Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

knew he could do it and I needed him to step in, not because I was looking to
become a mentor.
Just another cog in my machine.
I wave Jonas off, gesturing for him to go on as I take another sip of my
drink. He pulls out a small notepad from the inside of his jacket, flipping to a
middle page.
He hesitates, then sighs. “Violet is still rejecting your payments.”
My jaw tics, but I nod still. “To be expected. I didn’t think she’d really
warm up to the idea until she met Elena, anyway.”
Jonas scowls. “Does the mafia princess have a particularly persuasive
tongue?”
His question sends a wave of desire through me, and I smirk. “Not one
she’ll be able to use on my sister, no. I thought maybe if Violet saw me as
part of a familial unit, rather than as some random drifter trying to get to
know her and pay her debts, that she’d be more receptive to the idea.”
“Right.” He taps his thumb on the side of the notepad, pursing his lips.
“About the whole... familial unit, thing.”
Setting my drink down, I pin him with a look. “If this is about me
marrying her again, you need to let it go. What’s done is done, and I’m not
going to be reversing it. She needs my protection from whoever is trying to
blackmail the Riccis, and I need—”
“A wife,” he finishes, setting his notepad down on the desk. I just stare,
confusion jumbling my thoughts, and he shrugs. “I know what the terms of
your trust are. Your lawyer talks a lot when he’s drunk.”
I make a mental note in the back of my mind to find Miles Parker the next
time I’m in Boston and slit his throat.
Jonas’s gaze shifts to the computer, where Elena reclines back on the bed
in her room, stretching her arms out above her head. The movement makes
her tank top ride up, exposing the smooth expanse of her taut stomach,
making me pulse between my legs.
I grip the edge of the desk, trying to get a fucking handle on the visceral
way my body reacts to her.
“Anyway, it’s not that.” Jonas pulls his phone from his jeans pocket,
unlocking the screen and holding it up for me to see.
My name is entered in the search engine’s box, a dozen news articles
trending, some with live updates listed below my scarce bio from when I was
a resident at Boston University. Annoyance ratchets down my spine as I scan