[Tantalism] 🕶️ Jobs

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 71-74

I wake with a fright. It’s daylight, and only a few hours after I went to bed. Sleep is elusive, poisoned by dreams of naked old men invading my bed. Everything hurts. My sanitary pad is full - despite it not being 'that time of the month' - and I change it, but that’s not the only place I’m bleeding. I coil up a towel and jam it between my buttocks. Try to sleep some more. There’s a knock on my door. I answer it to the french-speaking man from Azerbaijan. He wants to know if I’m ok. That I understand that he wasn’t a part of what happened last night, an event that he thought disgusting. He’s flying out this morning, the deal with Igor in tatters. He’s giving the deal - under the table - to a man called Spinetti. Did I know him? “That’s pretty fucking funny,” I think to myself. That these two egotistical gangsters thought an arranged marriage would stop decades of deception and hate between them is the definition of stupid IMHO.	He asks if I know a man called Spinetti? “That’s pretty fucking funny,” I think to myself. That these two egotistical gangsters thought an arranged marriage would change things between them is the definition of stupid IMHO. “A little,” I answer. It isn’t really a lie. “I’ve told Miriam. As usual, Andropov isn’t available,” he says. “I’m really sorry,” I answer. It’s lame, but it’s all I’ve got. “Si jamais to as besoin d’un travail - un vrai trevail - faismoi signe. J’ai apprécié notre discussion d’hier. Vous seriez un atout pour n’importe quelle organisation,” he said, shaking my hand. If I ever need a proper job, let him know. He enjoyed our chat yesterday. I’d be an asset to any organisation. He hands me his card. “You are very kind, as bad-ass gangsters go,” I smile. “Merci beaucoup,” I say and I mean it. “Au revoir, mon ami,” he chuckles as he heads up the corridor, flanked by a couple of security guys.
I’m summoned to lunch on the Terrace. The note that was delivered said my attendance was compulsory. I ask if they will be sending a golf cart to pick me up because I can barely fucking walk. No response. I do a few simple exercises to loosen up. They seem to work a little. From my room to the Terrace is two hundred of the longest metres I’ve ever asked my legs to do. I sit awkwardly. Andropov is in front of me, Miriam is to my left. I offer nothing in the way of greetings. Andropov starts immediately. “Until you earn my respect and trust, you are at the bottom of the pecking order. The lowest of the low.” “You made that perfectly clear last night,” I said acidly, quietly. Miriam sat with us, said nothing. Although I think I heard her sphincter snap shut when I spoke the way I did. “You can ditch the attitude, you undignified little bitch,” he spat back. I shut my mouth and let him continue uninterrupted. “You will take meals with me, if I invite you. You will be available when I require you. While you are here, you are to provide comfort and entertainment for my visiting clients, dignitaries and whoever I choose. And you will do exactly what I ask of you.” He pauses. Takes a sip of water. “You will not leave. You will not contact your father without my permission. You will not contact anyone. When you earn my trust, some of these restrictions will be eased.”	I don’t look at him. I look at my hands, which are still shaking slightly since last night, and show no sign of stopping. I think about whether I care what he does to me next. I take a breath and discover that I don’t. Not even a little. The will to live went out like a light bulb twelve hours ago. There is a bite mark on my shoulder that has gone purple overnight and a place between my legs that still bleeds when I move a certain way. I pick up my fork. I set it down. Then I look at him. “Respect and trust - and dignity, for that matter - goes both ways, Igor.” “What did you just say?” he spat. “You heard me,” I spat back. His face hardened. He wants to hit me but looks around at the other people in the Terrace and thinks twice about it. Miriam is having kittens. “Don’t worry about them, Igor,” I say indicating the other people. “If you wanna hit me, go ahead. Most of those cunts followed your shining example and raped me last night.” “Gabriella!” Miriam gasped. “Please!” She spills her drink. “My turn,” I said and leaned forward to be in Andropov’s face. “Last night you laid me out like a trophy for a nest of those old, fat, white men. You anally raped me—slobbered all over me, bit me, hit me, filled me with your cum. Then your buddies took turns with my mouth and my cunt. You all raped me.”

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 75-78

Miriam makes a motion with her hands for me to keep it down. “It’s ok Slim,” I say, inventing a nickname for her. “They were all there last night.” “It’s not OK…” starts Igor. Still in charge. I jump in. “If dignity’s important to you Igor, maybe start with your own.” I lifted my sleeve. Slowly. Let him see all of it—the bruises, the bite marks, the way I moved. I pressed my serviette between my legs and, covered in blood, threw it at him. He sat frozen, mouth agape—no one had ever dared disrespect him like that.	“I never thought I could disrespect anyone more than my father,” I forced out. Andropov slammed a hand gun down on the table. Glared at me. “Sir…” Miriam’s voice broke. I laughed, shaky and harsh, my voice still raspy from all the screaming. “A gun? That’s your grand solution? Someone accuses you of rape? You shoot them. Want to win an argument? Shoot them. Appease your old white man ego? Shoot me. Here, now. Go on. Too public? Fine—let’s wander into the woods. I’m the lowest of the low you said, so I’ll dig my own grave. Miriam can take notes.
”Igor, I’ve been broken, used, discarded more times than I can count. The plane, the car… just another day in the life of this sad little girl. But last night…” My voice cracks, the memory clawing at my throat. ”That was different. That was…“ I can’t even say it. Disgust twists my lips. ”You must be so pleased with yourself.” His hand connects with my face, sharp and brutal. My body tumbles from the chair. I am now shaking uncontrollably, not from pain, but from the sheer force of my own rage and shame. The Terrace is empty now, the silence deafening. I refuse to cry. Refuse to give him the satisfaction.	I take a deep breath. Sit back down. ”The Azerbaijanis left this morning,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. ”Took their billions and ran straight to my father. Under the table, of course. Not exactly the power move you were hoping for, is it?” I can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes.

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 79-82

Igor’s face is a mask of cold fury as he reaches for the gun. ”This is your fault,” he spits. ”You and your father. You planned this.” ”Sir!” Miriam’s voice is a shrill interruption, but I ignore her. ”No, Igor. This is on you. They left because you showed them no interest, and because of last night.” I swallow hard, the words tasting like ash. ”They came to check on me before they went. Said they couldn’t stomach what you did.” The gun is pointed at my forehead, the safety clicking off. ”Shut! Up! he screams.” But I can’t. Not now. ”Until last night, I was ready to help you destroy my father’s empire. I know it better than anyone. I helped built it with him, watched every move, every tactic. You and I would have been formidable.” My voice wavers, just for a second. ”But did you really think he’d ever let you win? That he’d share his kingdom with you?” I let out a hollow laugh. ”Oh, Igor. You’re not even a pawn in his game. You’re just another fool he’s playing.” His finger twitches on the trigger. I close my eyes, waiting for the end. It won’t hurt. Or if it does, I won’t care. Not anymore.	Then, the gun lowers. ”What did he say to you?” Igor’s voice is eerily calm. I hesitate. ”He said you never even spoke to him. All that way, and you spent the whole night—“ I stop, the words sticking in my throat. ”Humiliating me,” I almost say, but something holds me back. Instead, I pull Khalid’s card from my pocket and toss it onto the table. ”Here. Maybe you can still fix this. Maybe.” I stand, my legs unsteady. “You have to earn my trust and respect, Igor.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “After last night—” I stopped. Let him sit in it. “I don’t think that can ever happen. So shoot me. Or let me go.” I stand. Walk off. Wait for the gunshot and the big sleep. Almost hope for it. Almost.
I lock myself in my suite. The bolt slides home with a finality that doesn’t reach the inside of my skull. I don’t even make it to the bed, just slide down against the door onto the cold marble. I dream of hands, dozens of them, old and liver-spotted, sliding over my skin like slugs. I smell cigar smoke and stale cologne. And I feel textures—the rough gabardine of a suit jacket grinding against my cheek, the cold slide of a signet ring across my skin. They don’t just rub; they press, their weight a suffocating heap, a many-layered thing pinning me to a bed.	Then the dream shifts, dissolves into stone. I am in the dungeon they whisper about on the island. Not a clean, historical ruin, but a working place, slick and dripping.

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 83-86

The horrors here aren’t quick. They are measured in the slow drip of water from a rusted pipe, in the deliberate, careful turn of a screw on a device whose purpose I understand instinctively. The intimate, prolonged attention of someone who has all the time in the world to make you beg for the mercy of a bullet.	There’s a knock on the door. Quiet. Then a quiet little voice. Female. “Gabriella.”
I shake the sleep out of myself, slip on a small gown and answer. Miriam. She’s holding wine, a bag, and looking about furtively to see if anyone’s watching. I point at the CCTV in the ceiling. “I think they know you’re here, Slim.”	She slides in, embarrassed. I shut the door. I don’t trust her, but I do trust the wine. She pours us each a glass. “Plenty more where this came from,” she says and makes herself at home on the couch. I wonder if she’s already half cut. Hard to know. I’ve only heard her speak in single words before. “You were quite the surprise out there before,” she finally speaks. I think it’s a Spanish accent. “My guess is he will kill you slowly now, rather than quickly.” “Already planning my funeral?” I say grimly. “Doubt you’ll get one. The previous wife ended up in a shipping container in Odessa. Alive, technically. Not a mark on her, and physically healthy.” I raise my eyebrows. “How did you get to be here?” I ask.

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 87-90

“How did you get to be here?” I ask. She sips her wine. “Like most of the prettier girls here I was homeless. Andropov is a massive benefactor of a couple of local refuges. He brought me here. Gave me hope. That ended the moment I was introduced to his bedroom.” I can see a tear well up in her eyes. I nod and take her hand. Or try to. She pulls it away. “He’s taking his anger with you out on a new girl who works in the kitchen. Just turned eighteen. If you go outside you can hear her screaming.”	I open the door onto the balcony. All I can hear are waves innocently lapping on the beach. She smiles ruefully. “She’s fainted. Or she’s dead.” She looks at me as though it’s my fault. “Sit next to me. I’m going to rub some cream into those bruises to make them feel better. I do this for all the girls who…you know.”	I nod, and meekly move up to where she's sitting. Pivot myself so she can get to my back. The last thing I wanted was anyone touching me, but her hands are magic. I drop my gown and let her hands work the tension and the pain out of my muscles.

I lie face down on the floor and she massages something into my buttocks. “This’ll help the welts go away. Is it still sore?” I grunt in the affirmative. “That mongrel hit you too hard, Gabriella.” There’s a tenderness, a caring in her voice I haven’t heard from anyone for ages. Perhaps ever. “Why are you still…” I pause momentarily trying to find the right word. She jumps in. “Alive? I am too useful. I do most of the legwork. He can’t do it all himself, especially when he’s…preoccupied. Or doing drugs.” “So if anything happened to you he’d be fucked?” She pauses to consider the possibility, perhaps for the first time. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 91-93

I put my gown and sit back up on the couch. “Slim, we need to keep talking.” "I'd like that."	More massage. (89a)
The last of the wine was gone. The sun had bled out below the horizon, leaving the room in a deep, bruised twilight. For a few stolen moments, I’d almost forgotten where we were. Miriam was a quiet anchor in this madness, her stillness a stark contrast to my own wrecking-ball mouth. She reached for the empty bottle. “I’ll get more,” she said, her voice soft but sure. My head nodded almost on its own. It was the best idea I’d heard all day. But then it came—a cold, sharp needle of guilt plunging straight into the warm haze of the alcohol. I didn’t have to say a word.	Miriam’s hand stilled on the bottle. Her eyes flickered to the door, then back to me, wide and dark with a dread I felt in my own gut. “That poor girl,” she whispered. “We should check on her.”

​

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 94-97

I dress. Shorts. T Shirt.
Really short shorts that used to get me in all sorts of trouble.

	The silence from downstairs wasn’t empty. It was thick, heavy, a held breath that was somehow more terrifying than any scream. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s pick up some pieces.”
	We step outside, the night air cool on my skin, the path a dark ribbon through tangled bush. The building ahead is red brick, squat and forlorn, like something that’s been holding its breath for a century. Every step feels wrong, a step deeper into something I don’t understand. Part of me wants to turn back, to pretend I never heard that girl scream. But Miriam moves with purpose, and I follow. “Places like this are all over the island,” Miriam says, her voice low. “Resistance fighters hid in them during the war. There are caverns under the cliffs, too—more recent. For submarines. There are tunnels all over the place.”
	She produces a key. The lock turns with a heavy thud that seems to echo what I’m feeling: this is a line crossed. She taps a code. A second door slides open.

​

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 98-101

An armed guard nods at Miriam, then his eyes drag over me. Lingering. I cross my arms. Yep, shorts too short, dammit. Inside, the shock of it—all sleek surfaces and cold light—hits like I’ve woken up in a stark, modern office. It’s in stark contrast to the outside which can only be described as Post-Edwardian garden shed. “Down the stairs, to the left,” the guard says without being asked. “Can we take her out of here?” Miriam says. “Sure. Good luck with that. Door’s not locked by the way.”
We were now definitely underground. It was cold and I had goosebumps. Some of those were in anticipation of something hideous to come. Little had changed down here since the 1930s, apart from the lights that reflected off the wet bluestone. The first cell was empty.
The first cell was empty. In the second, our girl had pressed herself into the far corner. She was naked, shaking. When she heard us she flinched hard against the wall and made a small, terrible sound, almost animal, like something that had learned not to expect kindness from anything. Miriam spoke to her in Croatian. “Do you want to come with us Mila? Somewhere safer and more comfortable than this cold old room?"
“Do you want to come with us Mila? Somewhere safer and more comfortable than this cold old room?" Mila doesn’t answer. She doesn’t move, either, except for the trembling that runs through her like a current. Miriam crouches, keeping her distance, her voice soft but steady. “It’s okay. You don’t have to stay here.” She finds a blanket in the corner. It’s filthy, but it’s better than nothing. I hover near the door, arms still crossed, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the cold seeps through my singlet. The guard’s lingering gaze unnerves me, but this—this is worse. The girl’s fear is a living thing, coiled tight in the corner of the cell. Miriam tries again, switching to English, maybe for my benefit. “We can take you to a warm place. Somewhere with food. A bed.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a protein bar, holding it out like an offering. “Here. You must be hungry.” Mila’s head turns just enough for me to see the side of her face—pale, smudged with dirt, her dark eyes wide and unblinking. The blanket slips slightly, revealing a bruise along her collarbone. My stomach twists. Then, in a voice so quiet it almost gets lost under the hum of the fluorescent lights, she whispers, “They’ll find me.” Miriam’s expression doesn’t change, but her jaw tightens. “We can hide you. Better than being here.” The girl’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Miriam. “Who is she?” “Someone who can help,” Miriam says. “Someone who won’t let them take you again. Somebody who knows what you went through.”

 

[tanuno]

[Tantalism] Gangster Girl Gabriella's Story 102-105

Mila’s fingers curl into the blanket, knuckles white. For a long moment, the only sound is the distant drip of water somewhere in the tunnels. Then, slowly, she nods. Miriam exhales just a little and stands. “Good. Let’s go.” I step aside as Miriam helps Mila to her feet, the girl’s movements stiff, like she’s forgotten how to walk. The blanket slips further, revealing more bruises—finger-shaped marks on her arms, rope-marks on her wrists. And ankles. My hands clench into fists. Miriam notices me staring and gives a small, sharp shake of her head. Later. I smile. Gently stroke Mila’s matted hair. We move down the narrow corridor with the guard’s eyes on us the whole way. He doesn’t say anything, and his expression remains unreadable. At the top of the stairs, Miriam pauses, turning to Mila. “Do you have anything you need to bring?” Mila shakes her head. “Then let’s go,” Miriam says, and leads the way out.	The night air hits us like a slap, the salt tang of the sea cutting through the stale underground smell. Mila flinches at the sudden openness, her shoulders hunching like she expects a hand to grab her from the dark. It’s warm, but very dark and windy. We make slow progress with Mila, but we eventually make it back to my room, find her some clothes, and put her into my bed. She curls up into a foetal position and whimpers softly. “We need to get her off the island,” Miriam whispers. “We need to get us all off the island, Slim.” She looks at me. Chewing it over. She nods. “Yeah,” she says with a certain resignation. “Yes, we do.”
The days are a slow, thick syrup of dread. The angry red rings around Mila’s sex are fading from livid purple to a dull, waxy pink. The screaming has stopped, replaced by a silence that is somehow louder. Miriam arrives each day with her basket of salves and tinctures—she has a balm for blisters, an oil for scarring, but nothing that can mend what’s been torn out of a young woman.	Miriam brings wine. We drink it while we scheme, full of fear. Andropov is hunting. He knows we took her. Miriam meets his men with flat denials—she put a sick girl to bed, hasn’t seen her since. That’s all. But the air hums with the waiting. Any knock could be the one. END OF PART ONE​