The woman had several inches of height on Elias—and that was saying something considering he was six foot two. He couldn’t pinpoint her age, but she could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty. Pretty hard to tell with a mask hiding the top of her face and an explosion of blonde hair falling around her shoulders like curtains.
Was that a cape she was wearing?
Usually this level of Vegas lunacy remained in the streets, but somehow the fringe had made it up the elevator.
Elias rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong room.”
Her mouth pulled up at the edges, remaining poised in an unnatural smile that made the hair stand up on his arms. “Nine fifty-six, right?”
Her lips barely moved when she posed the question, so he couldn’t place her accent. Not precisely. But it sounded…Russian. It couldn’t be, could it? That was too big of a coincidence, considering he’d just lost his mind over a girl from the same part of the world. A very faraway part.
His attention ticked to the number on the door, just to be sure he’d memorized it correctly. God help him if he gave Roksana the wrong room—he’d lose his shit. But no, just a second ago, he’d seen his discarded shirt on the bed, left there from this morning. This was the right place. Which meant they’d either double-booked the room, she’d misremembered her own room number or…or what?
He didn’t have a clue.
“You, uh…want to wait here while I give the front desk a call?”
“I’m in the right place,” she murmured, playing with the tie of her cape. “How was your evening with my daughter? She’s always been a bit of a handful.” Her head tipped to the side. “Sadly, not in the way I’d hoped.”
Russian. Definitely Russian.
Discomfort unfurled like a flag in his chest. What the hell was going on here? Surely this wasn’t really Roksana’s mother. She had to be some yahoo who’d heard them talking in the bar, although wouldn’t he have noticed someone this distinctive? And weren’t the odds extremely low that they’d have been within earshot of another Russian?
A memory of the man with the white feather in his hat rose unbidden, but he staved it off. There was a satisfying explanation for this and he was going to find it.
“Who is your daughter?”
Her laughter was high and tinkling. “Roksana. Don’t think to test me.”
A buzzsaw started to spin in the back of his head. Whatever was going on here, it was worrying and he didn’t like Roksana out of his sight. “Where is she?”
“Off making a fool of me, I’m sure. She does it so well.” Her teeth snapped together and she strode into the room.
“Listen, lady—”
Elias’s protest was cut off when men began piling into the room, one by one. He was so stunned by the fact that he hadn’t noticed them obviously loitering in the hallway that it took him a few seconds to try and shut the rest of the intruders out.
They hadn’t made a fucking sound.
Now, they shouldered past, their movements unnatural, jerky, to say nothing of their effortless strength. Elias could handle himself in any fight. He’d spent most of his youth and some of his twenties picking them to show everyone just how much he didn’t give a shit about approval, so the fact that he couldn’t manage to close the door on these men…rattled him.
He made eye contact with the final one to enter and reared back.
There was a white feather in his hat and…
The guy was hollow.
Dead. Lifeless, save the body propelling him forward.
Pride kept Elias positioned inside the door. Pride and the need to understand this woman’s connection to Roksana. Something was wrong with this situation. Way wrong. He wanted every single one of the facts—and he wanted them now, so he could protect her to the best of his ability. She was not…the same as these people.
While she did share the same hair color and slim build as the woman claiming to be her mother, there was none of Roksana’s impishness. This woman’s eyes didn’t sparkle with mischief and hope and occasional nerves. No, there was a malevolence to the person who’d knocked on his door that made him feel wired. On edge. In a way that the worst criminals of Los Angeles had failed to do.
“Come in, come in,” called the woman, perching on the end of his bed and spreading out her cape. “We have much to discuss.”
Elias let the door close and crossed his arms. “I’m fine where I am.”
Her laugh was little more than a baring of teeth. “As you desire, Mister…”
“You can call me Elias.”
“Very well, then I’m Inessa.” She reached out and tickled the chin of one of the surrounding men, eliciting no reaction. “I also answer to Queen of Shadows.” Elias was still processing the absurdity of her words when she swept a hand full of rings along the white comforter. “It’s a shame you didn’t manage to seal the deal with my daughter. It would have made our job so much easier.”