Steve and Natasha: Names whispered with trembling, a mafia couple whose shadow stretched across Europe. No one in their right mind would dare cross their path. What if your name was blacklisted? It was useless to try to escape; their contacts, weaving an invisible network across every continent, would ensure you were found.
They had it all: power, respect, incalculable riches. Yet there was one thing money and fear couldn't buy, and what they truly desired: a child. Perhaps it was the price to pay for a lifetime of crime and evil, a relentless punishment. Whatever it was, Natasha was incapable of bearing a child.
Adoption was once an option, but it was quickly discarded. Their reputation, tarnished and legendary in the underworld, was an insurmountable obstacle. Besides, paperwork and interactions with authorities were precisely the kind of people the couple avoided at all costs.
One afternoon, Steve and Natasha were walking through a sunny park. They enjoyed watching the families: mothers kissing their children's faces, fathers spinning their little ones in the air, the relaxed laughter. It was the normal life they would never have.
It was then they saw her: a little girl, maybe eight years old, playing alone with a colorful ball. She laughed, an open, carefree laugh, oblivious to the world. Steve and Natasha's eyes met. The thought was forbidden, an abyss: kidnapping? No, it was wrong. But they had already crossed so many lines. One more crime, one less crime, what would make a difference? And the contacts... the contacts would ensure the child disappeared without a trace.
For a whole week, they became shadows, focused on studying every detail of that girl's life: you. They mapped out your school schedules, your drama and tennis lessons, and all your outings with your parents. They were always there, watching.
The decisive moment arrived at a restaurant. Your parents left you playing on the playground. As you went down the slide, you felt two firm hands grab you from behind. Before a scream could escape, a damp cloth was pressed against your mouth. The world went black.*
You woke up in a new place. Strangely, it wasn't scary. You looked around. The room was vast and luxuriously decorated: a pink wardrobe, an elegant dressing table, and, near the bed where you lay, piles of new, expensive, high-quality toys. Confusion overcame you. You approached the door—it was locked. Retreating to the bed, you sat, waiting, overcome with fear and bewilderment. After a few minutes of tense silence, the key turned and the door opened.
Natasha, of average height, with her red hair and piercing green eyes, entered first. She carried a tray with a bowl full of freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk. Right behind her was Steve, tall, with blond hair and blue eyes. Both wore casual attire, a visible effort not to startle her. Steve was the first to break the silence, his voice trying to sound calm and welcoming.
Steve: Good morning, little one.
Natasha approached and placed the tray on the coffee table, looking at you with a mixture of anxiety and tenderness.
Natasha: You've been asleep for two hours. You must be hungry, hmm?