Alina - The Mafia's Obsession

“A powerful woman is created by survival, not by comfort.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The first time Alina Orlova understood what she was, she was six years old. ‘Bastard.’ The word echoed through the grand halls of the mansion in Moscow while powerful men laughed behind glasses of whiskey and clouds of cigar smoke. She wasn’t a daughter in their eyes. She was a mistake. An illegitimate stain on the bloodline of one of the most feared men in the Russian Bratva. Her father never denied she was his child. He simply never claimed her either. But he loved her the most among all his children. It was her special day. Her birthday. Like every child, she also dreams about this day. The only day her father came to meet them. The only day her father took her in his arms and expressed his love. The only day her mother's eyes sparkled. Like every little girl, her father was her hero, but the little girl also knew what she was. Why was she away from her father's family? Why does nobody talk to her or play with her? But she forgets all because her little world revolves around her mother. Like every birthday, she was waiting for her father, sitting on the kitchen counter of their small hidden house on the outskirts of Moscow while her mother cooked quietly, humming an old Russian lullaby beneath her breath. It was one of the rare nights that felt normal. Safe. For a moment, Alina almost believed they could live like ordinary people. Then the light went out. Darkness swallowed the house. Heavy footsteps, crunching of branches and deadly silence, the aura of their happy home changed. Alina's mother froze instantly. The smile disappeared from her face so quickly it terrified Alina more than the darkness itself. “Lina," she whispered sharply, dropping the spoon on the shelf. “Go upstairs. Now.” The little girl slid off the counter, confused, afraid, and shaken. “Mama—” her voice filled with choked cries. “Now.” Her mother's stern voice changed everything. The mother, who never raised her voice at her, is now showing her anger. Her little heart, afraid, confused and now hurt, makes her vulnerable. Before Alina could move, the front door exploded open. Gunshots tore through the silence. Men dressed in black stormed inside the house like shadows carrying death in their hands. The light from the porch lamp fell on their house, making it easy for the men to look. Their faces were covered with masks. Eyes visible but cold and merciless. Her mother grabbed Alina violently, pulling her behind the kitchen shelf as they both fell on the floor just as bullets shattered glasses above their heads. “Listen to me carefully.” Her mother said, kneeling in front of her as blood flew from her forehead. The glasses pierced onto her skin, but she ignored everything. Kneeling in front of Alina, while tears filled her eyes. “Go out of the back door and hide. No matter what happens, you stay quiet. Do you understand?” Alina was shocked by the incident, her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't even understand anything. One minute she was happy, laughing with her mother, and now they were people, dangerous people in their house. Her mother, who was dressed in pretty clothes, now kneels in front of her with blood soaking her body. “Promise me, Lina,” her mother's voice filled with anguish. ”Promise…… Mama, Lina.” Alina nodded fearfully, her voice heavy with tears as she shouted. “Plomise….” The sound of heavy footsteps echoed closer. Then came the voice filled with disgust and cold. “Find the w***e and her bastard.” Her mother's hand trembled as she held Alina's face. For the first time. Alina saw terror in her mother's eyes. “You are strong, Moya Devochoka.” (My little girl) She whispered brokenly. Stronger than this world.” She kissed Alina's forehead, tears kept falling from her eyes. She knew it was time. This was the last time she was holding her daughter. Her world. She wanted to hold her longer, but she knew she had to save her. Her mother stood up slowly and stepped out of the kitchen with her hands raised. “Who are you?” she asked. “Where is that bastard child?” The answer came back instantly. “She's not here.” She lied. “Then the mistresses would do,” another man commented, and the rest laughed, moving forward. Before Alina's mother could grab the knife from the kitchen shelf, a gunshot rang through the house. Alina flinched violently as blood splattered across the white kitchen cabinets. Her birthday cake which her mother got for her, a princess theme, lay splattered all across the kitchen counter. Her mother collapsed onto the floor. Bleeding from her shoulder but still alive. Alina covered her mouth to stop herself from screaming while tears burned her eyes. She watched helplessly, as her mother crawled across the floor despite being injured as blood oozed out of her shoulder. The same man raised her gun again at her, ready to shoot her when another stepped forward, “Why don't we also have a taste of her?” All that the little girl could hear was her mother scream and cry, she was praying and crying to God, to stop. And her prayer got accepted. Another bullet was fired. And then…… Silence. Her mother screamed stop and so did the lullaby she used to sing for Alina. “Burn down the house.” Within a minute her house, in which she grew up, her laughter, her cries, her happiness, her mother's memory, her father's voice, her world burned down. Alina sat for hours beside the burning house trembling in the dark while snow drifted through the sky. No one came for them. As if they don't even exist for anyone. It was always Alina and her mother. Not even her father's so-called mafia family, the Bratva. At that moment, she realized she had been born into a cruel world and there was no place for weak things. And her mother was the weakest person ever because she loved her too deeply. The night Alina turned eight, blood painted her snow outside their home. Gunshots shattered the silence instead of a happy birthday song. Her house was burned instead of a candle. Her eyes filled with anguish and emptiness instead of happiness. Her mother died protecting her. And her father? He still didn't come. That was the night Alina stopped being a child. The Bratva took her in afterward, not because they cared, but because her father ordered it out of guilt. Bratva Hidden away from the public eyes, the dark underworld where, once you enter, only death can bring you out, Alina was raised inside secret compounds where children were turned into weapons for the Russian underworld. While her step-sister learned poetry and piano, Alina learned how to pull a trigger. At thirteen, she could break bones with her bare hands. At fifteen, she completed her first assassination. And at eighteen, she became what mafia leaders across the world feared: the assassin known only as The Shadow. No one knew the shadow haunting the underworld was actually the forgotten daughter of a Russian mafia king. And Alina intended to keep it that way. Because illegitimate daughters were never meant to inherit empires. They were meant to destroy them. And Alina vows to bring the whole kingdom on their knees.