Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

“It doesn’t.” His face reddens, irritation spiking with every new word that
falls from my lips. “At one time, sure. But then you got sloppy, and now your
main source of power comes from alliances.”
“Watch it, Anderson.” Wagging his finger in my direction, he sits
forward, the metaphoric hackles on the back of his neck rising with his anger.
“You’re treading a very thin line between the truth and disrespect here, son.”
Internally recoiling at the nickname, I shrug again, unbothered by his
intimidation tactics.
You can’t conquer what doesn’t fear you, and with us, it’s always been
the other way around.
“The point is,” I continue, ignoring him. “The author of the letter lays out
very clearly what they want, and how they’ll proceed if they don’t get it. You
ready for your entire operation to be outed?”
“Please. The feds won’t come sniffing around unless the local police give
them a reason to, and we won’t have any problems with them. They tend to
cooperate.”
“I’m not talking about cops. But since the other families you do business
with have supposedly been on a strict no-drug rule since the eighties, I doubt
they’ll love hearing about what you’re doing in Maine with the Montaltos.”
Swallowing, Rafe’s tan skin flushes slightly, and he glances at the
computer screen again. “I can’t give them Elena.”
Rapping my knuckles against his desk, I nod. “Your funeral.”
Pushing to my feet, I smooth my hands down the front of my suit and
button my black trench coat. I snatch the flash drive from where it’s stuck in
the side of the monitor, and slip it in my pocket, and turn on my heels to
leave.
Disappointed, but not surprised. There are few things the former king of
Boston’s underworld cares about other than his image. Apparently, his
daughter’s safety also comes up short, which makes my stomach twist as I
reach the door.
I’d been hoping to make this easy, and my entire plan, my freedom,
banked on his desire to protect his family. Now I need to reevaluate my next
step.
I’ve just pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold when Rafe
clears his throat behind me, making me pause. I don’t look back, waiting to
see if it was an intentional sound, my palm flush with the intricate oak in
front of me.