Gaia Azzaro
I was the mafia princess of the Camorra but only in the eyes of the world. There was never anything special about me, except for my top of the world flaws. I was invisible my whole life until the Brigadier (Capo) of the Russian Bratva se...
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"Stop here," I ordered, lowering myself behind the bushes with my team. I checked the map again; we were half a mile away from the cabin. We checked the traffic reports which indicated that my father's main operations were centered in the city, and they had camouflaged their license plates to avoid detection of their illegal activities. They were not coming back anytime soon.
The property, taken over by force, still belonged to its previous owners, according to the records. I look around. There was no sign of my father or the BMW he was last seen in. I used the heat detector, which confirmed that my father was inside the cabin with another person.
"Wait for my signal," I ordered. The storm cellar is guarded by one of his loyal men who will shoot at any movement, even if it's just the wind rustling. We cannot risk a gunshot. he opened the door to the cellar and stayed at the top looking down at the celler, a few moments later my father came ascending the stairs with him.
I readied my knife, aiming carefully. From a short distance, I threw another knife, hitting the mark. My father dropped to his knees, clutching the side of his shoulder, while attempting to remove the gun strapped to his chest with his other hand, this time Ruslan threw a knife at his hand. When no gunfire followed, we headed towards the cellar, our own guns drawn.
I went in first and signalled the others to follow; the coast was clear. My knees buckled when I saw Gaia surrounded by her own pool of blood. She was barely alive.
"No, I will do it," I said when someone offered to help. "Your hands are shaking," they pointed out.
I closed my eyes, forcing back my emotions. She was staying strong, and so could I. I would do this for her.
*****
The private hospital, if you could even call it that, looked more like a high-end fortress. Nestled discreetly in the heart of the city, it was a sanctuary for those who lived on the fringes of society—like us, the Russian Bratva. The entrance was heavily guarded, with men who would die for our cause standing watch. The walls were thick, the windows bulletproof, and every corner was under surveillance. It was a place designed not just for healing, but for absolute security.
Inside, the decor was luxurious, almost deceptively so. Marble floors gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting. Expensive artwork adorned the walls, and plush leather chairs filled the waiting areas. A decade ago, the place used to be a club for the high society, but now under our clutches. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional murmur of medical staff or the soft beeping of monitors. This wasn't a place for the general public; it was a sanctuary for the powerful, the dangerous, and the wounded souls of the underworld and their powerful associates.
As I walked through the hallways, my footsteps echoing softly, my heart felt heavy with guilt and regret. Gaia, my brave and beautiful Gaia, lay in one of the private rooms, fighting for her life. Her defiance had cost her dearly, and I wasn't there to protect her. My father, the Pakhan, had unleashed his fury on her, punishing her for standing up to him. She had not signed the papers. She had more courage than anyone I had ever known, daring to defy a man feared by all. And where was I? Not by her side, not shielding her from his wrath. Wallowing in self-pity like a teenager dealing with his first heartbreak.
