The Evil Stepsister (Fairytale Killers #2)

It Was How Carmela Operated

"I didn't tell her about the tape," Carmela admitted under Caterina's questioning look, one step into their room.

Her sister was seated on one of the beds, interchangeable between the twins on a nightly basis. The other bed lacked Carmela to be a copy of it. 

"I'm going to delete it," she announced.

"You're going to delete your Max?!" Caterina was concerned, "Mom must've been rough."

"Just to be safe. I think it's not worth it to fight Franco openly. I'm going along with you two," Carmela said. "At least until the visit. We'll see then."

"Mom said to make the driver leave," she moved to her new task, as instructed. "No idea how. I don't know if he remembers that night, he was pretty out of it."

As usually when there was a devious plan, Caterina's eyes shined with opportunity, "Let's drive him crazy!"

"No, simple and clean," Carmela knew she was on probation from her mother. "I was thinking about whether or not he remembers me. If he does, he's hiding it. If not, he's going to be very surprised learning he's the Chastity Belt of a woman he's already slept with. Both cases, he doesn't want me saying anything about it."

Caterina beamed, "Use that sex tape, scare him off."

Carmela nodded. "Then I delete it."

She didn't want to let go of her video, as much as she hated admitting it. She liked everything about it. The bad light, the weird angles. The way half of it they were offscreen, only their legs in the frame. The way they enthusiastically decided to go with anal, then just gave up before they even started, because they had sobered enough to know they were still too drunk for that. Even so, there were many sex scenes to choose from, as the video consisted of uninterrupted four hours of clumsy acrobatics because of which Carmela forgot the camera on. Her plan had been to film just some of the action, to use as collateral later, but the video ended up containing the bulk of their hotel bed activities, the phone dying while they were in the jacuzzi, after an hour of filming the empty bed.

Despite its imperfections, it had replaced her previous Max video. It was how Carmela operated: found a guy she liked, had sex with him, decide if it was worth saving for eternity, ask for permission, usually got it, then decided if it was better than the previous. If it was, the video became her Max, to be used when needed. Otherwise, it would get deleted. After that night, because she had been unreachable by phone, Franco was made aware of the sisters' night out in the town, so Carmela had little opportunity to meet someone better. If she were honest with herself, she didn't try that much, because Franco forgot about the incident over a few weeks, so she could easily return to her old activities. She got out a few times, never even started recording. There was no point, she was going to delete it, later.

The driver was behind the wheel of the luxury SUV designated to drive the sisters. He spent hours in there, while Viorel and Stan played table. The porch, the garage, and its upstairs floor -- Franco's office -- were the areas where the henchmen could roam. Behind the house, the gardens and swimming pools were family accessible only.

Viorel and Stan looked at each other. There was a saying around the Walter house, about the twins. "When you see both of them coming at you, run. But when you see only one of them, run for your life."
 
The driver was all comfortable in Franco's leather seat, his formerly black jeans looking like they'd disintegrate into dust when taken off. He wore a suit in Entropy, black with a thin tie, he looked like a businessman man on his way to Europe, especially when in the expensive room of the hotel he was staying at. It was common, especially among Franco's friends, for men to spend money on clothes and parties, impressing women, living the nightlife like rich people, despite going back to their barracks in the morning to guard another drug shipment, in rubber boots and overalls.

He waited until she got in the passenger seat and closed the door, for privacy. He was at least surprised, if not scared. In daylight, his eyes were lighter than she remembered. She remembered them brown, like in that poorly lit hotel room video, but they were more like tree crowns, brown that seeped into green. 

Carmela tensed, remembering she was there on a mission. 

"Need a ride somewhere? Where's the other?" he made it easier on her.

"It's only me, Ibiza Twin," she saw his eyes widen, confirming he also remembered their night together. Which made Carmela focus on the garage door, "So you do know you're in deep shit with Franco. Leave, and I won't show him the video."

He didn't move, turned in his seatbelt to see her profile. Hopefully more dignified than she felt.

"You're gonna go to Franco?" he asked, then leaned his head on the headrest.

"Yeah, it's not me who's in danger if this gets out. He loves us," Carmela said the lie she'd grown up with. "You, on the other hand, are a very disappointing Chastity Belt."

Viorel and Stan left to get more beer, cans from their previous run thrown around their plastic chairs. Because there was no answer from inside the car, Carmela had to turn her head to him, forcing him to talk.

"Why do you want me gone so badly?" 

"Why do you want to stay so badly?"

It was the first time she saw a flicker in his eyes, like she hit something, before he shut them to block her. Maybe he did come for her, it crossed her mind, because he avoided her stare. Like in the movies, to save her from Franco.  

"Let's just say I didn't know you'd be here when I took this job, but I'm glad that you are," he said. He was back to grinning at her.

Carmela was too surprised to say anything. It scared her, so she defaulted to her mother's tone.  

"You have twenty-four hours until I show the video to Franco, causing two things to happen: I escape Rawlings, and you get shot in the face. Please just leave."

"Can I see it?"

Carmela gave up on avoiding a direct staring contest and glared at him, which only made him unnecessarily explain, "The video?"

"You... already know what's on it," Carmela faced his open amusement.

"How do I know you have it and didn't delete it?" he poked her.

"I'm not sending it to you!"

"A still or something. I mean, maybe you're bluffing. Show me on your phone."

Rolling her eyes, Carmela took out her phone. Just seeing the thumbnail of their video, and she already regretted her decision. She muted the volume and searched for something decent to show. Minute 24, her on her stomach, still positioning the camera, him kissing her back to get her attention. No. Minute 58, she was in his arms, his back to the phone that had found its place on a nightstand, her forgetting it was there and had a clear view of her face over his shoulder, arms and legs around him. Nope. Minute 145, all Carmela, as all he did was lay there and feel her breasts from time to time. Nooo. Minute 203, two big hairy legs over two tan, smoother ones, entangled. A clear shot of them running naked into the bathroom, to try the jacuzzi. Carmela sighed. Maybe from the beginning of the night was better, she rewinded with her finger barely touching the screen, as if dirty by association.

While focused on her phone, his big palm entered her view, shadowing her bare leg one second before she felt his touch going for the inside of her thigh. She stood still, moving her eyes to the empty plastic chairs surrounding the can covered table. 
 
The tightly wrapped dress ended where her legs began, so it did little to block his inspecting of the outline of her underwear lace, stiff on her skin when he tried to push it sideways. Seeing Viorel enter the garage, Stan not far behind, Carmela tightened her legs together, finally pushing the conquering hand away, but they both knew it was kinda late for outrage on her part. 

To compensate, Carmela's back straightened as she said, eyes on Franco's henchmen rearranging themselves in their chairs, "You have until tomorrow at eight."

She hesitated for a second when opening the car door -- she was in a hurry to get out, so she was afraid she'd fumble and seem weak, which was unacceptable. Focusing on the handle, she put her hand on it, calmly opened it, then catwalked out of the garage. Viorel and Stan watched her with matching amused expressions, knowing exactly how it felt like to be targeted by the twins, to be forced to help them. The men were happy that now drobul de sare was hanging over the new guy's head.