008: Web Of Deciet

Unexpectedly, laughter broke out from the group. The girls circled us, pulling me into their fold, and I realized that perhaps, just maybe, I was beginning to understand their world.

One of the girls stepped forward to help me undo the knots on my hands and legs. As the ropes loosened, the pain was overwhelming, but it wasn't enough to distract me from what was happening around me.

"I told you she would be interesting," Diane, a tall, slender girl, said with a smile.

Another girl joined in. "Olga, she talks like you!"

Confusion swirled in my mind as I tried to grasp what was happening. Olga, still standing beside me, offered an explanation, her words carrying a surprising warmth.

"I was a psychologist before being taken by the Mafia," she began. "Diane and Adriana here were psychology students at Baghdad University... but then we were taken. We've been here for months, just like many of the others."

"Diane has a fascination in personality types and was rather excited to meet you," Olga continued, "we prepared this fake scenario to test you and you did not disappoint, you're an intj and you'll fit in well here. So we say ...."

Her words were a blur—Z26, INTJ, a group of women trapped by the Mafia. My head spun as the weight of the situation sank in.

"Welcome to Z26, Valeria Ardetti," they said in unison, their smiles strange but reassuring.

I took Olga's hand, my mind still racing. But for the first time since I'd arrived, a strange sense of belonging stirred in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I thought.

"Okay," I replied softly. "Thank you."

And as I joined the girls in their strange, welcoming embrace, the door to my new life slammed shut behind me.

I walked with unfamiliar faces into a large room located on the main floor of the building, not far from the sitting room. The only thing separating this space from the sitting room was a small kitchen and a short hallway. The room was sizable, originally designed to accommodate all the girls. Six bunk beds were scattered in no particular order, creating a messy yet strangely organized clutter. As we arrived, I was informed that the upper floor was uninhabitable and at risk of collapsing at any moment.

Despite the chaos, there was a central area where everyone seemed to gather. There were fifteen other girls here, and with me, that made sixteen. The room held not only the bunk beds but also a few cupboards in decent condition, along with bags that most likely belonged to the girls.

After settling in the center of the room, the introductions began. I already knew Olga, Diane, and Adriana. They were all tall, towering over the rest of us, each over six feet. Their hair was a shiny jet black, and their eyes were a striking blue like the sea for Olga, while Diane and Adriana shared my onyx-colored eyes. They had fair skin, which made me think they were mixed, especially Olga, who appeared almost completely white. Olga, at 28, was the oldest, while Adriana and Diane were 22 and 23, respectively.

I was then introduced to the other girls, whose names ranged from Freya, Jermaine, and Alexander—names that sounded foreign—to others like Maja, Melissa, Angelica, and Bianca, whose names were more familiar. They were all younger than Olga, most around my age of 20, though Bianca, at 17, was the youngest among us.

Curiosity bubbled inside me, and I finally asked, "How did you all end up here?"

They exchanged knowing glances before cracking smiles. Adriana, who was closest, placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me close. "I'm sure you're smart enough to figure that out."

Sighing, I muttered the only answer that made sense—debt. We all owed something to the mafia.

"Enough chit-chat. We need to educate you about this place if you want a chance to survive," Olga interjected, her voice firm.

"Okay, tell me everything."

La Morada Del Diablo. The name of the Spanish Mafia family that controls South America and was rumored to have connections that spanned the globe. Founded by the De La Cruz family from Bolivia, who moved north to Colombia in the 19th century to trade textiles, the family's influence shifted into illegal activities, dealing in drugs and ammunition.

It all began with Armando De la Cruz, the patriarch, and his younger brother Costello. Their business ventures grew, but tragedy struck when Costello betrayed and killed Armando in a coup. Gonzalez, Armando's son, retaliated by killing Costello, seizing control of the mafia and becoming its new leader. But the rift caused by the coup left the family divided. Costello's son, Costello Jr., sought vengeance, but Gonzalez, fearing the loss of power, negotiated a peace treaty with him.

This treaty, signed in 1926, would keep the peace for 100 years, leading to the creation of two factions: La Morada Del Diablo, led by Gonzalez, and Hacedor de Reyes (The Kingmakers), founded by Costello Jr.

"How has this treaty been beneficial for them if they're always at odds?" I asked, overwhelmed by the vast history.

Olga nodded, her expression serious. "La Morada Del Diablo controls 11 of the 12 countries in South America. They've been successful beyond imagination." Her gaze locked with mine, and I stood stunned by the sheer scale of their power.

"Any other questions?" Olga raised an eyebrow.

I could only shake my head, still trying to process everything.

"Good. Listen up. This information could save your life one day." Olga paused, scanning the room. "These are your mates," she continued, pointing to the girls around us. "The ten of them came from the mafia's last raid."

I nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. She was right. We were all trapped in this hellhole.

Olga's tone turned serious. "I won't say much about the Kingmakers, except this: Never, under any circumstances, get linked to them, especially when you still carry the name La Morada Del Diablo. Understand?"

We all answered in unison, "Yes."

The tension in the room thickened as we shared a collective fear, an understanding that our fates were out of our hands. Olga's eyes softened, but her voice remained cold.

"La Morada Del Diablo is a complex web of connections, more intricate than you can imagine. All 11 countries under its control have presidents. These 11 men are known as 'La Presidentiales' and form the C3 committee, the highest ranks."

"The ranks?" I blurted, forgetting to hold my curiosity in check.

Olga chuckled, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "There are 26 ranks in La Morada Del Diablo, from A1 to Z26. But for us, there are only about 20 attainable ranks."

"Why only 20?" I asked, my curiosity growing.

Olga's eyes hardened. "Because we're women, and this is a male-dominated system. Even the top women—Donnas and El Capones—can only reach B2. The highest any woman has ever achieved is J10, and she's dead."

Her bluntness stung, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of grim respect for her honesty. This was a harsh reality, one I was just beginning to understand.