The Evil Stepsister (Fairytale Killers #2)

Women Who Talk During Dinner

"You the new Chastity Belt?"

Oz needed a full second, "What?!"

Both Franco's henchmen measured him, head to used boots. Oz's undercover outfit consisted of dark jeans and a metal t-shirt. Beard that hid his face in a brown bush, climbing his head to die there, unwashed.

"Sent by The Ryders?" the small man who collected guns at the entrance asked.

"Yup," Oz confirmed his cover story, as told to Franco by Riverside PD's one competent informer. It was all Franco needed: the city's crime families were as proactive as the DAs who kept missing the opportunity to arrest them.

"He's too pretty," the big man who searched people said to his co-worker.

"Meh," the small man felt Oz's biceps with a stare. "I don't think he's their type."

"What?! I'm here to help in a--" Drug deal, but Oz shouldn't know why Franco asked for secret backup from allies, so he stopped.

"Yeah, go with God," the big man laughed. Viorel Moldoveanu, his thick enforcer file said. Liked beating people, harmless in rest.

Oz went into Franco's office, to see what his undercover mission consisted of. Probably to move a larger quantity, which coincided with Captain's plan to advance his local political career, so Oz finally got his big break: first solo mission, the chance to erase years of shame.

"Close the door," Franco's wide hat hid half his face, stacks of bills and a mustache, the other.

"Oscar Oprea," he raised his eyes to evaluate Oz. "Romanian. Why all the way across the ocean?"

"You know, visiting," Oz deadpanned.

"Haha, there's my wife's Romanian humor," Franco's mustache became friendly. "Good for the job, cause my daughters are a handful."

Oz stared in response, lacking the imagination to ask for more details.

"So you've heard about my good relationship with the Rawlings and our impending merge?" Franco asked no one, because he continued, "And how his son was waiting for my youngest daughter to turn sixteen--to make it official."

Some disgust must've seeped on Oz's face, despite efforts to stay in character, because the small-time money-recovering expert explained away, "Old Romanian habits, you know."

Oz nodded, knowing Franco's name was Francis and that he had nothing to do with any ethnicity he was representing, to advertise his enforcement business. Neither did The Rawlings, one of the founding families of Riverside, religious leaders of a small cult, liberal about the color or nationality of the hand that gave them money. Their followers were on a decreasing curve lately, directly proportional to the internet's popularity spurt. Some of their practices were just too insane for YouTube.

Franco, their unofficial asset recovery manager, was Romanian by marriage, though: Alina Walter raised their three daughters, all kept hidden from the world, the too-young-for-Franco woman not speaking a word of English. Never talked to anyone but her husband, the informer said.

Franco showed an old photo on his desk: a family centered around a younger him, his hands on his youngest daughters' shoulders. Three identically dressed girls with puffy hairdos, matching their mother's. Hair so black that it looked three-dimensional, popping out of the frame. "So, apparently the merge will have to happen faster than that. Luckily I have two more daughters he can choose from. But the entire affair hinges on one single... archaic detail."

Oz's eyes had progressed in size and disbelief ever since Franco had started his wild story, so the square man explained, "Rawlings wants a virgin, raised correctly, not some modern woman who talks during dinner. We were preparing Catalina, but since she's still a minor and we're in a hurry, either Carmela or Caterina will have to do, we have little time to waste. They've been raised more or less the same, just without the promise of a prosperous business opportunity. Just in case it knocked," Franco winked.

"I thought this was about extra security on a shipment," Oz didn't move a muscle on his face.

"It is. We are delivering to the Rawlings their most expected gift. Promised to them seventeen years ago, when they'd saved my business with money I've already paid back." Franco paused for dramatic effect, "We're talking honor here."

Oz nodded seriously, ready to get out of there. There was no way he was getting involved in Franco's personal shit. Who was still talking, "In the interest of that, my daughters need to be kept away from trouble. I got Viorel and Stan to help me guard them against my many enemies, but I need someone who can approach a longer than a two-step plan, first being always 'knife fight'. I don't even know you, but you have to be smarter than that. I told the Ryders to send me a serious guy who can threaten an approaching flirt with just his tattoos."

The tattoos Oz sported had been temporarily painted over with darker images and added lyrics that mentioned death and violence.

"So, drive them around, watch the hungry crowd, tame some love interests. They've been kept from temptation for twen--Is something funny?"

"It's just... it's almost 2020," Oz tried.

"Yes I know, you modern people and your smartphones. It's good that you have them, but it's nothing compared to a good wife. Who can cook, take care of you--generally behave, as she should. Fewer and fewer men understand that, but I provide a useful service that takes years to blossom."

Franco's hand went to his phone, "And if you think I would just tell you all this and let you say no, then I need to call the Ryders again. Explain better the importance of my problem."

"I need to make one quick phone call."

***

“The man is insane!”

It was a relief to be out of the mansion with way too many security cameras decorating its white walls and columns. On the forged gate, golden tips screamed of stacks of unearned money. Oz kept the phone to his face, sweat melting them together.

“So,” Captain Rio's digital voice summarized. “The man we are trying to bring down invites you into his home and lets you have unprecedented access to his family, and you… don't want to?”

“What?” Oz's day was the worst. “You want me to continue?” He tried reasoning, “It's just… weird, sir. He talks about his daughters like they're furniture.”

“All more reason to move forward, they get rid of him. I can send someone else, though.”

The Captain wanted his name in the papers.

“No, I can do this, I just didn't think it would be something we wanted to dig deeper into. It's no longer a clear cut drug bust.” Oz was not used to hearing police interest over wacky stories, especially not so soon after The Fairytale Killer.

“We want to bring Rawlings down. Franco too, but he's not the main target anymore. See what illegal activities you can get them with, report back to me.”

There was a pause, then the Captain asked, “If you think it's too much…”

“No,” it was time for Oz to put his career back together. “I just didn't think you'd move ahead.”