Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller
Chapter 4
I hada teacher when I was younger who swore that our mindsets had infinite power over our lives. She lived and breathed the notion that time was little more than a social construct, and that people have the ability to create their own realities.
She’d say humans are made up of energy, and that energy has a certain magnetism to it that attracts both what we fear and what we desire, and that it was up to us to reflect the kind of life we wanted to the universe so it would be able to deliver.
Incidentally, not a great look for a Catholic school teacher.
Still, standing at the threshold of forever, staring into the soulless eyes of the man who’s haunted my dreams for the last eight weeks, I can’t help wondering if what Sister Margaret said was true.
In the weeks after Kal left me alone in my bedroom, I must have dreamed a dozen times that he’d come back to steal me away from Mateo, though it never continued beyond that.
Is it possible my nightmares morphed into real life?
I glance at Papá, who seems to look everywhere but at me as the priest goes on his spiel about love, quoting Corinthians as if it isn’t obvious this union is a farce. For Christ’s sake, Kal still has one arm wrapped around my waist, one hand collaring my throat, and yet we’re all acting like this is normal.
Like he didn’t just threaten my family if I didn’t acquiesce.
Betrayal burns the back of my throat, liquid fire scorching a path down my sternum, and I strain against his hold once more. Ignoring the hard length pressing between my ass cheeks, and the way it makes my thighs clench, I try to wiggle a hand free.
He tightens his grip, crushing my hip bone, and I wince. Moving my hand back, I brace the meat of my thumb along his leg, digging my nails into his thigh until my fingertips go numb.
The only evidence that he even registers my attack comes when he forces me to bend slightly, shoving his pelvis tighter into my backside; he’s so hard, I can make out the entirety of his erection, hot and heady as it moves into the crack of my ass, the layers of clothing between us no match for it.
His hand momentarily leaves my throat, eliciting a strange, empty sensation in his wake. He wrenches my fingers from his leg, and pushes my hand to my side, before gripping just below my jaw, tilting my head slightly upward.
“Do that again,” he breathes into my ear, a slight strain lacing his voice. “And I’ll fuck you in front of everyone.”
I scoff, my voice just as soft, just as strangled. “You wouldn’t.”
There has to be a line, somewhere. One that not even Kal Anderson will cross, and something tells me fucking your boss’s daughter—a mafia don, no less—while he watches might be the ultimate form of disrespect.
“I would, and you’d love every filthy second of it.”
Okay, then.
He pushes my chin up more, capturing me with his eyes; they’re so dark, endlessly devoid of color, it’s like staring into two black holes and trying to maintain solid footing. “I’m not your enemy, little one.”
“You’re not my friend, either.”
A muscle thumps beneath his left eye, and his gaze drops to my lips. “No,” he agrees, sliding his hand so his thumb brushes over my mouth, plucking my bottom lip like a guitar string. “I’m your husband.”
Before I have a chance to protest—not that there’s anything that I can say anyway, since I did finish my vows—his hand glides around my head, tangling in my hair, and he crashes his mouth to mine.
I’m so startled by the assault that I don’t react, at first. Kal isn’t a kisser. Even the night he took my virginity, debased me in what I thought was every way possible, his lips never once touched mine.
Sure, they slid across every inch of my skin, caressed my most sensitive flesh, and spoke affirmations to my soul, but he hadn’t kissed me.
Now that he is, I don’t quite know what to make of it.
The kiss is gentle, almost sweet, as he eases me into the language of it, guiding my movements before I can fully relax and take part. His fist tugs on my roots, angling me for better access as he coaxes and teases, and my hands reach up to his chest.
I push, reflexively trying to extract myself, and then he’s shifting, smothering, consuming me with his heat, deepening the kiss. My breath catches in my throat as his tongue pushes past my lips, entwining with my own.
It laves over the backs of my teeth, the roof of my mouth, its tip leaving me tingling.
The arm around my waist crushes me to him, fitting our hips together, and the last remnants of my resolve crumble as I melt into it.
Into him.
Our teeth clatter and scrape, the dull sound of a primal coupling creating a low heat in my belly. Tiny kaleidoscopes of bright, neon colors burst behind my eyelids as we wrestle for dominance, our mouths fighting a war my mind doesn’t quite understand.
It’s almost painful, this kiss. Painful in the way being with Kal has so far proven to be—a sharp, sudden ache that feels like being torn open and ripped apart, but your body craves the sensation.
Like you need it to survive.
A low, guttural moan ebbs from his throat, making a home in my bones. The warmth in my belly spreads like a wildfire, burning everything in its wake, until I’m practically climbing his lean form, trying to get him to make the sound again.
Someone claps at our side, snapping me from the moment; my eyes pop open, seeking our audience. The priest smiles, chanting something in Italian that I can’t translate, while Papá looks on and Marcelline studies her white sneakers.
Self-consciousness flares in my chest as I come down, trying to disentangle myself from Kal’s limbs. He resists, pressing one last searing kiss against my mouth, before finally releasing me so suddenly, my knees buckle.
I reach out, grasping his sleeve to steady myself, sucking in a deep breath. My lips feel swollen and raw, and I smooth a finger over them, trying to commit the evidence to memory, since it’s the last kiss I plan on ever having with him.
“Rings,” the priest says, gesturing toward our hands. “You’re skipping steps, Mr. Anderson.”
“Kind of like you skipped courting, proposing, or generally asking for my consent in any of this,” I mutter, watching as Kal reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a burlap pouch and discarding his gloves.
“Would you have said yes?”
I blink, frowning. “What?”
“If I’d asked.” He pulls one ring out, a simple black band, and shoves it onto his own finger, then reaches for mine. “Would you have said yes?”
“I…”
In truth, I want to say yes. That my infatuation with this known killer would’ve led me to do anything he asked of me. But Mamá drilled into my head at a young age that such an admission was practically a death wish, and so instead, I shake my head.
“No.”
Yanking the ring from Mateo off, he tosses it to the ground, replacing it with a solitaire diamond.
His jaw tics. “No?”
Pulling my hand from his, I fold my hands over my arms. “No, Kallum, I wouldn’t have. I was engaged—”
“Didn’t stop you from begging me to fuck you.”
“That was different. It was a—”
“We ask these blessings for them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest interrupts, moving forward and gripping our shoulders. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He hesitates, sunken eyes darting between us. “Er… well, I suppose you can kiss her again, but if you’re going to, I request enough time to leave the 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—”
“Here.” Kal shoves a piece of paper in my hands, cutting me off. I glance down, my stomach knotting even more.
The Commonwealth of Massachusetts Certificate of Marriage.
Somehow, it didn’t really feel real until now.
My hands shake, the certificate slipping from them as anxiety floods my chest, clogging my arteries. “I can’t sign that.”
Heaving a low sigh, Kal catches the paper and drags me over to the bed, positioning the page on top of Mateo’s chest. He pushes a pen between my fingers, then curls his own around them, guiding my signature.
Resentment burns furiously inside me as I watch him effortlessly forge my name as if he’s done it a thousand times.
I avoid looking at Mateo’s lifeless form, my stomach on the verge of rejecting yesterday’s dinner as it is. When Kal lets go, I swing away from him, smothering a sob with my palm.
If I’d known sleeping with Kal was going to result in this, in the complete stripping away of any semblance of freedom I’ve ever had, I never would’ve done it.
Right?
When you spend your life resigned to a certain fate, making yourself comfortable with the inevitable, even an ounce of change can feel like the end of the world.
And while it’s true I didn’t want to marry Mateo any more than I want to be married to Kal, at least I knew what to expect with him. We’d been friends, after all, once upon a time. Back before he sought out power and violence, and decided to wield it against me when he didn’t get what he wanted.
But I could have handled that.
Spent the last several years navigating around it, using it to my advantage, meeting his fists with my own bruised knuckles. It was manageable.
This thing with Kal, though, hasn’t been charted out. I’ve never seen him with another woman, though presumably, there have been many in his thirty-two years.
I can’t even rectify why he was okay with any of this, considering the last time I saw him, he fucked me raw and left before the sun was up.
Only a poem, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, and a black rose remained, making me wonder for a long time if I’d dreamed the entire encounter in the first place.
Touch has a memory.
O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free?
If anything, his parting words, though borrowed from Keats, indicated he wanted nothing more to do with me. Yet, here he is, having just forced my hand, acting as though there was no other choice in the matter.
As Papá leaves to go find my mother, I watch as Kal continues packing up, a sinking feeling weighing in my gut as I remember what else he said to me all those weeks ago.
‘I’m not like the boys from your little private schools. I’ll ruin you and not think twice about it.’
‘So ruin me,’ I’d said, so confident in my ability to withstand it.
Now, I can’t stop wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
