Hannah's Chance
Copyright© 2025 by jackmarlowe
Chapter 7
Hannah stepped into Il Club Delle Maschere, finding the dimly lit room humming with soft jazz, the murmur of hushed conversations, occasional outbreaks of laughter and the clink of crystal. She paused at the threshold, feeling a little uneasy at being there alone and wishing that Maria was with her. A server had seen her enter and approached, offering her a flute of champagne, which she accepted. She sipped it and moved deeper into the club.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Rossi among the peacocks, foxes and lions, but she couldn’t immediately spot him. Instead, her gaze landed on a familiar figure near the bar - Reddy, Tanaka’s CFO, wearing a simple black domino mask. He was leaning in close to a woman in a peacock mask, his expression intense. Hannah froze, her pulse quickening. He was one person she wanted to avoid at all costs. Or did she? She remembered Clare’s instruction to find out why Reddy was rattled over their potential involvement with Tanaka.
She turned away quickly, melting into a shadowed alcove behind a potted fern. The champagne flute trembled in her hand. Why was he here? Was it coincidence, or was he following her around? She remembered the owl’s question about Tanaka charting a course forward without its biotech holding. The idea echoed in her mind that this was what Reddy was so opposed to. Her breath hitched as she watched him gesture sharply, his companion nodding before slipping away into the crowd. He remained at the bar, nursing a drink, his eyes now scanning the room.
A low voice spoke near her ear, startling her. “Where’s the other beautiful brunette?” Alessandro Rossi materialized beside her, a panther mask accentuating the sharp lines of his face.
“Maria had a dinner to attend,” Hannah replied, keeping her voice steady. She gestured subtly towards the bar. “But look who did turn up.”
Rossi followed her gaze, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “Reddy. How ... predictable.” He motioned for her to move away from the alcove and sit down in a nearby booth. “He knows that something’s going on, but he doesn’t know what. He’s sniffing around, hunting for information.”
Hannah kept her voice low. “My boss wants me to find out why he’s so agitated. She thinks Tanaka’s hiding something.”
“He certainly is hiding something,” Rossi murmured, his gaze still fixed on Reddy. “The question is, does he know that we know he’s hiding something?”
Hannah watched as Reddy’s eyes swept past their booth, lingering for a fraction too long. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. “He suspects that I do. He cornered me earlier - asked about you.”
Rossi’s chuckle was a low rumble. “People are always asking about me.”
“I need to give my boss an answer,” Hannah pressed, her knuckles white around the champagne flute.
Rossi leaned back, swirling his own drink. “Tanaka has a looming liquidity crisis, which they’ve largely managed to keep quiet. But it isn’t down to mismanagement. It was orchestrated.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “By him.”
Hannah’s gaze snapped back to Reddy. “He sabotaged his own company?” she whispered, incredulous.
Rossi put his mouth close to her ear. “Not sabotage for profit. For control. The divisions in Tanaka’s board run deeper than you think. Reddy engineered the liquidity crisis on behalf of a faction that wants to force a new share issue - one that would consolidate power in their hands.” His breath continued to warm her ear. “Your solution could make the share issue unnecessary. If they divest their bleeding assets the liquidity problem goes away - and they never get to their endgame.”
“How deep is their financial rot?” Hannah whispered.
“It’s largely an illusion to create instability and further fracture the Tanaka board. Reddy’s fear is that the illusion will be exposed before he can use it to his advantage and emerge holding the reins.” He paused. “You can’t tell your boss the full story. Just tell her that the Tanaka board divisions run deep and that Reddy represents the faction opposed to your proposal.”
The music suddenly stopped and Hannah watched as Reddy pushed away from the bar and moved towards the exit. “He’s leaving.”
“Good,” Rossi murmured. “He knows he’s outmatched tonight.” He turned his eyes to a group of scantily-clad dancers heading toward the stage. “Or perhaps he just doesn’t like cabaret.”
Hannah watched Reddy disappear into the foyer, her mind racing. The liquidity crisis was manufactured? Reddy had been playing a long game, sacrificing Tanaka’s stability to seize power. Her solution threatened everything. “Clare needs something credible,” she pressed. “If I tell her it’s board infighting, she’ll demand specifics.”
Rossi’s fingers traced the rim of his glass. “Then give her a name. Chen represents the faction opposing Reddy. Tell her Chen reached out privately, concerned about Reddy’s aggressive opposition to his plans.” His smile was razor-thin. “It’s even true. Chen despises him.”
Hannah absorbed this. Clare already knew that she’d been speaking to Chen, so the story was plausible. “So Reddy’s faction wants chaos to force their coup. My solution prevents that chaos.” She paused. “But why would the scarab beetle want Tanaka saved if it’s this fractured?”
The dance troupe were ready, the stage lights brightened, the music swelled, and they began their performance. Rossi’s gaze was fixed on the stage, caught in the dancers’ spell, but he answered her nevertheless. “He’s been quietly acquiring shares for years. It would be a shame to liquidate his position now.”
Hannah’s mind raced. The scarab beetle wasn’t just intent on stabilizing Tanaka, he was positioning himself to profit from its recovery. Rossi had hinted as much earlier. But why involve her? Why the elaborate audition? The dancers twirled, their sequins catching the light like scattered coins, their bodies intertwining, separating, then finding one another again.
The audience looked on as the dancers moved in perfect synchronicity, their bodies flowing like liquid silver under the stage lights. Rossi watched them with detached fascination, but Hannah’s thoughts churned. Her restructuring plan for Tanaka wasn’t just a business solution, it was part of a battle for control of the company, a weapon to be used in a civil war.
She leaned closer to Rossi, who was still gazing at the stage, her voice barely audible over the music. “The scarab beetle - he’s using my work to strengthen his position against Reddy’s faction.” It wasn’t a question. The pieces had clicked into place - the urgency, the secrecy, the masked meeting. Her success with the demo today had made her indispensable to his plans.
The dance troupe took a bow to generous applause and Rossi finally turned from the stage, his eyes dark behind the panther mask. “You’re the cavalry,” he murmured. “Precise, unexpected. Reddy’s faction assumed they were fighting ghosts. Now they hear the bugle and before long they’ll see the sabre.” He signaled a waiter for another drink, his movements languid. “But be careful. Cavalry charges can be beaten if the enemy has the right tactics against them.”
Hannah’s champagne had gone flat. She set the flute down. “What happens next?”
Rossi’s attention lingered on the dancers exiting the stage. “The scarab will move quickly now - consolidate shares, pressure Reddy’s allies.” He turned to her, the mask casting deep shadows over his eyes. “Clare will push for the Keller bid. You’ll need to deliver it flawlessly.”
A waiter arrived to provide them with more drinks. Behind him a tall man climbed the steps to the stage, his suit dark, his mask also plain and dark, giving him the air of a figure who had no need for ornament. He didn’t raise his hands or call for quiet - the quiet found him, settling over the room as though everyone knew instinctively that his words mattered.
He spoke in Italian and then repeated his words in English. “Thank you to our cabaret dancers, they delight us every time. But now - a tradition we hold dear - our guest opportunity spot. An open invitation to claim the stage for yourself and show us some dance moves of your own.” He swept a hand toward one side of the stage, the spotlight following as if at his command.
A murmur coursed through the crowd, anticipation sparking like a fuse. Rossi glanced at Hannah and she tensed, returning his look. His expression was unreadable behind the panther mask, but his posture had sharpened, a coiled stillness replacing his earlier languor. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, the unspoken question hanging between them. “Would - she - dare?”
A woman in emerald silk had made her way forward, her heels clicking as she approached the steps. Heads turned, masks tilting as the audience murmured appreciation and curiosity. A ripple of eager whispers followed her, punctuated by soft claps, as if the room itself were leaning forward to see what would happen next.
The woman reached center stage and stood there a moment. Her mask was a delicate lattice of gold and green, and it caught the stage lights like stained glass. Then, with a flourish, the music surged again, and she began to move - slow, deliberate, mesmerizing. Hannah found herself leaning slightly forward, captivated by the rhythm, the precision, and the daring of someone commanding attention without a word.
The woman moved with effortless grace, with a confident sway of her hips and her arms carving through the air like brushstrokes. She wasn’t as slick as the professional dancers, but she still owned the stage and the crowd gave her their full attention, following her every move.
Eventually her movements slowed to a stop and she stood center stage, turning around to face away from the audience. Her hands moved behind her and came to rest on the zipper of her dress. Hannah felt the collective intake of breath around her. The woman’s zipper slid down a fraction, revealing a sliver of pale skin. A slight gasp ran around the room. Then the zipper came down further, exposing more skin. Hannah glanced sideways at Rossi. He was leaning forward, his gaze fixed on the stage, his expression unreadable behind the panther mask.
The zipper stopped halfway down the woman’s back. She then continued her dance, gliding around the stage again, before returning to center stage, turning away from the audience once more. Now the zipper came down further, slowly but surely. Hannah watched, transfixed, as the fabric parted to reveal the woman’s entire back and the audience held its breath.
The woman’s hands moved to the straps of her dress. Hannah watched, mesmerized, as the silk pooled around the dancer’s ankles, leaving her clad only in shimmering lingerie beneath the spotlight. There was a burst of applause from the crowd, a wave of admiration and appreciation washing over the room. Hannah glanced at Rossi again and found him still fixed on the performance.
The woman on stage stepped back into her dance, the lingerie catching the light with every fluid twist. Eventually she struck her final pose and then took a bow in her bra and panties, a triumphant smile on her face. She gathered her dress and exited to thunderous applause. Rossi leaned back slowly, his intense focus on the stage now over, his fingers drumming on the tablecloth. “What daring,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The rarest currency here.”
The stage wasn’t empty for long, as the host reappeared, automatically hushing the audience. Again he spoke in Italian and then in English. “The floor remains open,” he announced. “Any guest who feels bold enough,” he said, gesturing toward the crowd, “tonight is your night.”
Rossi’s fingers stilled their drumming. He turned his head slowly, the panther mask making his gaze inscrutable as it locked onto Hannah. “You’ve proven you can play with sharks,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate despite the surrounding buzz. “And I congratulate you on your successful demo today. A job done very nicely. But can you command a room?” The challenge hung in the air, sharp as broken glass. He didn’t gesture toward the stage. He didn’t need to. The implication was clear - this was another test, one she hadn’t anticipated.
Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs. The woman’s daring display hadn’t just been entertainment, it was a gauntlet thrown. To refuse would brand her cautious, predictable – secretary material. To accept meant stepping into the spotlight, vulnerable and exposed, under the gaze of predators like Rossi and whoever else watched from the shadows. She thought of Clare’s skepticism, Reddy’s haunted look, the scarab beetle’s hidden agenda. This wasn’t just about dancing, it was about owning her newfound power, proving she wasn’t just riding the current but could create her own waves.
Rossi’s expectant silence was heavier than any command. Hannah stood abruptly, the scrape of her chair loud in the sudden lull. Heads turned, masks tilting as she walked toward the stage, her silver half-mask feeling flimsy armor against the collective scrutiny. The host’s eyes widened slightly as she ascended the steps, the polished wood cool beneath her heels. The spotlight hit her like a physical force, blinding and hot. For a heartbeat, she froze, the vast, expectant darkness beyond the light swallowing her resolve.
Then she thought of Clare’s dismissive stare, Reddy’s panicked retreat, the scarab beetle’s cold assessment. This was her arena now and she was ready to perform in it. She raised her chin, a deliberate, defiant motion. The audience murmured beneath her, a ripple of curiosity reaching all corners of the room.
She waited patiently and the music began - a slow, sultry beat that pulsed through the floorboards. She didn’t mimic the previous dancer’s overt sensuality. Instead, she moved with a controlled intensity, each step deliberate, each turn sharp. She channeled the tension of the Tanaka boardroom, the calculated risk of her demo, the hidden currents Rossi had revealed. Her movements weren’t seduction, they were declaration. “Watch me. I am not hiding.”
The spotlight followed her like a loyal hound as she pivoted near the stage edge. Her gaze swept the masked faces below - predatory lions, watchful owls, inscrutable serpents. She imagined Rossi’s assessing stare, the scarab beetle’s hidden scrutiny. This wasn’t just dancing, it was a statement in motion. “I belong here.” Her arms cut through the air, not in invitation, but in challenge.
The music swelled, strings layering over the primal drumbeat. She spun, her simple black dress flaring enough to reveal more of her legs than would normally be seen. A deliberate unveiling. Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd. She met them with a sharper turn, chin high, dress flaring even more. Let them see the cost of this game.
Her movements weren’t fluid grace, they were strategy. A calculated pivot towards the side where Rossi sat, her eyes locking onto the shadowed slits of his panther mask. She held the gaze for a breath, two, projecting defiance. You wanted a show? Here it is.
Then she broke away, moving with sudden, unexpected speed towards the center, her steps echoing the high-stakes gamble she’d taken with Tanaka. She wasn’t just dancing; she was replaying her ascent - the bold moves, the whispered secrets, the cold thrill of outmaneuvering Clare and Reddy.
The music shifted, strings rising in tension. Hannah slowed, facing the audience fully. Her hands lifted, not in seduction, but in a deliberate, controlled gesture that swept from her shoulders down to her hips. It was an unveiling of intent, not flesh. She held the pose, letting the silence stretch, feeling the weight of every hidden gaze. This was her boardroom now.
A bead of sweat traced her spine beneath the black dress. She channeled it into the next movement - a sharp pivot, heel striking the stage like a gavel. Her gaze swept the room again, lingering on the shadows where owls and serpents lurked. “See me”, the turn demanded. “See what you underestimated”. The fabric whispered against her thighs as she arched backward, a calculated risk, trusting her balance as she’d trusted Alex’s last-minute data. For a heartbeat, she was suspended, exposed. Then she snapped upright, chin high.
The music deepened, strings weaving tension through the drums. Hannah moved with deliberate precision toward stage left, where Rossi’s panther mask gleamed in the dimness. She stopped abruptly at the edge, looking down directly into the shadowed eye-slits. Her hand rose, not in invitation, but in a slow, slicing motion through the air - a blade between them. The message was clear - I am not your puppet. A murmur traveled through the crowd. Rossi didn’t move, but she felt the intensity of his stillness.