The Evil Stepsister (Fairytale Killers #2)

Vodka Had A Way Of Making Men Brave

The limousine taking Carmela to her new life was thankfully Rawlings, The Elder, free. It didn't make it less awkward: Jack didn't even acknowledge her, tense in his seat.

As far away from him as humanly possible, one with the car's opposite door, Carmela looked again at her phone, no sign from Caterina. The sisters didn't really fight, and when they did, it rapidly sorted itself out. Carmela was not afraid of losing her sister. She was afraid of her revenge.

"Where are we going?" she had a feeling, the road was a familiar one.

"My penthouse," Jack said. Above Entropy, she knew from Caterina, stalker extraordinaire.

Carmela didn't answer, looking out the window.

On her night with Oz, after they'd left Entropy, he took her to his hotel, walking distance. A luxury one--their clothes stood out, especially hers. She looked like she had been rented for the night, the receptionist giving Oz the key trying not to stare as Carmela hanged on him, her hands busy at all times. Making out in the elevator, stopping because of an unexpected interruption in the form of a service cart and a gloved maid, getting out on his floor, hitting walls like a horny pinball to his door.

Entropy was visible, its name burning orange on the night sky. They were almost there.

***

Franco made sure all his neighbors heard the party to celebrate his daughter's engagement by ramping up the volume of that melange of Turkish, Greek and Reggaeton that Romanians cried and danced on--usually both at the same time.

Oz had escaped Franco's threats, not without personal sacrifice. Surrounded by bottles and glasses with stinging smells, he was at risk.

"Let's drink until we see two of them again," the old man downed another tiny glass of transparent hard liquor. Țuică, Franco cheered with his men.

Oz was about to head for his room when a too familiar blonde ponytail flopped in Stan's former chair, the henchman lost with Viorel in the background, embraced in a dance that looked solely invented to help drunk people hold each other up.

Then again, a lot of things connected with alcohol in Oz's mind. Caterina looked exactly like Carmela when he first saw her in Entropy: too hot to be looking at him, him thanking God that vodka had a way of making men brave.

Without it, he waited for Caterina to say the words.

"So, driver, what do we do?"

***

Jack Rawlings started being more aware of Carmela on the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Although the walls pulsed, no music was audible. By floor seven, the pounding stopped.

He invited her out on an empty hallway, one door at the end.

She catwalked in front of him on her way to it, like she'd been raised to do. He opened a door that led to an apartment overseeing the city.

"Want something?" he went to the drinks cabinet.

"Vodka orange," Carmela said.

His first honest smile, "I thought Margarita was your favorite drink."

It was. On social media, where Caterina posted.

"I'm feeling... exploratory," she smiled seductively, but she could tell he didn't quite believe it. She was awkward, she disappointed herself. Getting a man into bed had never been a problem of hers.

"So," she bit the bullet, "What do you want me to do?"

Jack was caught off-guard by her question. He hesitated, "I just need to get some things ready," he showed a door.

Carmela stared at it until he explained, "That's the dungeon," perfectly aligned teeth in a smile that was rare on him. She didn't react, using all her energy to stay calm.

"Before I do, and I apologize in advance if this kills the mood, but... we're still playing our game, right?" his eyes locked with hers.

"What game?!"