Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

room beforehand.”
Kal holds up his hand, shaking his head. “No need, Father. We’re
leaving.”
Marcelline ushers the priest from the room, slamming the door shut as she
exits. Kal cringes as it clicks loudly into place, then swallows, walking back
over to the bed. He bends, collecting his things, no longer paying me any
attention.
“Um?” I arch my eyebrows. “Do I get a say in anything? I still don’t even
know what’s going on.” Turning to Papá, I hook a thumb at Kal. “Why didn’t
you stop this? Hasn’t he just ruined your contract with Bollente Media?”
“No, you did that when you decided to sleep with the man.” Papá’s face
hardens, disappointment melting his features. “And because you weren’t
discreet about it, someone has video evidence that they’re using to try and
blackmail la famiglia.”
My throat constricts, the blood rushing to my face as I process his words.
“Someone was watching us?”
Disgust pulls at Papá’s mouth, his lips curling in a sneer. “Someone is
always watching, figlia mia. And now, we’re all paying for your fuckup.”
Glancing over his shoulder at Mateo’s corpse, he shakes his head.
“Can’t we… tell the Elders, or something? Surely, there’s another way.”
“The entity blackmailing us has a very specific set of rules that are to be
followed, or they take us down. And since we have no leads, and no idea who
they are, they quite literally have us by the balls.” Papá cocks his head.
“Besides, if we tell the Elders, they’ll have you killed anyway.”
Kal’s words from before ring in my mind. ‘I’m helping you.’
I swallow as tears prick behind my eyes, trying to will them away, even
as my world spins completely on its axis.
“I thought picking you for this contract was the smart decision. Spent my
whole life trying to keep you out of trouble, sure that if I could just get you
married, everything else would work out on its own.” He sighs, giving me a
once-over. “I thought I could count on you, Elena.”
Sadness curls around my spine like ivy, wrapping so tight it feels like it
might snap in half. My hands lift of their own accord, reaching for him, to
provide comfort or apologies—maybe both.
Anything to erase the despair from his gaze before it burrows so deep
within my soul, I can’t ever clean it out.
“Papá, I’m—”