FORTUNE FAVOURS HER

episode 6

As the deafening roar of the vacuum cleaner echoes through the room, I can't help but grit my teeth in frustration. Albert, always meticulous in his cleaning routines, seems to take pleasure in disrupting the peace of the house with his incessant tidying. How dirty could the house possibly get to warrant such constant cleaning?

With a resigned sigh, I reluctantly extricate myself from the warmth of my bed and meet Albert's gaze with a glare. "You're awake, get ready. We leave in an hour," he commands, his tone brusque as he returns to his task.

I roll my eyes in exasperation, cursing under my breath as I begrudgingly make my way to the bathroom. These guys have me working every waking hour, and yet my role in their operation remains frustratingly unclear. One day it's diverting the attention of the DA, the next it's inspecting cargo shipments, and the day after that it's overseeing the transfer of illicit funds. It's a dizzying carousel of tasks, each one more daunting than the last.

I quickly shower and apply my makeup with practiced precision, knowing that no matter how much of a hurry I'm in, my wig and makeup must be flawless. In this world of shadows and deception, appearance is everything.

Emerging from the bathroom, I find breakfast waiting for me on the table. It's a curious assortment of dishes, with Albert's penchant for culinary variety evident in the spread before me. Bacon, waffles, and broccoli—an unusual combination for breakfast, but then again, nothing about my current situation is ordinary. I can't help but wonder why Albert hasn't served me any pizza, considering his Italian heritage, but I push the thought aside as I reluctantly dig into the meal before me. After all, in a world where trust is a scarce commodity, even the smallest gestures of hospitality must be savored.

I nod in acknowledgment as Albert emerges from his room, resplendent in his customary black suit. Despite my annoyance with him, I can't help but begrudgingly admit that he looks rather dashing in his attire. His polished appearance serves as a stark reminder of the professionalism and discipline that permeates every aspect of his being.

As he moves about the kitchen, preparing water bottles for our upcoming excursion, he casts a glance in my direction. "Eat your vegetables," he instructs, his tone firm but not unkind.

I roll my eyes in response, a small smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. It's almost comical how both Albert and Oliver seem to share a penchant for reminding me to eat my greens. A strange coincidence, perhaps, or perhaps a subtle reminder of the normalcy I've left behind.

Reluctantly, I take a sip of the water he hands me, the cool liquid providing a welcome respite from the chaos of my thoughts. With a resigned sigh, I push aside the plate of untouched broccoli and focus on preparing myself for the day ahead. In this world of shadows and deception, even the smallest gestures of camaraderie are to be cherished. And if that means enduring a few more bites of vegetables, then so be it.

***

As the car comes to a halt in front of the warehouse, my heart rate quickens with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. This isn't the usual location we frequent, and the unfamiliarity of our surroundings only serves to heighten my sense of unease. Stepping out of the vehicle, I'm immediately greeted by the sensation of my heels sinking into a puddle of water, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of my shoes.

"Why are we here?" I inquire, turning to face Albert, but he remains silent, his expression impassive as he gestures for me to follow him. With a sigh, I resign myself to following his lead, my mind buzzing with questions and apprehensions.

As Albert slides open a large door, revealing a mesh barrier beyond, I can't help but feel a surge of trepidation at what lies beyond. The mesh door opens with a mechanical whir, and a lift emerges from below, beckoning us downward into the depths of the warehouse.

With a sense of foreboding, I step into the lift, the doors closing behind us with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine. The descent is swift, the dim light of the elevator shaft giving way to darkness as we plunge deeper into the bowels of the building.

Moments later, the lift comes to a halt with a soft ding, and the doors slide open to reveal an unexpected sight. We've descended into what appears to be an underground arena, with several fighting rings scattered across the expansive space. Men mill about in the shadows, their hushed conversations echoing off the cavernous walls.

"We're in time," Albert remarks, his voice low as he leads the way through the crowd. I can feel the weight of their stares upon me, the sudden hush that falls over the room palpable in its intensity.

"Albert, what are we doing here?" I demand, my voice laced with urgency and frustration. But once again, he offers no explanation, his silence adding to the growing sense of unease gnawing at my insides.

Instead, he guides me toward a counter where a stern-faced attendant awaits, clipboard in hand. Without a word, Albert signs my name up for something, his actions swift and purposeful. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach as he hands me a numbered card, his cryptic instruction leaving me reeling.

"Try staying alive," he says, his tone oddly detached as he takes my handbag from me, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I glance down at the back of the card and my heart skips a beat when I see the words "Stage 5" printed in bold letters. My worst fears are confirmed: Albert has signed me up for a match in this clandestine arena.

Panic threatens to overwhelm me as I look around, taking in the ominous atmosphere of the underground venue. The blacked-out window at the top of the hall, the watchful eyes hidden behind its glass, only serve to heighten my sense of dread.

With trembling hands, I make my way to a nearby bench, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. I try to steady my breathing, to calm the frantic pounding of my heart as I steel myself for whatever awaits me in the ring.

As I sit on the bench, trying to make sense of the surreal situation unfolding around me, a young woman approaches, a uniform clutched in her hands. Despite the soft smile on her lips, there's a weariness in her eyes that belies the facade of friendliness.

"I heard a girl would join the selection," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of sympathy. I can't help but notice the busted lip and the emptiness in her gaze, a stark contrast to the cheerfulness she tries to exude.

"I don't know why I'm here," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper, my confusion and fear bubbling to the surface.

"Let's call it the Top Dog Mafia selection," she replies, taking a seat beside me. Her words send a chill down my spine, confirming my worst suspicions about the true nature of this underground event. I glance up at the blacked-out window above, a silent reminder of the shadowy figures pulling the strings from the shadows.

"I understand now," I murmur, resignation weighing heavy in my words. "I'm Ava."

"I'm Miran," she replies with a weary smile, her eyes betraying a sadness that mirrors my own. "Go dress before the fights begin. I see you're in ring five. That's pretty advanced."

"What do the ring numbers mean?" I inquire, curiosity overriding my apprehension for a brief moment.

"It depends on skill. Fifteen being the lowest and one the best," she explains, rising from the bench to lead me to the only washroom not contaminated by the presence of men.

As we make our way through the dimly lit corridor, a sense of foreboding settles over me like a heavy cloak. In this twisted world of violence and deceit, I can only cling to the hope that somehow, against all odds, I'll find a way to survive.