Claimed By The Bratva

After months of planning and struggling, I finally secured a job far away from this toxic place, away from this family, and away from the small town that had never felt like home. Here, it’s like being a girl and not fitting the “perfect” image is some kind of sin. The way they look at me, judge me, and treat me – it’s like I’m invisible unless they need someone to do their dirty work, someone to clean and cook. They don’t see me as their daughter. They see me as a servant. As I packed my things, memories flooded my mind. I found old pictures of my mother and me. She passed away when I was only thirteen. It felt like a lifetime ago. After she was gone, my father quickly remarried – to a woman who was nothing like my mother. I always felt like an outsider in my own home, and soon enough, my siblings became strangers to me. They took after her, becoming just as cold and heartless. My father... he’s never been on my side. It’s like no matter what I do, I’m always wrong in his eyes. The outcome never matters to him. I spent an hour and a half packing, gathering everything I could. When I went downstairs to grab a few last things for my bag, I bumped into Maya – my step-sister, the one I despise with all my heart. She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with disdain. Running away from home so you can end up like your mother, huh? A w***e, just like her. She sneered, her voice dripping with cruelty. I could feel the anger rise, but I refused to let her words affect me. I looked at her, but I didn’t respond. She wasn’t worth my time, and this would be the last time I’d ever see her face. I wasn’t coming back to this place. I was done. This town, these people – they would never understand me. I was leaving, and I would never look back. As I closed the door behind me, the weight of the past seemed to lift from my shoulders, if only for a moment. The house I had once called home now felt like a prison. With each step I took away from it, I could feel myself breaking free from the chains that had bound me for so long. The road ahead wasn’t clear, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in years, I was living for myself, not for anyone else. The world outside my little town held promise, even if I didn’t know what that promise looked like yet. All I knew was that it was mine to claim. I reached the bus station just as the last bus of the day pulled up. I didn’t hesitate. I bought my ticket without a second thought, not caring where it would take me, just as long as it was far from here. I sat by the window, watching my old life shrink into the distance, the town that had never been kind to me fading into nothing more than a memory. Hours passed, and with each mile that separated me from that life, I felt lighter. I thought about my mother, her smile, her laugh, the warmth of her love. She was gone, but I still carried her with me – in my heart, in my soul. I would make her proud, I promised silently. Eventually, the bus came to a stop in a city I had only seen in pictures, and I stepped off with nothing but the clothes on my back and a few items stuffed in my bag. The streets were busier than anything I was used to, but the noise felt like freedom. I knew I had a long way to go, but I was ready. I found a small apartment, the kind that felt like the start of something new. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. I settled in, figuring out how to make a life of my own. Days turned into weeks, and with each passing one, I began to build something I had never thought possible—a sense of peace, of belonging to myself. No longer did I feel like I was trying to fit into a mold that didn’t suit me. I was free to grow, to explore, to be whoever I wanted to be. The job I had taken wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. It was a start. I met people who were kind, who saw me for who I was, not for my appearance or what they expected me to be. Slowly but surely, I found my place in this new world, and for the first time in years, I felt like I was living, truly living. There were still moments when the weight of the past crept into my thoughts, when I’d remember the cruelty, the abandonment, the pain. But each time, I reminded myself that I had chosen this path. I had chosen freedom, and with it, I had chosen to heal. One day, standing in front of my mirror, I saw something I hadn’t seen in a long time: a smile. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t out of habit. It was real. For the first time in years, I saw myself not as a victim, not as someone broken, but as someone whole. And for the first time, I realized that I was exactly where I was meant to be. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I was thriving. And I knew, no matter what happened next, I would never be the same. I had learned the greatest lesson of all: sometimes, you have to walk away from everything you know to find who you really are. Months had passed since I started working as a waitress, and for the first time in my life, I felt free. I could be myself without the constant judgment, without hearing cruel whispers behind my back. Here, in this bustling city, I was just another face among many—no one knew my past, no one cared about the weight I carried. It was a strange kind of peace. One evening, as I picked up the dishes from table 2, I overheard a conversation between two of my colleagues. They were speaking in hushed tones, but their excitement was obvious. My curiosity got the best of me, and as I set the dishes down on another table, I made my way over to them. "Hey," I said with a smile, trying to sound casual but secretly intrigued by their conversation. The woman with green eyes and brown hair looked up at me, her smile widening as she greeted me. "Oh my god, Camilla, did you hear? The most dangerous man in Moscow is coming to our restaurant for a business meeting!" Her excitement was almost contagious, but I couldn't help the confusion that settled in. "Excuse me?" I asked, not sure how to react. "The mafia!" she practically squealed. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of him! Aleksandr Volkov!" I blinked, still not sure what to make of her words. "I’m still new in Moscow…" I said, trailing off, unsure of how to respond. "Oh right, I forgot," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous and excited. "He's a Russian mafia boss. He runs the Volkov crime family. Cold, ruthless, powerful... but damn, he’s beautiful. Some say he’s single, but no one really knows. He keeps to himself and runs his empire from the shadows." The mention of his name sent a strange shiver down my spine. Aleksandr Volkov. I didn’t know much about him, but the way they spoke about him was almost hypnotic. He wasn’t just a man; he was a legend. Cold and mysterious, an enigma wrapped in power. The idea of a man like him, ruling from the shadows, was both terrifying and oddly alluring. My mind raced with questions, but I found myself wanting to know more. I had never been one to dive into dangerous waters, but the idea of him... him... was enough to pull me in. "He’s not just beautiful, Camilla," the other girl whispered, leaning in as if sharing a forbidden secret. "He’s terrifying. People don’t talk about him unless they absolutely have to. He's known to make people disappear without a second thought. No one dares cross him. Not even the police." I stood there for a moment, the words hanging in the air like smoke. The tension in the room seemed to shift, and for a moment, I felt a dark pull inside me. There was something about him, something that resonated in a part of me I wasn’t sure existed. I tried to shake off the unsettling feeling, but it lingered. "Do you think he’ll come in tonight?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who knows?" the girl with green eyes said, shrugging as she glanced around the room. "But if he does, you’d better be ready. People like him... they don’t just walk into places like this without being noticed." A part of me, the part I couldn’t explain, felt an undeniable pull. I knew I should be cautious. I knew I should stay away from people like him. But deep down, I couldn’t help the curiosity that burned within me. What kind of man was Aleksandr Volkov? What kind of world did he live in? And why did the thought of him, of his world, send a dangerous thrill through my veins? I tried to push the thoughts away as I returned to my duties, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The dangerous allure of his name, the mystery surrounding him, it all felt too captivating. I didn’t know if I was ready to dive into that world, but the seed of intrigue had already been planted. And somehow, deep down, I knew this wouldn't be the last time I heard his name.