Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 34
I have halfa mind to chase after her.
Do for Elena what no other has ever done for me.
But it’s all for naught if I don’t figure my shit out here first.
So, even though it feels like returning to Hell when I walk out to the courtyard, I push through the anger bleating against my skull and walk to my end of the table. Palming the back of the padded chair, I stare down for a moment at the uneaten pasta, the glass Elena left behind, smudged with pink lip gloss.
Rafe’s disappeared, probably off to light another cigar, leaving just me and his wife. Carmen slurps at her wine, clearly beyond incapacitated, and giggles. “Trouble in paradise, amore mio?”
Clenching my jaw, I raise my eyes, zeroing in on the suckling sound, letting it fan the flames inside of me, stretching them beyond belief, until I can feel my skin buzzing with the need for violence.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t gut you right here, right now,” I say in a low voice, careful not to reveal just how angry she’s made me. If they know you’re bothered, they use it against you.
Which makes all of this my fucking fault.
“Dio mio, you never were any good at flirting.” She sets her glass down, reaching to adjust the strap of her red dress when it slips down her shoulder. Her fingers curl around it, then pause, and she drops her hand as if suddenly thinking better of it.
Bedroom eyes turn up at mine, and she shifts, tilting her bronzed shoulder as if she’s trying to entice me.
Gripping the chair until my fingernails start to split from the pressure, I resist the urge to laugh in the bitch’s face, knowing that’ll only feed her antics.
“One reason, Carmen.” Reaching for the waistband of my pants, I slide my hand around, dislodging the gun tucked in the back. Smoothing my fingers over the cool metal barrel, I unlock the safety and cock it, pointing at her with the mouth. “Doesn’t even have to be a good one, necessarily. But you’d better think real fucking fast before I make the decision for you.”
She doesn’t even flinch, as if unaware that none of my threats are ever hollow. Fixing her strap with a sharp snap against her skin, she sits up straighter, giving me a bland look.
“You’re not going to kill me, Kallum. If you were, you would’ve done it the second you found me in bed with someone else.”
My side throbs spastically, like my flesh is being carved open all over again after finding myself on the other end of an ambush. In my own home.
It was a rival family member, someone from Southie; if I’d been expecting either one of them to be in my bed, he wouldn’t have had the upper hand.
But you don’t expect the people you care about to betray you right under your nose.
I remember the searing pain where the knife went in, thinking that would be the end of it; at that point, I hadn’t been doing lethal hits all that long, and torture certainly wasn’t something I even thought of when doing Ricci jobs, so when the knife went in, stayed in, and began to move, I remember the shock absorbing the brunt of the initial torment.
I remember waking up mid-surgery; I’d been flown to a nearby hospital after an anonymous tip alerted the cops to my state, and they’d been so concerned with the loss of blood and possible abrasions to my liver and spleen, that no one bothered to clean the wound or try to free some of the broken muscle that would eventually produce the mass of scar tissue on my side.
I remember the pain after the surgery; they called it phantom pains. Said I’d probably feel them the rest of my life, long after everything else healed.
They said I was lucky. That a guardian angel must have been watching over me, because the damage to my spleen had been pretty significant, but they’d managed to repair the rupture.
It was my nineteenth birthday.
I never felt lucky.
Not one time in my life, even with the countless brushes with death, did I feel lucky.
Until Elena.
The chair creaks beneath the weight of my grip, the wood hidden beneath the soft fabric bending at my whim. I school my features, gritting my teeth against the fury building like a cyclone in my chest, spiraling out of control.
Raising my arm, I point the pistol right at her forehead. “We can remedy that mistake now. I certainly don’t want to make the same one twice.”
She swallows, watching me with those glassy eyes. “Elena will never forgive you for killing her mother. She’s hurt now, but she knows who’s always been there for her. She’ll always choose this family over a stranger.”
Releasing my hold on the chair, I begin to slowly creep around the table, keeping the gun trained on her. “You took her away from me, so that little fear tactic doesn’t really apply anymore, does it? What do I care if she forgives me, if she’s not going to be warming my bed and cock at night?”
Carmen scoffs, disgust flooding her features. “As crude and vile as ever, I see.”
I move closer, brushing my index finger over the trigger. “You know what’s crude? The number of times I’ve told your daughter to get on her knees and watched her choke on me. How I’ve broken her skin and lapped at her blood so many times, the flavor is practically embedded into my tastebuds.”
Pausing right beside her, I lift the gun to her forehead, pressing the mouth to her temple. “She gets off on it, you know. The pain. Never looks at me like I’m sick, or deranged, or some kind of monster. I bet, if I got her pregnant right now, she wouldn’t eliminate the problem. She might even beg me to breed her, and do you know why, Carmen? Do you get why I chose her?”
Carmen’s tongue swipes quickly across her lips, beads of sweat popping up where the gun is flush with her skin.
“It’s because she’s as fucked up as me.”
“You can’t talk about my daughter this way—”
The sound of a dull pop cracks against the air like a whip, and Carmen shrieks loudly, jolting in her seat. Even long after the realization sets in that a blank was fired, she still screams, the ear-piercing sounds quickly becoming an irritant to my already frayed nerves.
Her hands come down, clamping around the arms of her chair, and she presses her back as far from me as she can manage.
Which, all things considered, isn’t far. But I appreciate the effort.
Makes it feel a little less like a conquest.
“I’ll talk about my wife any way I please. Because you know what was really vile here tonight, Carmen?” I wait, though she still doesn’t answer. “What you did was vile, and if I didn’t care so much about your fucking daughter, you’d be drifting to the bottom of the Charles right now for fucking everything up so spectacularly.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobs, crumbling under the slightest bit of pressure, just like she used to. It’s a wonder Elena has any backbone at all. “It wasn’t...” She blows out a breath, trying to collect herself. “I was in love with you, Kal. I just didn’t know how to... navigate it. You scared me.”
Her words float to the recesses of my brain, the secret places dormant in the years since our relationship. Part of me expects them to ignite the old feelings, the young and immature sense of accomplishment I used to feel when showered with her affection.
Now, all I feel is empty.
And as I let that feeling take root in my heart, spreading outward, I realize something else.
She may have loved me, but I never loved her.
Losing her never felt like being dismembered, or having the blood drained right from your body, creating a loneliness unlike anything I’ve ever known.
It never felt like spending your life as a sinner and finally getting a taste of Heaven, only to have it ripped right out from beneath your fingertips.
But it takes a woman like Elena to elicit feelings like that. It requires kindness, and warmth, not the kind of fires lit just for the hell of it, but the kind of flames that flourish with passion and understanding and just a touch of darkness.
It’s her innate goodness that makes the loss fucking unbearable.
Without her, I feel like one half of a soul, existing aimlessly, waiting for the earth to reclaim me the way I have so many others.
Months ago, when I forced her hand, I hadn’t even realized anything in my life was missing. Didn’t realize I wanted someone there to balance me out, to peel back the curtains and shed a little light, so long as I also got to paint her in shadows.
She’s only been gone for minutes, and all I can focus on is her absence.
Anguish claws a path up my spine, leaving behind bloody, gaping wounds that only deepen with each passing second I spend not chasing after her.
Carmen’s still sobbing, fake tears staining her cheeks, and I drop the gun slightly, shaking my head. “It’s a nice sentiment, but it’s an entire decade too late. And frankly, I don’t want your explanation. The only one who deserves it is Elena, because she’s the one who cares about you.”
Flicking my wrist back, I whip it forward, lashing the barrel of the gun against her cheekbone, reveling in that familiar crack that resounds at the impact. She screams, her hands flying to her face as she chokes on her saliva.
“Let that be your fucking lesson here,” I say, stepping away. “You get to live, because I don’t care enough to kill you.”
As she continues screaming, I drag a hand through my hair and leave her there, heading inside, my chest somehow lighter than ever despite everything else going on.
Rafael leans against the staircase when I pass through the kitchen, smoke billowing up around his head. “You didn’t mean to fire a warning shot, did you.”
He doesn’t ask, just states his sentence as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, lifting a shoulder. “Sounds like you already know the answer to that.”
Grunting, he takes another puff, watching me. “I’ll kill the kidnapping story, if you pay what you owe me.”
Blinking, I almost laugh, tucking my pistol into the back of my pants. “I don’t owe you anything. I don’t even think anyone is interested in your fabricated story anymore.”
“That contract you fucked me out of with Bollente cost me a quarter million. I shut down the Montaltos in King’s Trace and sold what product we had there, but if the Riccis have any chance at withstanding all this, the blackmail, the debt collectors, the feds snooping when they realize I’m not paying the local police to turn a blind eye anymore... I need financial support, Kal. Don’t fucking think you’re screwing me out of this, too.”
Smirking, I start toward the front door again, brushing past even as he reaches an arm out, trying to stop me; he’s considerably shorter than me, so I just lift my arm, dodging his grip.
“The problem with your appeal, dear Rafael, is that I don’t give a fuck if Ricci Inc. burns to the ground. If it doesn’t, fine. If it does, good riddance.” Yanking open the door, I give him a half salute with my middle finger. “You’ve taken enough of my life at this point as it is. It’s time for me to repay the favor.”
