Page 61 of Ruthless Creatures
The first man I’ve had feelings for in more than five years is aRussian mobster.
If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.
The waiter arrives to take our drink orders. Kage tells him to bring the wine list. Then he orders two glasses of Caymus chardonnay for me and Sloane. It’s the same wine we were drinking at Downrigger’s the night I first saw him.
I’m getting the impression he doesn’t miss much.
That must come in handy in his line of work.
When the waiter asks Stavros what he’d like to drink, he tells him he and his companions will have whatever Kage is having.
The table falls into silence when the waiter leaves. I’d say uncomfortable silence, but the Russians and I are the only ones who seem unsettled. Kage looks like a king holding court, and Sloane looks like she’s having the time of her life.
She leans an elbow on the table and smiles at him. “I like your rings, Kage. That skull is badass.”
He gazes at her. After a moment, he exhales a short breath through his nostrils. It’s a laugh, but one that seems to say he knows she’s trouble.
“Thank you.”
“What’s the other one? The signet thingie.”
He slides it off his finger and holds it out to her. She takes it, then examines it with quirked lips.
“Memento mori,”she reads. “What does that mean?”
“Remember death.”
Startled, she glances up at him. The Russians on either side of her sit perfectly still, their expressions blank and their postures rigid.
I’m sitting still, too, but my heart definitely isn’t. It’s about to break right out of my chest.
Sloane grimaces. “Remember death? That’s morbid.”
“It’s Latin. Literally translated, it’s ‘Remember that you must die.’ Legend goes that ancient Roman emperors used to hire slaves to whisper it in their ears during victory parades so they’d be reminded that earthly pleasures are fleeting. That no matter how powerful or great a man was, death would eventually find him.”
He shifts his gaze to Stavros. His lips lift to a small smile. “Death eventually finds us all.”
“It was supposed to be a motivator to lead a meaningful life. It also created a major art movement that had its heyday in the sixteenth century.”
Everyone looks at me.
I swallow. My throat is as dry as bone. My entire body feels like a memento mori sculpture, knowing as I now do precisely who Kage is.
What he is.
“Skulls, decaying food, wilting flowers, bubbles, hourglasses, guttering candles… memento mori artwork features symbolism about the fleetingness of life.” I look at Kage. My voice only shakes a little bit. “All the same symbols you have tattooed on your body.”
His gaze on me is soft, and so is his voice when he answers. “Among others.”
Yes, I’ve seen the others. When I spied on him hitting his punching bag through his living room window.
“Like those stars on your shoulders. What do those mean?”
“High rank.”
I whisper, “In the mafia.”
He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Yes.”
