In front of the windows, one man remained seated while four others rose from behind the table, their eyes fixed on her as the guard patted her down with quick, precise movements. He finished up, then grabbed her by the elbow, delivering her to the table as if she were a prize the other men had won.
Not men,she reminded herself.Demons.
At her approach, the one who hadn’t gotten to his feet—a demon who looked to be in his sixties, with a shock of thick white hair and piercing, steel-gray eyes—gave her the once-over. He didn’t smile.
Rogozin.
“Ms. D'Amico,” he said in his thick Russian accent, gesturing for her to take a seat directly across from him. “Please—join us.”
She did as he asked, and the demons around him followed suit, settling back into their chairs. Every one of them had tattoos and scars—on their faces, their hands, peeking out of shirt collars—ornate symbols and words that mapped the stories of their lives, their crimes. She wondered if they all bore the white ravens.
She wondered—if things went south today—if she herself would end up as another tattoo in their long and colorful stories.
The thought made her shiver, but if anyone else noticed her discomfort, he didn’t say.
Rogozin seemed to be considering his next words, while the rest of the group stared at her unflinchingly. A demon with barbed wire tattooed around his neck winked at her, and Charley had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering.
But she’d come this far. She wouldnotlet them intimidate her.
Dorian and the others were counting on her.
All of Manhattan was counting on her, whether they realized it or not.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. Rogozin,” she finally said, as evenly as she could manage.
He gave a small bow of acknowledgment. “I was intrigued to receive Dorian Redthorne’s message. For long time, I have sought way to meet with vampire royal family.”
“He feels the same way,” Charley said, the lie sliding smoothly from her lips. It was the first of several she’d probably have to tell today—mostly white lies, just enough to grease the wheels, but lies nevertheless. Suddenly, she felt as if she’d spent her whole life training for this meeting. All the cons, all the games, all the expensive outfits and the megawatt charm.
She was the complete package, and today, she’d work it for all she was worth.
“As Dorian mentioned,” Charley said, “we’ve recently come upon some information we thought would be of interest to you. As some of that information relates to members of my own family, he thought I would be the best emissary.”
Dorian had sent word to Rogozin through some of Gabriel’s contacts—a mysterious network neither Charley nor Dorian himself knew much about. They’d told the demon that Dorian had learned of his interest in a piece of Scandinavian art in his collection, as well as the disloyalty festering in the Rogozin organization. Charlotte was to bring the demons a proposal—alone, unarmed, and in good faith—for a mutually beneficial arrangement between the two factions.
Now, Rogozin nodded, his cool demeanor revealing nothing. “I knew your father, Ms. D’Amico. He was… honorable man. I am sorry for your loss. Four years now?”
“Five years, sir,” Charley said, fighting back the familiar sting of tears.
“And your mother?”
“She left when I was young.”
Rogozin shook his head, his frown deepening. “Such shame. Beautiful young girl. No parents.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rogozin. I appreciate your kindness.”
“But you have vampire king to look after you now, yes?”
“Dorian and I have gotten close,” she admitted, forcing herself to keep playing the game—a delicate balancing act of lies and truths, promises and threats. “He’d like to get closer to your organization as well, if you’re amenable.”
“I think he will need bigger bed.” Rogozin and the other demons laughed.
Charley forced herself to laugh right along with them.
Oh yes, we’re all friends here, ha ha ha…
“Coming to us was right thing to do,” he said.
