Ricos abusaron de la chica – su HERMANO BOXEADOR los hizo ARREPENTIRSE…
On the night of August 23, 1994, the basement of an elite cooperative in the center of Rostof-on-Don. Four young men wearing expensive Adidas tracksuits lie on the cold concrete floor, covered in their own blood and urine. Two of them have broken spines. All four had their testicles crushed with methodical blows delivered with sports shoes.
Standing beside them is a 23- year-old [music] with broad shoulders and bloodied knuckles who says in a low voice, almost calmly, “This is for Lena. Two hours later, three more will be taken to the same basement, those who tried to defend [music] the beaten men. The same fate awaits them. What is this? Vigilante justice? Justice, or simply the animalistic revenge of a brother who lost everything in one night? This is a story about how in the 1990s the law remained silent when money and connections spoke, and how silence ends in
blood. Rostof-on-Don. August 1994. The city lives by laws not written in the Constitution, but in the language of banknotes, Kalashnikovs, and criminal authorities. Blackmail is rampant. The police work for those who pay the most. In the city center, on Budenovsky Avenue, stand elite cooperatives, nine-story red-brick buildings where the new masters of life live, Deputies, businessmen, decision-makers, and children of the nomenklatura.
They drive foreign cars: BMW Vivo 5 Series, Mercedes Vuel 124, Audi 100. They wear imported clothes, gold chains, and carry brick-sized cell phones. They have connections, they have impunity. The Sabelev family lived in a different world, a two-room apartment in a prefabricated building from the Khushov era, in the Western Massif, a residential area where the roads are broken, the elevators don’t work, and the stairwells smell of urine and cheap beer.
The father, Viktor Petrović, 48, worked as a lathe operator at the Rostell Mash factory. His salary was six months overdue. When he was paid, it was often not in cash, but in vouchers for flour and sugar. The mother, Sinaida Ivanovna, 45, worked as a nurse at the district clinic. She earned a few cents, but she didn’t complain.
The eldest son, Alexander, 23, He practiced [ __ ] since childhood. He attended a club at the Sports Palace from the age of eight. The coach immediately saw in him a fighter— not technical or elegant, but a fighter nonetheless. Someone who doesn’t give up when he’s struggling, when he’s in pain, when he ‘s losing.
By the age of 20, Alexander had become a Master of Sports. He competed for the regional team and traveled to competitions in Crasnodar and Moscow. He won several awards at championships in southern Russia. After serving in the army in Chechnya in 1992-1993, he returned a different man, tougher, quieter, with an intense gaze.
He got a job as a security guard at a nightclub because you can’t make money in sports, but he continued training every day. [ __ ] wasn’t a hobby for him, but a way of life. His younger sister, Elena, 19 , was in her second year of medical school. She wanted to be a pediatrician. She was an intelligent girl and Kind, with long, dark hair and a soft voice.
She didn’t smoke, barely drank, and didn’t go to nightclubs. Her world consisted of studying, reading books, and hanging out with her friends. She dreamed of something simple: finishing her studies, finding a job, getting married, and having children. In the 1990s, those dreams seemed naive, but Lena knew no other world. On Monday, August 22, Elena left school around 6 p.m.
Classes had ended early. She walked home through Gorky Park, the shortest route from the city center to the west. It was a warm, golden summer evening. People strolled with their children, and elderly people sat on benches drinking beer from glass bottles. Everything was normal. Lena didn’t notice the black BMW that was slowly, almost at a snail’s pace, behind her down the alley.
There were four young men in the car. They were all wearing tracksuits, all had gold chains around their necks, and all were drunk. They were laughing, smoking, and shouting swear words. One of They, sitting in the back seat, pointed at Elena and said, “Look at that girl, she’s alone.” The driver slowed down. The car stopped next to the girl, the window rolled down.
Lena turned around. “Hey, beautiful.” “Do you want a ride?” the driver asked, grinning broadly. He had white teeth, a trendy haircut, and expensive sunglasses. He looked like a guy from an MTV video. Lena politely declined. “Thanks. I live nearby.” [music] She kept walking. The car followed her. “ Come on, don’t be such a prude!” someone shouted from the window.
Lena quickened her pace. The car sped up too. The girl’s heart was pounding. Ahead was the park exit, [music] where there were people and it was safe, but the exit was still 200 meters [music] and the car had already caught up. The doors opened, two guys jumped out and grabbed Lena by the arms. She screamed.
[music] One of them covered her mouth with his hand. The other grabbed her legs. They dragged her to the car in a matter of seconds. The door slammed shut. The BMW sped away. [music] Several passersby saw it, but no one She intervened. An old man shouted, “Hey, what are you doing?” But the car was already speeding down the alley toward the exit.
Someone said, “We should call the police.” But no one came. By 1994, people had learned not to meddle in other people’s business. Especially when it involved guys in foreign cars. Lena was driven around for 20 minutes. She screamed, cried, and tried to break free. They punched her in the face. “Shut up, you [ __ ]!” “Or it’ll be worse,” one of the men said and punched her in the stomach.
Lena gasped for air and doubled over. The car stopped in the courtyard of a cooperative on Budenovsky Avenue. The men pulled her out of the car and dragged her to the entrance. The entrance was clean, with marble steps and a combination lock on the door. One of them entered the code, and the door opened.
They dragged Lena down to the basement. It was dark and damp and smelled musty and stale. They turned on the light. In one corner was an old sofa with saggy springs, and the floor was littered with empty bottles, cigarette butts, and scraps of newspaper. On the wall was a poster of a half-naked girl from Playboy magazine. It was a dive, a place where guys hung out to drink, smoke, and pick up girls, a place where no one could see or hear them.
Lena was thrown onto the sofa. She tried to get up, but they kicked her again. This time, it was on her side. She fell to the ground, gasping in pain. Four boys stood around, laughing and passing around a bottle of vodka. Lena wept, begging them to let her go. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. Please.
” One of them, the youngest, about 20, crouched beside her and stroked her hair. ” Shut up, sweetheart. You didn’t think we were going to let you go, did you? It took us a while to find you.” He smiled. His eyes were empty, cold, like a fish’s. Lena tried to push him away. He grabbed her by the neck and squeezed.
“If you resist, I’ll strangle you.” [music] ” Understood, Lena?” She nodded, gasping for air. He let go. What happened next lasted more than two hours. They took turns raping her. When she screamed, they beat her. [music] When she lost consciousness, they brought her back to it. pouring cold tap water on her.
They filmed it with a video camera, a bulky Sony Handicam that one of the guys had brought. They laughed, commented, and egged each other on. For them, it was entertainment, just another drunken escapade for their friends to talk about. They weren’t thinking about the consequences. Consequences were for those without money or connections.
They had both. Around 10 p.m., they finished. [music] Lena lay motionless on the sofa. Her face was covered in blood and bruises. Her clothes were torn. She was breathing, but unresponsive to voices. One of the guys suggested, “We’ll call an ambulance.” Another laughed. “You’re stupid. She ‘ll walk herself.
If she doesn’t, then that’s how it has to be.” They left her there in the basement on the cold sofa and drove off. They went upstairs, got in the car, and headed to a nightclub. They had the whole night ahead of them. They had money for drinks, for girls, for everything they wanted. They wanted to. They had lives. Lena arrived around midnight. She didn’t remember how she had gotten up.
She didn’t remember how she had found her clothes or how she had dressed. She didn’t remember how she had gotten out of the basement, out of the building, onto the street. She walked through the night city, staggering like a drunk. Passersby avoided her, some pointed and laughed. A drunken [ __ ], they decided. Lena didn’t cry, she didn’t even have the strength to cry.
She walked home automatically, out of habit. She arrived at her Jerusov-era apartment building around 1 a.m. She walked up to the fourth floor because the elevator wasn’t working. She rang the doorbell. Her mother opened the door. Sinaida Ivanovna saw her daughter and screamed. Her face was covered in blood and bruises.
Her lip was cut, her eye swollen, and her clothes were torn and dirty. Lenochka, what happened to you? Lena quietly went into the apartment, went into the bathroom, and She closed the door. Her mother called, screamed, and begged her to open it. Lena didn’t respond. She stood under hot water and scrubbed her skin with a towel until it bled, trying to wash away what had happened, but it wouldn’t stop.
The water turned red. Lena looked at it and couldn’t understand where all the blood was coming from. Her father called an ambulance. The paramedics arrived 40 minutes later. They examined Lena and recorded numerous physical injuries and signs of rape. They suggested she go to the hospital and file a police report. Lena refused.
She lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and said nothing. The paramedics shrugged, gave her some painkillers, and left. Sinaida Ivanovna sat beside her daughter, stroking her arm and weeping. Viktor Petrovic stood by the window, smoking and looking out at the city at night. His hands trembled. He didn’t know what to do.
In 1994, an ordinary worker didn’t know how to protect his daughter from those driving foreign cars. Alexander was at work. He was guarding the entrance to the El Dorado nightclub on Bolshaya Sadobaya Street. He stood there in a black suit, using a walkie-talkie, checking invitations and throwing out the rowdy drunks . It was a typical night shift.
Around 3 a.m., he received a call. It was his home phone, and his mother was on the other end. Her voice was hysterical and broken. “Sasha, [music], come home. Something’s happened to Lena.” Alexander didn’t ask for details. He told his partner, “Cover me.” He took off his suit, put on sweatpants, and boarded a tram.
He rode across the city for 40 minutes. Every minute felt like an eternity. He tried calling home from a phone booth, [music], but no one answered. His heart was pounding. Something had happened, something serious. [Music] When he entered the apartment, it was around 4 a.m. His mother was sitting in the kitchen crying. His father was standing there, chain- smoking.
Lena [Music] was in her room. Alexander walked in and saw his sister and understood everything. He didn’t ask who had done it, didn’t ask where it had happened, he just stood there looking at Lena, her face smashed, the bruises on her neck, her empty eyes, something inside him breaking. Not immediately, [Music] not loudly, quietly, like a thin wire snapping under pressure.
Lena said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Who did this? Lena didn’t answer, she just stared at the ceiling. Lena, he repeated a little louder. Tell me who did it. Lena closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face, but she remained silent. Alexander went into the kitchen, asked his parents, “Have you called the police?” His father shook his head. She She doesn’t want to.
She says it’s pointless. Alexander knew that was true. In 1994, rape wasn’t a crime, it was a statistic. The girl writes a statement, the officer on duty takes it. The investigator opens a case, then the case is closed for lack of evidence, especially if the rapists are the sons of MPs, especially if they have money, especially if they have connections.
But Alexander wasn’t one to give up. He grew up in a suburban area where fights decided more than words. He served a year in Chechnya, where he saw people die and knew that the law is written by the victors. He was a [ __ ] wrestler, and [ __ ] teaches more than just technique. It teaches that if you’re pushed against a wall, don’t give up.
Strike first, strike hard, strike until the end. The next day, August 23, Alexander began his search. He knew Lena had been abducted in Gorky Park, so that’s where he had to start. He arrived at the park in the afternoon and asked the people. He showed them a picture of his sister and asked if anyone had seen a girl being dragged into a car the night before.
Most shook their heads and looked away. An old man, the same one who had been shouting yesterday, said, “I saw it. One black BMW, four guys. They took her to the center. That was the first clue. Alexander knew that there were few places in Rostof where rich kids hung out: nightclubs, elite cooperatives, and cafes on the main streets.
He began visiting those places and asking questions. [music] I had contacts in the criminal world, not very deep, but enough. He was watching over a club frequented by people who solved problems. He was known as a serious guy who didn’t meddle in other people’s business, [music] but who knew how to defend his own interests.
Alexander called one of them and explained the situation. The man listened, paused, and said, “Sash, [music] I understand, but if it’s about the children of MPs, it’s best not to get involved. You won’t win.” Alexander hung up. He continued his search. On the night of August 23, he discovered the name.
It was given to him by a waiter at one of the nightclubs, a guy named Denis, with whom Alexander had trained several years before. Denis said, “Listen, four guys came by last night. One of them was Aigor Craftso, the son of a councilman. He was bragging about how much fun he’d had . He said something about a girl.
He was laughing. I didn’t hear carefully, but maybe it was them.” Alexander asked for a description. Denis described them. Igor is tall, muscular, with blond hair combed back, and he wears a gold chain. He was with Andrey Makarov, the son of a car dealership owner, who was fat and wore glasses. There were two others; I don’t know their names, but I’ve seen them before.
One was thin and had a scar on his cheek. The other was short, about 20 years old, with a baby face. Alexander wrote everything down. Now he had names: Igor Kraftov, Andrey Makarov. He knew where to find them. Kraftov used to go to the Maxim club on Bolshaya Sadobaya Street. Makarov drove foreign cars that he stole from his father’s dealership for leisurely drives.
They weren’t army or police cars. They were rich kids, sons of wealthy parents who thought they could do whatever they wanted. Alexander didn’t go to the police. He called his friends. He had three close friends from the gym. Vitali, 25, a heavyweight boxer who worked as a porter at the market. Roman, 24, a judoka who worked as a security guard at a construction site.
And Denis, 22, a kickboxer and taxi driver. All three had known Lena since childhood. All three agreed to help without asking any questions. Alexander explained the plan. It wasn’t to kill them, but to mutilate them so severely that they would remember it for the rest of their lives, so that every morning when they looked in the mirror they would remember what they had done so they could never do it again.
On the afternoon of August 23, the four met at Alexander’s house, sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and remained silent. He went into the next room and didn’t come out. Vitali asked, “Sash, are you sure?” They are the children of members of parliament. “They’ll put us in jail.” Alexander looked at him coldly.
“If you’re scared, you can leave.” “I can handle this myself.” Vitali shook his head. “I’m with you. I just wanted to make sure you understood what you were getting into.” Alexander understood. [music] He was going to war; he couldn’t win, but he went anyway. Around 10 p.m., they drove to the Maxim club in two cars.
They waited in the parking lot. Around midnight, four guys came out. One of them, a tall blond guy in a white tracksuit, matched Igor Krabsof’s description . Alexander got out of the car and walked up to him. “Igor.” The guy turned around and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?” Alexander punched him in the jaw with a roundhouse kick.
The blow was so hard and sharp that Igor fell immediately without even having time to raise his hands. His friends froze for a second. Then one of them, a skinny guy with a scar, reached into his pocket. Vitali ran toward him and punched him in the solar plexus. The guy doubled over, Gasping for air, Roman and Denis grabbed the two remaining boys and twisted their arms.
It all lasted less than a minute. The club’s security guards saw it, but didn’t intervene. They knew who Alexander was. They knew it wasn’t their business. The four rich boys were shoved into some cars. They were taken to the place where Lena’s nightmare had begun , the basement of the co-op on Budenovski Street. Alexander knew where it was because he’d found out the address.
Thanks to an acquaintance who’d seen Craftsoft’s BMW near that building. They broke into the entrance and went down to the basement. They turned on the light. There were still cigarette butts and bottles scattered on the floor. There were bloodstains on the sofa. Alexander saw it, and something inside him finally snapped.
He turned to Igor, who was already regaining consciousness, and kicked him in the stomach. Igor doubled over and coughed. Alexander grabbed him by the hair, lifted his head, and looked him in the eyes. “Do you remember the girl who…” “Did you bring this here yesterday?” Igor remained silent. Alexander kicked him again, this time in the face. Blood spurted from his nose.
“I ‘m asking if you remember,” Igor shouted. “Yes, yes, I remember. What the hell do you want?” Alexander said softly, “She’s my sister.” And then Igor realized he was a dead man. When Igor heard the words, [music] “She’s my sister,” his face went from red to white. He tried to say something, but Alexander didn’t let him finish.
A knee to the face, the crack of a broken nose. [music] Igor fell backwards, choked by blood. His three friends tried to break free, but Vitali, Roman, and Denis held him tightly . Alexander approached each of them and looked them in the eyes. They were all here yesterday, all four of them. [music] Andrey Makarov, a fat guy with glasses, was trembling.
Listen, man, this is a misunderstanding. We did nothing. Alexander interrupted him with a punch to the solar plexus. Andrey doubled over, panting for air. Her glasses fell to the floor and broke. “I’ll ask you the question only once,” Alexander said methodically in a low voice. “The four of you raped my sister yesterday in this silent basement.
” All that could be heard was heavy breathing, Igor’s panting on the floor dripping blood. “Answer me,” Alexander repeated. And there was such cold fury in his voice that even Vitali, who was [music] nearby, shuddered. The thin man with the scar on his cheek spoke first, his voice cracking into a shriek.
“Yes, yes, we were here, but it was a joke, you understand? Just a joke, we didn’t think.” Alexander didn’t let him finish. He turned, took a step, and kicked him in the groin, hard, precise, with his full weight. A [ __ ] technique, a blow not used in competitions, but in street fights, when you have to neutralize your opponent once and for all.
The guy screamed. [music] His voice became an inhuman shriek. He fell to his knees, [music] bent over, and clutched his groin. Alexander kicked him again . And again, methodically, calmly, as if he were practicing his technique on a punching bag. Only it wasn’t a punching bag; it was the man who had raped his sister yesterday.
After the On the fifth blow, the guy stopped screaming. He was lying on the ground convulsing, foam coming out of his mouth. Alexander moved on to the next one. A young man in his twenties with a baby face. He was crying and pleading, “Please, no.” I won’t do it again . I swear. I’ll call my mother. She’ll pay whatever you want. “Not just.
” Alexander looked at him emotionlessly. This guy had filmed his sister screaming and crying yesterday. This guy had laughed. Alexander kicked him hard in the knee [music] with a twisting motion. The ligaments tore. The boy collapsed and screamed. Then a kick to the groin. One, two, three.
The boy lost consciousness after the second kick, but Alexander continued. Vitali rolled over . Roman gritted his teeth. Denis was holding Andrey Makarov, who was now wetting his pants with fear. Igor Kraftov, [music] the deputy’s son , tried to get up, tried to run away. He crawled to the door on all fours, panting, coughing up blood.
Alexander caught up to him in three steps, grabbed him by the legs, and turned him onto his back . Igor shouted, “You don’t understand what you ‘re doing.” [music] My father is a congressman. “They’ll put you in jail, they’ll kill you.” Alexander bent down and looked him in the eye. “Do you know what my sister said this morning?” He said he wants to die.
She is 19 years old and wants to die. Because of you. “It’s all your fault, four of you.” Igor opened his mouth to say something, but Alexander punched him in the jaw. Then another, and another. His teeth flew out, and blood flooded his face. When Igor stopped resisting, Alexander turned him face down, placed his foot on Igor’s spine in the lower back, and pressed down hard, with all his weight.
The crack was clear, loud in the silence of the basement. Igor screamed, an inhuman, animal scream of pain. His legs twitched, then [music] went limp. His spine was broken . Alexander moved over to Andrey Makarov. Andrey was the last one still conscious and able to stand. He was crying, pleading, trying to offer money, cars, apartments, anything.
“My father owns a car dealership. He’ll give you any car you want, any car, BMW, Mercedes, whatever you want, but don’t touch me, please.” Alexander leaned closer. “And what did my sister say yesterday?” He begged. He pleaded. Andrey nodded, tears streaming down his face. [Music] His cheeks. Yes, yes, he asked me and I said, “I’m sorry, I swear, I’m sorry .” Alexander nodded.
“Good, now you’ll regret this every [Music] day of your life.” He broke his spine, just like he had done to Igor. Then he methodically punched him in the groin. Andrey quickly lost consciousness and his body went limp. Alexander sat up and looked at the four men lying on the floor. They were all alive, all breathing, but all would be crippled for life.
Two broken spines, four crushed testicles [Music]. They would never walk normally again. They would never be men in the full sense of the word again. They would remember this night every day of their lives. Vitali walked over to Alexander and put his hand on his shoulder. Sash, it’s time to go. Someone will hear us soon.
Alexander nodded. They headed for the exit, but as they were going up the stairs, the basement door swung wide open. Three guys came in, all wearing tracksuits and muscular. One of them, with a shaved head and a gold earring, asked, “What’s going on here?” They were Craftsof’s friends, the ones who had heard the shouting and had come to see what was happening.
Vitali stepped forward. “Get out of here, guys!” “This is none of your business.” The bald man laughed. “What do you mean it’s none of our business?” Igor is my friend. If you touched him, I didn’t finish the sentence. Roman punched him in the jaw. The bald man staggered, but remained standing.
He was a street fighter, muscular and heavy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some brass knuckles. His two friends also put their hands in their pockets. One had a knife and the other a piece of steel bar. [music] A fight broke out. It was fast, brutal, and without rules. Vitali used his fists like hammers. Each blow knocked his opponent down.
Roman used judo holds, breaking arms with painful grips. Denis kicked, low blows [music] to the knees, shins and groin. Alexander fought silently, methodically like a machine, one blow, [music] a broken rib, the second, a broken jaw, the third, a [music] torn knee. He did n’t think about the fact that they were someone’s friends, someone’s loved ones .
I could only think of Lena, her blood-covered face, her empty eyes, her words, “I want to die.” The fight ended in 5 minutes. The three lay on the basement floor next to the four athletes, seven mangled bodies. Alexander and his friends stood beside them, breathing heavily. Vitali had a broken eyebrow and blood was running down his eye.
Roman had a broken finger. Denis had a torn lip. Alexander’s knuckles were broken and blood was dripping onto the floor. [music] But they stood their ground. The other seven did not. They left the basement, got into their cars, and drove away. They didn’t say a word. Everyone understood what had happened.
Everyone understood that life had changed forever. On the morning of August 24, a wave swept through Rostof. Seven young people were hospitalized with serious injuries. Four of them were children of influential people. A city council member, the owner of a car dealership, the head of the Regional Department of Housing and Public Services, and the director of a large factory.
All four had broken spines and mangled genitals. The doctors said they would survive, [music] but would be disabled for life. One of them, Igor Kraftsov, will never walk again. Another, Andrey [music] Makarov, will be confined to a wheelchair. The other two will be able to walk with a cane, but a normal life is impossible.
The other three who came to his aid [music] were in slightly better condition, but also disabled. Broken ribs, broken jaws, torn ligaments, concussions . The seven refused to say who had done it. When investigators went to the hospital and asked them questions, the young people remained silent. They stared at the wall and did not answer.
One of them, a boy with a childlike face, was crying and repeating a single word. They deserved it. Igor Craftov’s father, [music] Deputy Viktor Nikolaevich Craftov, caused a scandal throughout the city. He demanded that the culprits be found, imprisoned, and shot. He used all his contacts to pressure the police, the prosecutor’s office, and the FSB, but his son remained silent, even when his father stood by his hospital bed and shouted, “Tell me who did it.
I’ll destroy them.” Igor remained silent because he knew that if he spoke the truth would come to light, the truth about what they had done to the girl. And then the shame would be worse than the injuries. The investigators began gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses, and reviewing surveillance camera footage.
One of the cameras in the parking lot of the Maxim club captured the moment when four men attacked Igor and his friends. The quality was poor and their faces were not visible , but their physique and movements indicated that they were professional wrestlers. They began to inspect sports clubs, gyms, and halls.
The list was narrowed down to several dozen people. Among them was Alexander Sabelev, a [ __ ] teacher, nightclub security guard, and brother of the girl who was killed on August 22. The investigator, police commander Sergei Petrovic Basiliev, 52, a veteran of the service, arrived at the Saveliev home on August 25. He sat down in the kitchen, drank the tea that Sinaida Ivanovna served him, and looked at Alexander.
Alexander sat calmly in front of him with his hands bandaged. Basiliev said, “Sasha, I know it was you. [music] The cameras recorded it, the witnesses saw it. I can arrest you right now .” Alexander remained silent. Basiliev continued, “But I won’t, because I’m the father of three daughters. And I know what I would do if something like what happened to your sister happened to one of them.
” Alexander looked up and stared at the investigator. Basiliev sighed. “Officially, the investigation is still ongoing, but the victims refuse to testify. No statement, no case. So be careful, Sasha. Craftsof’s father won’t rest. He’ll come after you . If not through the police, then through his own people.” Alexander nodded. “I know.
” Basiliev stood up and walked toward the door. [music] He turned around in the doorway. “How is your sister?” Alexander glanced toward Lena’s room . “She’ll survive.” Basiliev [music] nodded and left. Assistant Craftsof didn’t back down. He hired private detectives. [music] They made inquiries and quickly tracked down Alexander.
A week later, [music] some men arrived at the Sabelev house. Three burly men with Leather jackets and short haircuts [music] went to the fourth floor and rang the doorbell. Alexander opened the door. One of the men said, “Alexander Seveliev, we need to [music] talk.” Alexander nodded, stepped out onto the landing, and closed the door behind him.
“Victor Nikolayevic Krafsov sends his regards,” said the second man. “You ‘ve disabled his son. Now it’s your turn.” Alexander looked at the three of them, assessed them. Professionals, former military, or special forces. Not street thugs. “Do you have weapons?” he asked calmly. The first man smiled mockingly.
“We don’t need weapons for [music] people like you.” Alexander nodded. “Okay. Then let’s do it here. But don’t make any noise. [music] My parents are home.” The fight began right there on the landing. Alexander wasn’t fighting to win, but to survive. He knew the three professionals were stronger than him, but he had an advantage.
He was fighting for His family and they were fighting for money. He used everything he knew: [ __ ] throws, chokes, joint locks. He broke one man’s nose and dislocated another’s shoulder. The third turned out to be the most dangerous, a boxer, a heavyweight who hit hard and accurately. Alexander took several blows to his body and head and felt his ribs crack, but he didn’t fall.
He grabbed the railing, lunged at his hip, and threw the boxer onto the concrete steps. The boxer hit his head and lost consciousness. When it was all over, the three men lay on the stairs. Alexander stood there, clutching the wall and spitting blood. The apartment door opened, and his father came out with a crowbar in his hands. ” Sasha, is everything okay?” Alexander nodded.
“Go back to the apartment, Dad. I’ll be fine.” Victor Petrovic wanted to say something, but when he saw his son’s face, he went back to They entered quietly. Alexander called an ambulance. When the paramedics arrived, he told them that three men had attacked him to rob him and that he had defended himself. The paramedics nodded, took notes, and took the injured away.
The police arrived, but once again, no one wanted to give a statement. Investigator Basiliev came in person, looked at Alexander with a bandage on his head, and shook his head. “Sasha, you won’t last long like this. Craftsof won’t stop.” Alexander knew this, but he had no choice. He couldn’t just leave . Abandon his parents, abandon Lena.
He stayed and waited for the next blow. The next blow came two weeks later, but not from Craftsof, from Lena herself. On September 9, 1994, early in the morning, Sinaida Ivanovna entered her daughter’s room and found her on the floor. Lena lay in a pool of blood, her wrists slashed with a razor blade. Beside her was a note. “I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to.
” To live in a world where this is possible. I love you, don’t blame yourselves. Lena immediately called an ambulance. The paramedics arrived 12 minutes later. They arrived just in time. Lena was alive. She had lost a lot of blood, but she was alive. They took her to the hospital, operated on her, and saved her.
But when she regained consciousness the next day, she did n’t speak. She stared at the ceiling and did n’t respond to her mother, father, or brother. The psychiatrists diagnosed her with acute post-traumatic stress disorder and severe depression. Lena was transferred to a psychiatric clinic. Alexander sat in the hospital corridor staring at the wall.
Vitali sat beside him. They were silent. Vitali said, “Sash, it’s not your fault.” Alexander didn’t respond. He knew it was his fault. He had mutilated those four people thinking it would help Lena. He thought justice would bring relief, but there was no justice, there was only The pain persisted and didn’t disappear; it only grew, consuming everything around it, destroying lives.
Lena spent three months in a psychiatric clinic. When she was discharged in December, she was a different person. Quiet, almost colorless, with empty eyes. She dropped out of school. She barely left her room. She took antidepressants and sleeping pills. She was alive, but not really living. She merely existed.
Alexander continued working as a security guard. He trained every day, but no longer to compete, just to avoid having to think. Viktor Nikolayevich Kraftsov eventually fell behind, not because he forgave, but because his own son asked him to stop. Igor Kraftov, confined to a wheelchair, told his father, “That’s enough.
” “I deserve it .” We deserve it. The deputy didn’t understand, but [music] gave in. Rumors that his son and three other rich boys had raped a girl were already circulating in the city. If they started investigating further, everything would come to light. And Krafso couldn’t allow that to happen.
The city gradually forgot about it . The rich boys recovered, but they were left disabled. Igor Krafov never got out of his wheelchair again. Andrey Makarov learned to walk with a cane, but every step caused him pain. The other two were also left disabled. The three who tried to protect them were discharged from the hospital a month later, but they no longer communicated with Craftsof and his friends.
One of them, the bald one with the earring, [music] left the city. Another drank himself to death. The third committed suicide a year later. The Sabeliev family slowly crumbled [music] like an old house that She collapsed. Viktor Petrović started drinking. Sinaida Ivanovna was 10 years and 6 months old. Lena lived like a ghost.
Alexander held on longer, but he too collapsed. In 1996, he left Rostov, went north to Murmansk, and got a job as a security guard on a ship. He rarely wrote to his parents, called even less. In 2001, Lena married a quiet, calm man who didn’t ask her questions about the past. She gave birth to a daughter.
She began to live again, slowly, with great difficulty, but she was living. Alexander found out about this from a letter from his mother. He read it, folded it, and put it in a desk drawer. He didn’t attend the wedding. He didn’t come when his niece was born. He couldn’t go back to the city where it had all happened.
The story of what happened in August 1994 in Rostov-on- Don was never officially revealed. There were no court rulings, nor No verdicts, no newspaper articles, just rumors passed from mouth to mouth [music] about the samba dancer who maimed four rich boys for what they did to his sister, about how justice failed.
And a man took the law into his own hands, about the price he paid.
