Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

and Carmen during their anniversary party. Carmen’s arm is wrapped tight
around my waist, keeping me close to her side where I’d stay for years, like
an idiot.
Rafe stares on, oblivious. The way we needed him to be.
And then one day, he wasn’t.
Things were never quite the same.
Which I suspect is why he’s being so cagey now—this has all the
makings of a setup, and the idea that he’s trying to lure me into some kind of
trap has my blood boiling.
Especially since he hasn’t asked me to do a single job for him since I
initiated our little arrangement, and while I’d begun to think that meant he
was accepting my retirement, now I’m realizing that maybe his plan all along
was to take me out in a more creative fashion.
Beside the picture frame, the pendulum sculpture keeps ticking, making
the muscle beneath my eye twitch with each swing.
After a moment, Rafe clears his throat, and when he speaks again, the
sadness is completely absent. “I want money. You fucked me over in this
Bollente deal, and I had to square off a nice portion of Ricci business just to
get out of it.”
“I wasn’t the one who told you to sell your daughter,” I say. “Or who
asked her to come to my bed.”
“Just like you never asked Carmen, right?” he spits, growing more
agitated with every passing second.
I never went to Carmen, I want to say. It was always her coming to me.
But I don’t.
Sucking in a deep breath, I steel myself against the rage building like
water behind a levee, threatening to drown me in its ferocity. I focus on the
smooth swing of the pendulum, blocking out everything until all I can hear is
the ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
An itch crawls deep beneath the surface of my skin, and I round my desk
as Rafe drones on, pulling the pistol out from the drawer. Lining it up, nerves
eating at the steadiness in my grip, I unlock the safety and pull the trigger,
watching as the bullet sparks across the room.
It passes clean through the picture frame, fracturing the glass in an