Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

about your affare illecito. So very grown up and out of character for his little
people pleaser.”
I bristle at the condescension dripping from her words. “I am not a people
pleaser.”
“You so totally are. Not that any of us blame you; we all chose whatever
defense mechanisms worked best against Papá. Yours happened to be the
path of least resistance.”
Scoffing, I reach for a plum, plucking it from the bowl and biting into its
purple flesh. “Well, Papá wasn’t pleased with how my wedding day turned
out, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, God,” she groans, tipping her head back. “He really did steal you
away from Mateo, just like Mamá said. What does he have on you and how
can I help extract you from his clutches?”
“Jesus, Ari,” I say, sweat beading along my hairline and slicking down
my back. “You make him sound like some sort of supervillain.”
“He is one! Don’t act like you’ve suddenly forgotten all the rumors about
him, or the gossip we used to hear from Mamá and her sisters.”
Not husband material, I remembered one zia insisting, though I never
quite understood why. How could a man with the face, body, and mind of a
Greek god not be worthy of marriage?
I suppose if that Greek god were the one reigning over the Underworld,
the way Kal seems to reign over everyone he comes into contact with.
But even Hades took a wife.
Emphasis on took.
Swallowing the bite of plum, I glance around the house again, its absolute
emptiness echoing around me like a vast cavern, neglected by man. How it
sometimes feels like the temperature drops at night, as if his ghosts come out
to play when we’re supposed to be sleeping.
Maybe this is what they meant.
Men in the world of the mafia are all plagued by their demons. I can’t
help wondering what exactly Kal’s might be, and if I’m here to act as a buffer
between them.
“You know,” I say slowly, taking another bite of fruit. “I remember you
mentioning wanting to hook up with Kal at the Christmas party.”
She makes a face. “And? Fucking someone and marrying them are two
different things, E. You’d know that if you’d been with more than one
person.” Pausing, her eyes glaze over for a moment, as if she loses herself in