Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Unable to get through to the Riccis in Boston and unwilling to leave
Elena at the Asphodel alone, in case there’s some sort of plot to steal her
away from me, I’ve been something of a sitting duck since finding out about
the stories making headlines.
Waiting, watching, biding my time.
Keeping myself locked away from my wife, trying to keep my anger
toward her father completely separate from our little arrangement.
Then Blue, one of Jonas’s employees at the Flaming Chariot, noticed an
out-of-towner who seemed to pop up out of nowhere. No family or friends,
and no interest in doing tourist activities. He’d walk into the bar, take a seat
in a back corner booth and drink beer all day, then disappear at night without
a trace.
He walked with a limp, Blue reported back to Jonas, and had a very
distinct zigzag scar running from the top of his kneecap to the back of his
heel. No one would’ve noticed it if not for the fight he got in during his
second night in town, where he pinned a waiter down for spilling wine on his
table.
I know that scar. Dragged the dermaplane tool that created it through his
thin flesh myself.
Knees is a Ricci cousin, though a shitty one at that. Years ago, he got
caught cooking the books at one of Ricci’s illegal gambling operations, and
rather than send him to the bottom of the Charles like the Elders wanted, Rafe
had me put the fear of la famiglia into him, then excommunicated him from
town.
Last I knew, they weren’t on speaking terms, although his presence in
Aplana proves otherwise. I don’t know what exactly Rafe sent him to do,
couldn’t get him to admit anything, but it’s not happening now.
Jonas should be delivering his head to the post office on the north end of
the island soon.
Taking a small step toward me, Elena reaches out, brushing her
fingernails against my scrub top.
I haven’t practiced in months, but they were the only other thing in the
basement when I arrived earlier, and I hadn’t wanted to run upstairs and risk
Jonas laying into Knees before I could.
Curling her fingers under the hem, she pulls herself closer, leaving just
enough space between us that I can feel the slightest whisper of her breath
against the base of my throat.