Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

“What…” He trails off, and I turn my head to the side, my eyes focusing
on the wall where a massive replica of Michelangelo’s David hangs,
combining Rafe’s religion with the one thing he despises most: art.
That’s what planted the rebellious gene in his daughter.
Drove her to me.
“Don’t waste my time, Ricci,” I warn, growing impatient with the silence
following his half sentence. I’m way out of line, but I know he won’t do
anything about it.
How do you control Death when it knows your every weakness?
Blowing out a breath, he tries again. “You could protect her.”
Blinking, my gut churning like a tropical storm, I take a step back and
pull the door shut, turning slowly to face him again. I glance at the picture on
his desk, feeling myself get lost in her cappuccino gaze for a moment, before
nodding.
“I could.”
He taps his finger against his chin, then drops both hands to his desk,
twisting his thumb ring as he contemplates. “What will we do about Mateo?
He won’t give her up without a fight.”
Satisfaction settles in my bone marrow, making me lightheaded. Giddy,
almost.
“I’ll take care of him.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow, studying me once again, and he sucks on his teeth;
the suckling sound is a shock to my system, a trigger I’m not expecting, and
anxiety floods my blood before I have a chance to control it.
The response is immediate, growing in urgency as he continues using his
tongue to clean his veneers. My shoulders tighten, my muscles growing taut
as the violent need to end the sound washes over me, blurring my vision.
And for a moment, I see him slumped in his chair with a bullet wound
ripping away the flesh and bone in his forehead. I see myself covered in his
blood as I carve the cartilage and skin from his ears, harvesting them like a
farmer bringing in vegetables.
His voice pulls me from the episode, and I resurface, blinking away the
intrusive thought, as my body tries to readjust to reality.
“I know you don’t do things for me for free,” Rafe says. “What do you
want?”
Inhaling deeply, soaking in the aroma of stale cigars and expensive
liquor, I smother the grin threatening at my lips. My heart rate kicks up, relief