Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

swings back into place, the scent of lobster and marinara sauce heavy in the
air, making my stomach growl.
I haven’t eaten since dinner yesterday, and now that my weight seems to
be a topic of concern, I’m sure that if I try sneaking a bite in before the
ceremony, Mamá will likely have my head.
God forbid there be a hair out of place on my wedding day unless it’s by
her own hand.
Image has always been the most important thing to my family, though,
especially in recent years with the shrinkage of organized crime. They still
exist, but it’s with limited involvement—behind screens, hidden in the
shadows. Papá and his men, along with the other families around the country,
have to be more skillful about the way they conduct business.
‘Control the narrative,’ Papá always says. ‘That way, you control the
story.’
If people don’t think you’re a violent criminal organization, then they
have no reason to report you.
It’s why I’m being married off to the heir of Boston’s premier media
firms, despite the fact that the only feelings I hold for my future husband are
those of disdain.
Not that my feelings matter, of course.
Not in this world.
All that matters to la famiglia is that I keep my head down and abide by
my duties. Help them maintain their power in the most archaic fashion.
Sighing, Mamá places her hands on her hips, scanning me from head to
toe with narrowed eyes. Out of the three Ricci daughters, I’m the only one
who favors the beautiful, former debutante Carmen—we share the same long,
dark hair and golden eyes, while my sisters fair lighter like Papá.
I know the similarities in us affect how she views me. That she finds
little, insignificant things to critique because it’s too late to fix them in
herself.
I wish that knowledge made it easier to stand up to her perusal, but... it
doesn’t.
“All right, ladies. Let’s get a move on. We need to be at the church in half
an hour,” Nonna says, moving to the side of the room where the lunch tray
sits. She plucks an olive from the silver platter and plops it into her mouth,
staining her fingertips with bright pink lipstick.
“Ugh,” a voice moans from the hall. Ariana’s slender form appears in the