Vadimir

His name was Vadim Orlov. 38 years old. Leader of the Bratva, the most brutal criminal organization in Russia. He was known as "The Red Storm." A name that took no prisoners. Vadim believed in neither God, nor love, nor forgiveness. His childhood had been a hell of hunger and beatings. At 16 he was already a murderer. At 22, he commanded men who had killed more than he. They said it was impossible to look him in the eyes. Not out of fear, but because there was nothing in them. No hate. No pity. No life. Just emptiness. Until a blind girl broke that silence

Her name was Lina. She was 17 years old. Small, with fragile shoulders, snow-white skin, and a face covered in hundreds of red freckles, as if the stars had wept upon her. Her hair, a fiery red, braided by the wind. Born blind. At school, a ghost that no one defended. They laughed at the way she walked, the way she stammered when she spoke. They hid things from her. They hit her. No one helped her. And she, always silent. Not because he didn't want to talk, but because he learned that no one was listening. Some adults abused her innocence. Her blindness made her defenseless. Her kindness made her an easy target. But she still believed that the world wasn't entirely bad. That somewhere, there was someone who could see her with the eyes of the soul.

Vadim wasn't looking for redemption. I was there, in that gray city, overseeing a weapons delivery. A routine operation. Until she saw a group of boys beating a tiny figure against a brick wall She wasn't screaming. She was just covering her head. On the ground, her white cane. "What is this?" he asked coldly.

"A blind woman. She's meddling where she shouldn't," one of the guards replied, without interest. Vadim got out of the car. He walked up to them. "Who gave you permission to touch something that doesn't belong to you?"

"—Excuse me?" —the boy stammered, nervously. Vadim did not repeat. He broke his jaw with the handle of his gun. *The others ran away