FORTUNE FAVOURS HER

Episode 9

As Albert strides onto the scene, a palpable shift occurs among the men gathered around us. They part respectfully, giving him a wide berth as he approaches, their deference a testament to his authority within the organization. Miran bows her head in deference, a gesture of respect that speaks volumes about Albert's position within the hierarchy.

"You can't go around beating up everyone who annoys you," he admonishes me, his tone stern and reproachful as he fixes me with a disapproving gaze.

I meet his gaze head-on, the frustration bubbling within me threatening to spill over. "It's you who brought me to a fighting ring filled with jackasses," I retort, my voice laced with defiance as I refuse to back down. Everyone seems shocked at my tone.

Miran tugs on my shirt, her voice a hushed whisper of warning. "You shouldn't speak to him like that," she cautions, her eyes wide with apprehension. "He's the boss's right-hand man."

"He's my annoying roommate," I whisper back, my frustration mounting as I struggle to contain my emotions. But before the conversation can escalate further, Albert grabs my arm and pulls me aside, his grip firm and commanding as he steers me away from the crowd.

With a resigned sigh, I allow myself to be led away, knowing that I've pushed the boundaries too far this time. Albert's stern command directs Miran's attention as well, reminding us both of the consequences of our actions. As we walk through the crowd, the murmurs of disapproval follow us like a shadow, echoing the deeply ingrained prejudices that still pervade this male-dominated world.

I catch snatches of whispered conversations, derogatory remarks about women not belonging in such places, about how we should be confined to the safety of our homes, one said that women can't control their emotions. The irony isn't lost on me, considering it was one of these very men who had goaded me into action with his sexist remarks and got angry wen I hit back.

Before I can even contemplate offering him a piece of my mind, Albert swiftly intervenes, hoisting me over his shoulder with a strength that takes me by surprise. It's a clear message that my impulsive reactions won't be tolerated, and I find myself seething with frustration at the loss of agency.

"Albert, put me down," I command, but my words fall on deaf ears as he continues to stride forward, his grip unyielding. I struggle in vain to free myself from his grasp, but his strength and balance are too formidable. I'm taken aback by his ease in lifting me, I wonder if he is like me, a freak of nature, but it's impossible the government wiped most of us out, and I have only met 3 in my lifetime.

As we move, his hand shifts to cover my exposed backside, a gesture meant to shield me from prying eyes. Heat rises to my cheeks, embarrassment washing over me as I instinctively try to conceal myself. The last thing I need is to draw any more attention to myself in this already precarious situation. But I can't help wish he would let me down.

"Stop wiggling or I'll drop you on your head," he warns, his tone firm and commanding. I freeze, realizing the futility of resisting him, I wanna hit him in the head but I resist considering our living arrangements. The thought of facing his wrath later is enough to quell any rebellious impulses that will probably kill me in my sleep or feed me poison.

"Where are you taking me?" I demand, frustration seeping into my voice as I raise the volume, hoping to elicit some semblance of an answer from him. I glance back at Miran, who walks with her head bowed, flanked by the men we had bested earlier.''PUT ME DOWN,'' I yell.

"You ask a lot of questions," he remarks cryptically, his grip tightening as I feel him open a door behind me. With a gentle yet firm motion, he sets me down, his gaze scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. Blue lights cast an otherworldly glow over the space, and a staircase stretches upward, beckoning us into the unknown. It was a rather disorienting blue than the comforting one.

I feel a knot tighten in my stomach, a sinking sensation that weighs heavily upon me as I stare up at the staircase, longing for the comfort and safety of home.

"I wish to go home," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, but Albert's response is unequivocal. "The rest have a choice, but you ladies don't," he declares, his tone brooking no argument as he ascends the stairs. He stops half way and he looks down at the men,'' you are all on kitchen duty till, further notice,'' he says, waving them a hand to leave.

They bow their heads in submission, the weight of his authority crushing any resistance. Turning back to me, Albert's gaze is steely, his tone commanding as he reminds me of my place. "Miss Detective," he calls out, his voice a warning tinged with impatience, "better start moving before I carry you again"

With a heavy sigh, I resign myself to the inevitable, steeling myself for what is to come ahead as I follow in Miran's footsteps, each step reluctant. As I ascend the staircase, each step feels like a heavy weight upon my shoulders, dragging me further into the murky depths of my fears but I try to stay calm as possible like Miran.

Reaching the top, Albert knocks on the steel door in a coded rhythm, a signal that heralds our entry into the clandestine world beyond. The door swings open, revealing a scene straight out of a noir thriller—a dimly lit lounge adorned in black and grey hues, populated by men of power and privilege.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke, mingling with the heady aroma of expensive liquor. Scantily clad women flit about the room, their presence serving as little more than ornamental distractions for the men who hold court within.

I step into the room cautiously, taking in the sight of Mr Carnevale and his cohorts of 4 men in similar attire as him, their imposing figures exuding an aura of authority. Despite the opulence that surrounds them, there's an undercurrent of tension that hangs in air. I look around the room and see at least 10 armed men in suits ready to shoot at any time. There is no escaping this room.

Mr. Carnevale stands out among the group, his youthful appearance belying the power he wields. Two of the four men seated next to Mr. Carnevale seem to be above 50 or even 60, The other one looked to be in his forties but, the fourth, I couldn't make out his features as he was facing directly toward Mr. Carnevale. All 4 of the men notice as we enter and their gazes land on Miran and I. Tough crowd I may say