Sophie helped him prepare all week—nights rehearsing lines, fine-tuning emotions, polishing every detail until Adrian could recite them in his sleep. But when the day of the audition arrived, he was alone.
That's how it had to be.
Millennium Studios was different on a Tuesday morning. Quieter. More serious. Adrian arrived forty minutes early—an old habit he'd never broken. The lobby was minimalist: white walls, metal chairs, a receptionist who barely looked up when he checked in.
"Adrian Cole. Audition for John Wick: Chapter 3."
She checked her list, handed him a name tag. "Room B. Second floor. There are others waiting. They'll call your name."
"Thank you."
He went upstairs. The second-floor hallway smelled of stale coffee and ambition. The door to Room B was open. Inside, five people were waiting—all men, all in their twenties, all athletically built.
Real competition.
Adrian found a chair in the corner and sat down. He pulled out his phone but didn't really check it. He just needed something to do with his hands.
"First time auditioning for something big?"
Adrian looked up. The guy next to him—blond, square jaw, toothpaste-commercial smile.
"Yeah."
"It shows. You look really calm. First-timers usually look terrified." He extended his hand. "Brandon."
Adrian shook it. "Adrian."
"Do you have an agent?"
"No."
Brandon whistled softly. "Auditioning without representation. Brave. Or stupid. How did you get the appointment?"
"They called me directly. I worked as a stunt double on the second movie."
"Oh. Insider." Brandon nodded. "That helps. I have an agent, but I've been doing this for four years, and this is my first audition for something Wick-level. The competition is brutal."
"Seems like it."
"Did you read the sides?"
"Yes."
"What do you think? The character is interesting. Adopted son, loyal to the death, basically a martyr. Very Russian."
"Very Wick."
Brandon laughed. "Exactly. Well, good luck, man. May the best man win."
"Same here."
The candidates were called one by one.
Brandon went in first. He came out twenty minutes later—less confident smile, sweaty forehead.
"How was it?" another candidate asked.
"Intense. Very intense." Brandon left without elaborating.
Second candidate. Third. Fourth.
Each one went in confident. Each one came out different.
Adrian watched, processing. The auditions were taking longer than expected. That meant the directors were actually evaluating, not just eliminating.
Good sign. Or bad. It depended on how you looked at it.
"Adrian Cole."
He stood up. He took one breath. He walked in.
The room was larger than expected.
A long table against the opposite wall. Four people seated. Chad Stahelski—director, former stunt double, legend—in the center. To his left, a producer Adrian didn't recognize. To his right, Jonathan Eusebio with a clipboard. And at the end...
Anjelica Huston.
The Director herself.
Adrian stopped at an appropriate distance. Not too close. Not too far.
"Adrian Cole," Chad said, checking something on his laptop. "You worked on Chapter 2: Rome, correct?"
"Yes."
"Catacombs. Group Three. Clean sequence, first take." Chad looked up. "Jonathan speaks very highly of you."
"Jonathan is generous."
"Jonathan is demanding." Chad smiled slightly. "If he says you're good, you're good."
A brief silence.
"You know why you're here, right?" the producer asked.
"Audition for a role. Adopted son."
"Correct. But I need you to understand the context." The producer leaned forward. "This role wasn't in the original script. We added it three weeks ago. Why? Because the punishment The Director receives in the original script—hands pierced by swords—feels... insufficient."
Adrian listened, processing.
"She betrays the High Table by helping John Wick," the producer continued. "That requires more severe consequences. So we asked: What's worse than physical pain? What would truly destroy her?"
"Losing someone she loves," Adrian said.
"Exactly." The producer smiled. "Losing her son. The most talented one. The future of Ruska Roma. Alexei Volkov."
"That would be my character."
"Yes. Alexei isn't just a victim. He has agency. He makes choices. He goes out hunting assassins who are after John. He tries to kill him himself to protect Ruska Roma. He fails. And when he fails, he accepts his death as a necessary sacrifice."
Chad took over. "It's a small but impactful role. Fifteen minutes of screen time, but those fifteen minutes matter. We need someone who can act, fight, and die in a way that makes the audience feel the loss."
"I understand."
"Can you do that?"
Adrian looked directly at Chad. "Yes."
"Good. Let's read." Chad gestured to a chair across the table. "Sit down. Anjelica will read with you. Final scene. The Director must kill Alexei. You decide how she reacts."
Adrian sat down. Anjelica Huston stood, walked around the table, and stood in front of him.
Up close, she was smaller than she appeared on screen. But her presence filled the space.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
"Yes."
"Good. Let's begin."
THE SCENE:
Anjelica—as The Director—looked at Adrian with eyes that held centuries of pain.
ANJELICA/THE DIRECTOR
(in Russian, but Adrian understands the context)
You shouldn't have come back.
Adrian—as Alexei—held her gaze. Fearless. Unrepentant.
ADRIAN/ALEXEI
(with a slight Russian accent)
I couldn't let him destroy everything you built.
ANJELICA/THE DIRECTOR
And now they demand your life.
ADRIAN/ALEXEI
I know.
ANJELICA/THE DIRECTOR
And you accept it?
Pause. Adrian let the silence grow. When he spoke, his voice was calm. Resolute.
ADRIAN/ALEXEI
I always knew I would die for Ruska Roma. From the day you brought me from the cold. You gave me purpose. Family. Legacy.
(pause)
If my death protects that... it's enough.
Anjelica didn't break character, but something changed in her eyes. Recognition.
ANJELICA/THE PRINCIPAL
You are my pride, Alexei.
ADRIAN/ALEXEI
And you are my salvation.
(pause, softer)
Mother... do what you must.
Absolute silence in the room.
Anjelica held his gaze for a moment longer, then broke character. She turned to Chad.
"He understands."
Chad nodded slowly. "Yes. He does."
"Good," Chad said. "Now for the physical part. Jonathan."
Jonathan stood up, gesturing to an open space in the room. "I need you to show me a sparring sequence. Two minutes. Improvised. I attack, you respond. I want to see speed, precision, and control. Ready?"
"Yes."
They moved to the space. Jonathan took his stance—a veteran, thirty years of experience, he wasn't going to make it easy.
"Whenever you're ready," Chad said from the table.
Jonathan attacked.
Straight punch. Adrian blocked—forearm to forearm—and deflected. Jonathan spun, low kick. Adrian jumped, landed, countered.
Not choreographed. Pure instinct.
Jonathan upped the ante. Faster combinations. Adrian responded—blocks, dodges, counters. The templates of Gun Park and Spike Spiegel working in perfect harmony.
Thirty seconds. One minute. Ninety seconds.
Jonathan faked high, attacked low. Adrian read him, evaded him, hooked his leg behind Jonathan's, and swept him off his feet.
Jonathan fell—controlled, professional—and Adrian finished him off with a punch stopped millimeters from his throat.
Exactly two minutes.
"That's enough," Chad said.
Jonathan got up, smiling. "Good. Very good."
Adrian stepped back to a neutral stance.
Chad exchanged glances with the producer. With Anjelica. With Jonathan.
"Thanks, Adrian," Chad said finally. "That's all we need."
"When will I know?"
"A week. Maybe less. We'll call you."
"Thanks for the opportunity."
Adrian left the room. The hallway was empty now—the other candidates had already left. He went downstairs. He returned his badge. He stepped out into the parking lot where the March sun was too bright.
He didn't know if he'd made it.
But he'd given it his all.
That was the only thing he could control.
DAY TWO
Nothing.
DAY THREE
Adrian worked an insurance commercial. Eight hours pretending to be a passerby on a fake street.
His phone never rang.
DAY FOUR
Sophie made him eat dinner. "Stop looking at your phone every five seconds."
"I'm not looking at it every five seconds."
"You literally just checked it five seconds ago."
"Coincidence."
Sophie sighed but was smiling. "They're going to call you. I know it."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. I saw how you worked all week. Nobody prepares like that and fails."
"People fail all the time."
"Not you." Sophie took his hand across the table. "Believe in yourself. I believe in you."
Adrian didn't reply, just squeezed her hand.
DAY FIVE
Tyler showed up with pizza and video games. "Mandatory distraction."
"I don't need a distraction."
"Liar. I've known you for years. You're anxious."
"I'm not anxious."
"You were just checking your phone when you said that."
"Tyler."
"Adrian." Tyler looked at him seriously. "You're going to get it. And when you do, I'm going to say 'I told you so' in the most annoying way possible."
Despite everything, Adrian smiled.
DAY SIX
Saturday. No work was scheduled.
Adrian trained for three hours straight—push-ups until his arms shook, sit-ups until his core burned, sparring until the room was spinning.
Rebecca found him on the floor at 2 PM, drenched in sweat.
"Adrian, are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"You don't look it."
"Just... waiting."
Rebecca sat on the couch, looking at him. "The audition?"
"Yeah."
"When are they going to tell you?"
"They said a week. It's been six days already."
"So maybe tomorrow."
"Maybe."
"Or maybe Monday." Rebecca paused. "Or maybe they've already decided and are just sorting out paperwork."
Adrian looked at her.
"Whatever it is," Rebecca continued, "it's already decided. Checking your phone every minute won't change that. So breathe."
Adrian breathed.
"I'm proud of you anyway," Rebecca said. "You made it to the audition. That alone is huge."
"Thanks, Mom."
DAY SEVEN
Sunday.
Adrian woke up early. He hadn't slept well—fragmented dreams of auditions and theater sets and voices speaking Russian he didn't understand.
He checked his phone.
Nothing.
He showered. He got dressed. He tried to read. He tried to work out. He tried to do anything but stare at his phone.
He failed miserably.
At 3 PM, he decided to go outside. To walk. To clear his head.
He ended up at a coffee shop near his apartment—the same one where he'd had coffee with Sophie months before.
He ordered an espresso. He sat outside. He watched Los Angeles exist around him.
His phone vibrated.
Adrian almost dropped it.
Number saved: Jonathan Eusebio
His heart pounded. He took one breath. Two. He answered. "Hello?"
"Adrian." Jonathan's voice, neutral. Impossible to read. "Do you have a minute?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because I need to tell you something."
Pause.
Adrian waited, holding his breath.
"Chad, the producer, Anjelica, and I talked for three days. We reviewed all the auditions twice. We analyzed every detail."
"I understand."
"And we reached a unanimous consensus."
Another pause.
"The role is yours."
The world stopped.
"What?"
"The role is yours, Cole. Alexei Volkov. You're officially part of John Wick: Chapter 3."
Adrian couldn't process the words. They sounded real but felt impossible.
"Adrian, are you there?"
"Yes. Sorry. I—"
"It's normal. First time is always a shock." Jonathan sounded like he was smiling. "Contracts arrive tomorrow by email. Read them, sign them, return them by Friday. Training starts in April. Filming in May. Two months of your life are going to be intense."
"I can handle it."
"I know. That's why we chose you." Pause. "Welcome to the team, Adrian. Officially."
"Thank you. Thank you for—"
"Don't thank me yet. The hard work is just beginning."
"I know."
"Good. We'll talk this week about the details. Enjoy today. Tomorrow the real thing starts."
The call ended.
Adrian sat there, phone in hand, coffee forgotten.
He'd done it.
He'd really done it.
He called Sophie first.
She answered on the first ring. "So?"
"I did it."
Silence. Then a scream so loud Adrian had to pull the phone away from his ear.
"I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! ADRIAN, I'M CRYING!"
"Sophie—"
"No, let me cry! You deserve it! You worked so hard!" Sniffles. "When do you start?"
"Training in April. Filming in May."
"Oh my God. This is real. You're officially an actor in John Wick."
"Yes."
"I'm so proud of you." Softer voice now. "How are you feeling?"
Adrian considered it honestly. "I don't know. Still processing."
"That's normal. You'll process for days." Pause. "Come to my apartment. Now. I'm ordering some expensive food, and we're going to celebrate properly."
"Okay."
"I love you."
The words came out so naturally that Adrian barely registered them. But they were there. Real. Spoken.
"I love you too," he replied.
First time saying it out loud.
It felt good.
He called Rebecca second.
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"I got it. The part."
Silence. Then, a trembling voice: "Adrian... that's it... I'm so proud."
"Thanks."
"Your dad would be..." She stopped. "He'd be so proud."
Something tightened in Adrian's throat. "I know."
"When do you start?"
"April."
"I'll be there. For whatever you need."
"I know, Mom."
He called Tyler third.
Tyler answered with loud music in the background. "Hello?"
"I got it."
"WHAT?"
Sound of Tyler running, music fading. Door closing. "Say that again."
"I got the part in John Wick 3."
"I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU SO!" Tyler was yelling. "I'M SCREAMING IN A PUBLIC RESTROOM BUT I DON'T CARE!"
Adrian laughed—a genuine laugh, not a forced one.
"Dude, this is huge," Tyler continued. "Like, massive life-changing."
"I know."
"Are you scared?"
"A little."
"Good. That means you care." Pause. "But you're going to kill this. Literally. Because your character dies, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you're going to die in an epic way. Wick-style."
"I hope so."
"Don't hope so. I know." Tyler sounded serious now. "I'm proud of you. I always have been. But now... now the world is going to see what I always saw."
"What?"
"That you're extraordinary."
Adrian didn't know what to say to that.
"Go celebrate," Tyler said. "See you this week. Drinks on me. Well, technically on my dad's card, but it counts the same."
"Thanks, Tyler."
"Always, bro. Always."
Adrian went to Sophie's apartment.
She opened the door, her eyes red from crying and her smile huge.
"Come here."
She hugged him tightly. Adrian hugged her back.
"You did it," Sophie whispered against his chest.
"We did it," Adrian corrected. "You taught me."
"I just showed you what was already there."
They went inside. Thai food covered the coffee table. Cheap wine. Candles because Sophie was dramatic like that.
They ate. They talked. They planned.
"You're going to be amazing," Sophie said eventually, leaning back against him on the couch.
"I hope so."
"Don't hope so. I know."
"You and Tyler say the same thing."
"Because it's true."
Comfortable silence. "Adrian," Sophie said softly.
"Yes?"
"Earlier... on the phone... you said you loved me."
"Yes."
"Did you mean it?"
Adrian looked at her. Hopeful eyes behind those glasses. A small, vulnerable smile.
"Yes. Completely."
Sophie smiled—bright and genuine. "Good. Because I meant it too."
They kissed, and this time it felt different. Not just connection or attraction.
Certainty.
That night, Adrian stayed awake after Sophie fell asleep.
He stared at the ceiling of his apartment, processing the day.
Twenty years. Fifteen years since the insoles arrived. Thirteen years since Shadow died and he learned to feel again.
Three years since he came to Los Angeles with Rebecca, with no plan, no direction.
Two years since he entered the industry almost by accident.
One year since he met Sophie.
And now...
Now he had a role in John Wick 3.
Not as an anonymous extra. Not as a faceless stunt double.
As an actor. With a name. With a face. With a story.
Alexei Volkov.
The adopted son. The warrior. The martyr.
For two months, he wouldn't be Adrian Cole.
He would be someone completely different.
And when it was over...
Nothing would be the same.
His phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Message from Rebecca: Congratulations again. I love you. Sleep well.
Tyler's message: Officially an Adrian Cole fanboy. Sign something for me.
Marcus's message (his doppelganger, his longtime friend): Jonathan told me. Congrats, bro. You deserve it.
Adrian smiled slightly and put his phone away.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time in weeks, he slept without anxiety.
Because he finally knew.
The next chapter of his life had begun.
And he was ready.