They sought to project an image of benevolent leadership and modernity: the “ordinary” family that, under the rule of Bashar al-Assad, would reform Syria. They were polished; relatable, apparently – first lady Asma, the philanthropic, elegant “rose of the desert” (as Vogue described her), alongside her president husband, formerly a London-based doctor and a self-proclaimed “geek”.

The next generation of Assads were not the face of Bashar’s father’s brutal regime, they insisted, and some in the West were convinced. That glossy image belied a household that would come to preside over one of the most brutal and bloody dictatorships in modern history.

This week, their 24-year reign finally fell. According to reports, the Assads fled Syria on Sunday after being granted asylum by Russian president Vladimir Putin. In the Syrian capital, Damascus, large crowds gathered to celebrate the end of a regime that ran “human slaughterhouses”, killed more than half a million in its civil war, and displaced millions more. Citizens are now left contemplating what comes next, and what will now become of the Assads and their murderous legacy.

While Syria is left in tatters and turmoil, the Assads – who have three children, Hafez, Zein and Karim – are reportedly hiding in Moscow, lost in luxury. This week it was revealed that they own at least 20 high-end apartments, worth an estimated $40m (£31m), in the city where their new life in exile will begin.

According to some reports, the properties are situated in some of Moscow’s most prestigious areas, such as the City of Capitals skyscraper complex, which “houses Russia’s wealthiest elites and international corporations”.

They remain protected by Assad’s cosy relationship with Russia – which provided military and political support to maintain his grip on power – and by their vast wealth of around $2bn, which is “concealed in numerous accounts, shell companies, offshore tax havens and real-estate portfolios”. They might have conceded in Syria, but their dynasty is unlikely to be easily squashed. Rather, the Assads – alongside Asma’s family, the Akhras – possess a large network of power and influence that stretches far beyond Syria’s borders.

Their reign in Syria began in 1971 when Bashar’s father, Hafez, seized power in a coup; he subsequently ruled with an iron fist for 29 years. When Bashar took over in 2000, various members of the family – such as his younger brother Maher al-Assad, who served as a commander in the Syrian army – were part of the tyrannical regime; Bashar’s mother, Anisa Makhlouf – the widow of former president Hafez al-Assad – also retained influence.

“Decisions are made collectively in the family’s inner circle, but Anisa has the last say,” said Wael al-Hafez, an exiled member of the Syrian opposition, according to the feminist blog Les Martiennes (as reported by France24 in 2011).

The Makhloufs – the reviled cousins of the Assads – are also thought to have fled Syria this week. They were key players in the regime, having been put in charge of the economy. By the beginning of the civil war in 2011, Rami Makhlouf was considered one of Syria’s richest and most powerful men.

However, the web stretches much further – in fact, many of their relatives settled in countries across the West, including France and even the UK.

There are few whose whereabouts are known. Most – both cousins and more distant relatives – keep a low profile, but some have made headlines over the years. In 2019, the National Crime Agency reported that Aniseh Chawkat – the daughter of Bashar’s sister, Bushra al-Assad, who reportedly sought safety in Dubai following the Arab spring (2010-2012) – had been forced to turn over the contents of her bank account after an investigation found that she had received hundreds of thousands of pounds while studying in London for four years.

The fourth wife of Bashar’s uncle, Rifaat al-Assad – who was known as “the butcher of Hama” for his role in the 1982 massacre, and earlier this year was facing trial in Switzerland for crimes against humanity – was also allowed to stay in the UK following the outbreak of civil war in 2012, though she and her two sons were denied citizenship.

Their presence in Britain makes some sense: Bashar was working as an eye doctor in London before he inherited his presidency, and British-born Asma grew up in Acton, west London. Her British education proved helpful to their aggressive PR campaign when Bashar became president in 2000 – the same year they were married – and, together, they played a clever game.

Asma was a media-savvy investment banker, who was privately educated at Queen’s College in Marylebone and later graduated with a degree in French literature and computer science from King’s College London. Importantly, she was glamorous. Her lavish tastes and Western style made her somewhat aspirational and, combined with the couple’s marketing ploys, which included hiring help from Brown Lloyd James PR – part-owned by former Beatles manager Peter Brown – set a convincing tone.

Even Vogue famously fell for it. The magazine featured her in its 2011 “Power” issue, praising her alleged philanthropy and looks, and glowingly referring to the Assads’ regime as “wildly democratic” as the Arab spring reached boiling point in the Middle East. It was pulled just two months later – by then, the thorns of Syria’s “rose in the desert” were laid bare.

It didn’t matter. Her roots did, though. Fawaz Akhras, Asma’s father, was a prominent cardiologist at Cromwell Hospital, while her mother, Sahar, had a background in academia. Both were Syrian-born and remained tightly tied, not just to their heritage, but to their home country’s political elite. By 2012, Fawaz was deemed “the man at the heart of UK-Syrian relations”. He was wined and dined by Prince Philip, and faced criticism for his apparent role in advising Bashar how to mitigate negative coverage of the uprising.

Fawaz would “enjoy friendly chats with neighbours before he turned ‘arrogant’ and standoffish after his daughter married the Syrian dictator”, Mail Online reported. Mohamed Ekrayem – the owner of London’s oldest Syrian restaurant, Abu Zaad – told the paper: “Her father and mother used to come into my cousin’s shop, but that stopped after Asma married. A lot of money came to her. Yesterday you saw all her clothes and Louis Vuitton handbags – she was very rich.”

On Monday it was reported that Asma’s parents had fled their £1m home in Acton for Moscow 10 days earlier. The Assads are thought to be there with their three children, though this is unconfirmed. Hafez, Zein, and Karim have spent their lives at the centre of the brutal regime, under scrutiny and the watchful eye of the Syrian people. They lived in luxury, of course, being carefully managed to represent the Assads’ “family image” away from the devastation and cruelty.

In the early years of the civil war, as thousands of children and their families were killed, Asma took to Facebook to share a picture-perfect image of their lives. “Hafez, 14, shares his mother’s love for technology and computing, and has become as tall as his father. He is learning Russian,” she wrote. “Karim, 11, is as active as his mother and is the house sports star. He is learning Chinese.

“Zein, 12, is learning Spanish. She has a strong, confident and warm personality,” she added. “Just like her parents.”

The display was meticulously done. “I’m a citizen of Syria, just like anyone else,” their elder son, Hafez, allegedly told Brazilian journalists in 2017 while participating in a prestigious maths competition. Foreign Policy reported at the time that “pro-regime commentators hailed Hafez’s membership on the Syrian team as a sign that he, too, was superb leadership material” – though he “performed abysmally, ranking 528 out of 615 participants”.