The shorter one says, “Alexei.”
The other one corrects her, too, with a curt “Nickolai.”
They’re both looking at Kage when they speak.
Sloane gives me a baffled look, as if to say, That’s news to me.
Finally, Stavros tears his gaze from Kage’s. From the corner of my eye, I see Kage smirk.
I know what he’s thinking: he made Stavros blink first.
I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.
Very formal and serious, Stavros says to me, “Natalie. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sloane has told me so much about you. I feel like I already know you so well.”
There’s a faint hint of innuendo in his voice when he says the last part. Around his lips plays a slight, provocative smile. He looks me up and down, taking his time, enjoying it.
That crackle on my left is Kage, bristling.
I squeeze his hand and say pleasantly, “Thank you, Stavros. Sloane has told me about you, too.” I turn to the other two. “It’s nice to meet you both as well.”
They dip their chins to me in unison, but don’t take their eyes off Kage.
For fuck’s sake. In an instant, I lose patience with the weirdness.
I direct my question to Stavros. “Is there a problem here? Because I’m happy to go sit at another table if there is.”
Sloane protests, while surprise flashes in Stavros’s eyes. He quickly quashes it, then says smoothly, “Of course not. Please, join us.”
He sits. The other two follow. Then Kage is pulling out my chair, bending over me as I sit and murmuring, “And you say I’m direct.”
I murmur back, “Life’s too short to sit through pissing contests.”
He tries to suppress a smile, but I don’t miss it.
The moment everyone’s seated, the weirdness begins again. I haven’t even gotten a menu when Stavros says to Kage, “Do you have family here?”
What a strange question. That’s what he leads with? And why does it sound like he’s really asking something else?
The situation grows even more odd with Kage’s reply.
“Here. Boston. Chicago. New York.”
“New York?” says Stavros, his voice a shade sharper. “Whereabouts?”
“All five boroughs. But primarily Manhattan.” His smile is bland. “That’s where I came up.”
Came up? Doesn’t he mean grew up?
Alexei and Nickolai glance at one another.
Sloane and I share a look across the table.
Kage and Stavros haven’t glanced at anyone else.
His voice betraying nothing, Stavros says, “I’m originally from Manhattan as well. Perhaps I know your family. What’s your surname?”
Fed up with whatever the hell is going on, I decide to answer for him. “It’s Porter. Right, Kage?”
After a beat of silence, Kage says softly, “Porter is the Anglicized version. When my parents came to this country from Russia, it was Portnov.”
The sudden freeze that comes over Stavros, Alexi, and Nickolai is arctic.
His face draining of blood, Stavros whispers, “Kazimir?”
Kage doesn’t answer. He simply smiles.
After a moment, his face white and his tone subdued, Stavros says, “Ja izvinjajus. Ja ne xotel vas oskorbit.”
Kage answers with a kingly nod of his head. “Apology accepted. Let’s eat.”
I’m too busy putting two and two together to eat.
I was always shit at math, but this equation is too obvious to miss, even for me.
When Kage told me he was a criminal, he didn’t mean the garden-variety kind. Your average criminal doesn’t buy houses with cash or pilot his own plane or scare the living shit out of three dudes who look like they scare the living shit out of everyone else.
Your average criminal doesn’t understand Russian.
The kind of crime Kage is involved with is organized.
And from the looks of things, he’s running the organization.
I moisten my lips, heart hammering. Noticing my sudden anxiety, Kage hands me my water glass and commands, “Drink.”
I finish the whole thing, wishing it was vodka.
Meanwhile, Sloane watches the unfolding events as if she’s sitting front row at a sold-out Broadway play that she’s been holding tickets to for months.
There’s nothing more the girl loves than drama.
Well, dick. But also drama.
She says brightly, “Isn’t this fun! You guys know each other! Such a small world, don’t you think?”
The three Russians don’t make a peep.
Kage chuckles.
I sit still and try not to let my brain leak out all over my dress.
Kage is in the mafia.
The first man I’ve had feelings for in more than five years is a Russian 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.”