and I fled.” She shifts in the seat. “I tested it on Tara after the doll incident, and it worked.”

“That’s why she’s so nice and level-headed now?”

“Yes.” My mother nods. “But we need to find her because Tara is about to run out of her special vitamins.”

“Well maybe she’ll turn into She-Hulk and destroy that fucking place,” I hiss.

“Or they’ll destroy her,” my mother points out, and I go cold, my heart slamming into my ribs.

“I guess now I know why she always seems so freakishly strong.”

“She was strong,” my mother agrees.

We fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments, and I know I have to ask what’s been burning at the back of my mind. I take a breath, not sure if I’m ready for the answer, but I have to know. The question burns at the back of my throat. “Am I… genetically enhanced?”

Carla shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. And that’s what makes you more extraordinary than me, than Tara, even my mother.”

My shoulders sag. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“I am,” she promises. “You’re special because you are who you are—without help.”

Tears spring to my eyes as I’m filled with a mix of relief and grief.

“So I’m just a freak of nature, not a lab?” I close my eyes.

“You are not a freak of nature, sweetheart. You are unique, and beyond special,” she says softly, pausing for a few seconds before saying, “I need to tell you something.”

My eyes snap to her.

She takes a breath. “I’m going to meet Yelena tomorrow. Alone. ”

“No,” I say immediately. “No, you can’t.” I shake my head vigorously. “I won’t allow it.”

“Sabrina—”

“No! Mom, I need you. I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, desperate to try and make her change her mind.

My mother’s eyes go wide. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s…” She sucks in a shaky breath and her eyes tear over. “That’s so wonderful. I’m so happy for the two of you.”

“We haven’t told anyone,” Oleksi adds.

“That’s good, and let’s keep it that way until you’re far away from Russia.” My mother’s voice is filled with urgency. “They didn’t find out at the facility, did they?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Thank God,” she breathes. Then her expression turns grave, and she says again, “You can’t tell anyone else. Not while you’re still here.”

“We understand,” I whisper. “But, Mom, you can’t go meet Yelena. That’s like a death sentence for you.”

She leans forward and cups my face. “Please, sweetheart. Let me do this. If I don’t, they’ll come for you. Or harm Tara, like they threatened to.”

“No. We’ll find another way?—”

“There is no other way with the RMSAD,” she says. “But I promise—I’m not going down without a fight.”

I take no comfort in her words. I’m going to find a way to stop her and find my sister without having to swap one of my loved ones’ lives for the other!