Scene: Alia's Mafia Office – Night
A dark, luxurious office. Old guns hang on the walls, rare files are stacked on wooden shelves, and in one corner, a glass of whiskey lets out a thin trail of smoke. Behind a large table sits Alia, coldly staring at a map of the city. Rain pours outside.
Two bodyguards stand watch at the door. Everyone knows—"The Godmother" is not in a good mood tonight.
Suddenly, Zainkha appears silently from behind. She slowly wraps her arms around Alia—from the start, Alia flinches, but she doesn't resist. Zainkha gently kisses her cheek.
Alia slowly closes her eyes, but there's no smile on her lips. In a low, cold voice, she says:
Alia (coldly, slowly):
"Why are you here, Zainkha?"
Zainkha (softly, emotionally):
"Nothing feels right without you... I know you're 'The Godmother' now, and everyone fears you. But me... I still search for that old Alia. The one who once told me—she would fight for her future."
Alia (tears shimmer in her eyes, but her voice is hard):
"I did fight for the future, Zainkha. But you weren't in it. In this world, love is a weakness… and I killed my weakness a long time ago."
Zainkha steps closer, placing her hand gently on Alia's chest.
Zainkha (voice trembling):
"You made yourself strong, I know… but look at me, Alia. Just once. I still love you. Can't you—just once—take off that mask and look at me?"
Alia stands up. There is no emotion on her face now—only the bone-chilling cold of a true mafia boss.
Alia (coldly):
"You came to the wrong place, Zainkha… The Godmother lives here now. Alia died a long time ago… Her grave is right here, in this office."
Zainkha freezes for a moment. Then suddenly steps toward her—but Alia raises her hand, and instantly, the bodyguards pull out their guns.
Alia (sternly):
"Leave… before your love gets you killed."
Zainkha stops, tears in her eyes. Slowly, she turns and begins to walk away… The rain continues outside.
Cut to black.
The sound of rain grows heavier.
The room is silent now.
Alia stands in front of the table, eyes closed, as if trying to hold herself together.
Then, the door creaks open again… slowly.
To everyone's surprise, Zainkha comes back.
She walks straight up to Alia and suddenly wraps her arms around her—tight—pressing her against her chest.
Zainkha (whispers, trembling):
"Love you, Alia… I love you… My marriage is fixed… I'm leaving… forever."
For a moment, time stands still.
Alia cannot say a word.
Zainkha gently kisses her cheek again and starts walking away.
She walks toward the door.
The bodyguards, Yaas and Aseer, step aside and open the door.
Zainkha walks out.
The rain keeps falling.
Alia's Office – Night
Silence lingered in the room like a ghost that refused to leave.
Behind the heavy mahogany desk, Alia slowly sank into her chair, her body folding in on itself, as if carrying a weight too great to bear. No sound escaped her lips, but tears streamed freely down her face.
Then, without warning, she pressed her hand tightly over her mouth, and a stifled sob broke through—the kind of sound only heartbreak can produce. Deep. Raw. Wordless.
Yaas and Aseer stood silently at their posts, the rain outside falling in a steady rhythm.
But something interrupted the monotony—the faint, unmistakable sound of someone crying from within.
Not just crying. Breaking.
Yaas turned his head slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"…Our Godmother is crying."
Aseer didn't look at him. He stared into the distance, his jaw tight, his voice trembling.
"I've never seen her like this. Not once."
They stood there, motionless, eyes glistening, listening to the sound of a woman who had ruled an empire—but could not rule her own heart.
Inside, Alia sat alone in the dark. The rain against the windows sounded almost like applause for sorrow. Her voice was barely audible, like a prayer spoken to no one.
"I've lost everything… again."
And with that single line, the silence deepened. The room, once a symbol of power and control, felt cavernous now—empty, hollow. The throne of the mafia queen had never seemed so lonely.
Alia's Mansion – Private Room – Later That Night
The rain had stopped. But in the air, the heaviness still hung—like grief soaked into the walls.
Alia sat alone in a velvet armchair. Around her were priceless leather-bound books, encrypted maps, and ancient weapons—artefacts of a life lived in shadows and fire. But her eyes were filled with something far more fragile: tears.
Her head was bowed. She didn't hear Maria enter.
The maid held a delicate porcelain cup filled with Alia's favorite tea. But the moment she saw her, truly saw her—folded in pain, trembling in silence—Maria gasped.
The cup slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor.
"Ma… you?" she stammered, stunned. "You're… crying?"
Alia looked up. Then, like a dam breaking, she stood and fell into Maria's arms.
"I don't know what to do, Maria," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why is my life like this? I only ever wanted peace. I wanted love…"
Maria said nothing. She just held her. One hand softly stroked her back, the other held her steady.
"I was in the CIA," Alia continued, as if releasing secrets was the only way to breathe. "Retired at 24… but I still work. Deep inside. No one knows. I was South Korea's ambassador. Then arms dealing… Russian contracts… And now, this. A Mafia Godmother. Is this what I was born to be?"
Maria's eyes welled up. "You're human, Ma… You may be a Godmother to the world. But you still have a heart. A heart that wants to love."
Alia looked up, her eyes haunted.
"I don't even remember who I used to be.
Zainkha's gone. Viktor doesn't know me anymore.
And Margaret… Margaret saw me fall apart."
Maria sat her down, gently wiped her tears.
"You haven't lost everything," she said softly.
"You can still feel. That's more than most people can say."
Alia closed her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek.
"I never did this for love," she murmured. "But now… I think maybe love is the most dangerous weapon of all."
Alia's Mansion – Living Room – Four Months Later
It was a quiet afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows into the grand living room, casting soft light on a low table where colored pencils, open books, scattered toys, and a half-finished jigsaw puzzle lay.
Alia sat on the floor.
Around her were five children.
One girl, about 11 years old, was drawing in pinks and purples. The others—boys and girls between three and seven—were building puzzles, flipping through picture books, or resting silently against their mother's lap.
Alia said nothing. She just watched them, as if memorizing their every breath.
The fire that once burned in her eyes was gone.
In its place: a fragile calm. The peace she had never found in power.
Suddenly, the little girl stopped drawing and looked up at her.
"Mom… why don't you cry anymore?" she asked innocently.
Alia didn't flinch.
She smiled, soft and slow.
"Because now I'm with you," she said. "And you're with me."
A little boy threw his arms around her neck. Another climbed into her lap.
She held them both—tight, protectively, like someone who had learned what truly matters far too late.
Her eyes shimmered again. But this time, it wasn't sorrow. It was something purer.
Softer. Gratitude.
"You're my everything now," she whispered.
"My war is over… From now on, I'll live for you."
Sunlight lit the room like a blessing.
On the walls hung the ghosts of her past—photos of a spy, a diplomat, a mafia queen.
And now, in the center of it all, sat a woman no one had ever seen before:
A mother.Five children. One woman. A love she never thought she deserved.
And in that quiet, sunlit moment, she finally finds her peace.