Carlotta Angela Vasiliev is a 17 year old girl living with her adoptive Russian mafia family of 4 brothers and father. Ever since she was a child, she's had no sense of belonging, abused by the Swedish mafia in her youth, her Russian saviours are th...
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When I was taken in 10 years ago, the Vasiliev family slowly learnt the full extent of my past, at least as much as I was willing to share.
I can remember everything after my fourth birthday, the day I moved in with my first foster family in Norway. They were possibly the nicest people I'd ever met and the only family my 4 year old self knew. Astrid and Magnus raised me as their own alongside their 7 year old son, Andreas, otherwise known as my best friend.
Andreas and I were joined at the hip, always playing with one another, sneaking out of our rooms and at night to snuggle in the other's bed, building igloo mansions in the garden. I can still remember the ginormous log cabin-mansion we lived in, and the nickname I developed after Magnus introduced Andreas and I to geo-cashing (which I was particularly fond of): lille skat.
(little treasure)
That's right, you're in the presence of a polyglot queen speaking Russian, Italian and Norwegian alongside English.
Astrid and Magnus enrolled me in school at the age of 5 and I was escorted everyday by their driver to and from school. I happily attended the same school for two years, getting used to being escorted everyday by a driver due to the busy nature of Astrid and Magnus's business, which at a young age was difficult to comprehend. Looking back at my situation now, I knew exactly what kind of business they were operating.
One day during my second year of school, the driver who picked me up from home had changed. Gone was the warm large man who snuck me sweets when I'd had a bad day, in replacement was a cold white-haired man, claiming to fill in for Jørgen who had previously driven me.
As any 7 year old would, I believed him. I got in the car and we began on the usual route to school, though it wasn't the usual route at all. As soon as we turned off onto the wrong, remote road I heard the haunting click of the car doors locking. A hiss of pain escaped my lips as I felt a sharp prick at my neck. Before I could turn to face the source of the sudden pain, a blindfold was roughly tightened around my eyes and I quickly fell unconscious.
That was all I could remember until I woke up in a stranger's house. I later discovered it was the Swedish mafia who had taken me from what they called the 'norsk mafia', that's when it clicked in my little brain.
I was kidnapped from the Norwegian mafia by the Swedish. Great.
Oskar Nilsson. My captor, also known as the Swedish mafia boss. I endured his wrath abuse for the next three years of my life before they were invaded by the Russians, when the Vasiliev's found me.
Knowing the torment I faced in the hands of Oskar enraged them. My brothers couldn't look me in the eye for weeks, taking out their anger on races and fights. The only other person who knew about my time with the Swedish was Emiliano.
Speaking of Emiliano...
"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU?!" Milan yelled, standing up abruptly from his chair, knocking it backwards in the process. The glass of whiskey previously perched in his hand was banged down onto the kitchen island, sloshing the amber liquid within.
