Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

At least, how he saw it.
To him, it was something that appeared out of nowhere, sprung suddenly
because I was being blackmailed, and needed an out.
It was reckless, and dangerous, and resulted in far more than I ever
could’ve imagined.
But it, just like my decision now, had nothing to do with impulse.
‘Every single decision I’ve made in my adult life has been carefully
coordinated after exhaustive consideration. I don’t take risks unless I’m sure
of the outcome.’ My words to Elena all those weeks ago pop up fresh in my
mind, proof that even back then, I was trying my best to be honest with her.
I couldn’t give her all the details, but I tried.
“Nothing impulsive about it,” I say, gulping down another mouthful of
scotch. “I wanted out of the mafia world, and I’m taking the steps to ensure
that happens.”
“You’ve said yourself you don’t ever actually leave that world.” Setting
his drink down, Jonas folds his hands together, raising an eyebrow. “What
makes you so special?”
“On paper, I won’t exist to these guys. When the feds come for Ricci Inc.,
at least I’ll be left out of it as they expunge my name from their records.”
Pausing, I shrug. “My reputation, the power my name holds, though, that
doesn’t go away. Notoriety is forever, my friend. I’m just stepping back from
the more public aspect of things.”
Blowing out a long breath, he shakes his head. “Boston must’ve done a
number on you, eh? Never thought I’d see the day.”
I don’t reply, leaning back in my chair with a shrug; something shiny
catches in the light beneath my desk, and I bend down, picking a diamond
stud earring up from the floor where it must’ve fallen during one of our many
office trysts.
Its presence causes a lump to form in my throat, burning up the length of
my esophagus, and I grit my teeth against the sensation, flicking the jewelry
into a trash can nearby. Jonas presses his lips together, shifting as if
uncomfortable in his seat.
“Right, so where is the little wife again?”
Reaching out to the computer, I shake my head, pulling up the
Massachusetts government site and double-checking that I have all my forms
together before sending them to the attorney to look over. “Seeing as she
won’t likely be my wife much longer, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”