Page 1 of The Bratva King's Claimed Bride

Chapter 1 - Arina

I switch on my coffee machine and take a travel mug from the cupboard. It’s my favorite mug, a stainless steel one with my name engraved on it.

Today’s the day.

I’m finally starting the first step of taking revenge against my bastard half-brothers.

I look at the note I have put on my kitchen counter. The brief letter my mother left with me when she took me to the orphanage.

Sentences jump out at me.

Sorry for leaving me.

Father’s family drove her away.

She’s not cut out for this.

Bitch of a wife’s fault.

I don’t exactly forgive my mother, either. She left me at Stone’s Throw Orphanage shortly after I was born. I know she probably didn’t realize what a piece of shit place it was to grow up in, but I guess I still resent her for not checking into it more deeply.

All I have left of her is this worn-out letter I’ve read thousands of times.

Stone’s Throw was hell on Earth for me in my early years. I remember being in pain a lot. No one changed diapers or fed you properly. If you were lucky, an older kid would take you under their wing and help you out, but those were rare. They were too busy fighting for their own survival.

There wasn’t even a garden—just a stone courtyard with a sandpit. And the sandpit was disgusting and dirty because no one kept it clean.

The courtyard wasn’t fenced off, so homeless people would sleep there all the time and chase us if we woke them up. I can’t count the number of empty bottles thrown at me for upsetting a homeless person who honestly shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

There were no hugs. No band-aids when you scraped your knees. There was no smell of freshly baked goods, wholesome meals together, or even just the scent of cleanliness.

No, it smelled like piss and garbage, and for the seven years I was there, it was a smell I carried with me everywhere I went. Other kids in the neighborhood would tease us for smelling the way we did.

Half the time, our water was cut off, so we couldn’t even wash.

If we were lucky, the water was on, and we could drink some water for lunch just to silence our hungry stomachs.

When I started school, it was tough. I wasn’t as developed as the other kids, though I had street smarts. Teachers complained about the smell, too. Some teachers didn’t bother with us, feeling we were automatic failures, but there were one or two who put in the effort and cared.

I treasured those. With school came showers, which helped with the smell.

On inspection days, we had to clean—scrub, scrub, scrub—and make the home temporarily livable. The state didn’t care about us enough to do anything. We were just orphans, after all.

Then, the Maias came into my life.

How I wished I could still smell like piss for the peace it offered compared to the Maias’ house.

At first, I was excited about being adopted. Everyone had been. Everyone thought I was going to a better place.

I believed it when the Maias had been so kind to me in the courtyard and asked me if I wanted to go home with them.

I was sad to say goodbye to the kids at the orphanage whom I had been taking care of. I made some of the other kids my age promise to take care of them.

Then, I left for a blissful life of abuse.

Yeah.

Abuse.

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