Page 16 of Promise Maker

Mr. Martelli checks his watch and says, “You havetwenty minutes to be ready. We leave soon.”

The guard steps aside for me.

Conceding, I head back upstairs.

Gaia has fresh clothes and underwear waiting onthe bed when I step out of the bathroom. I don’t even know how they guessed mysize, but the jeans, blouse, and flats fit perfectly.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror whilebrushing my curls. I have dark circles beneath my eyes, and my brown skinappears dull. I feel and look as if I’ve aged rapidly in one night.

My stomach recoils as I relive the flood of fear. Howerratic my body was while running through the dark woods. And the gunshots.

Crimson flashes in the glass, and I peel away fromthe mirror. All those guys that I’d treated like family.

Dad.

Oh god.

He’s truly dead. I’ll never see him again. Neverhear his burst of laughter or corny jokes. Never feel the warmth of his snugembrace.

I’m alone.

Both my parents are dead.

I have no family left.

“Solari,” Domenico calls from outside the door.Strangely, the sound of his voice calms my nerves a little. “Are you ready? Weneed to go.”

I compose myself and open the door, respondingwith a nod.

He motions for me to walk ahead to the stairs.

“How can I leave the country? I don’t have mypassport. Not even my bank card to withdraw money.”

“You never have to worry about anything,” heassures me. “We had someone produce documents for you, and you’ll have clothingand other items by the time you get to Agrigento.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the burly guardhands me a passport. I look inside. It’s my picture, but the name is different.

My head flies up. “Who the hell is Erica McCain?”

Domenico shrugs. “You, until you land in Sicily.”

I cluck my tongue. “This is illegal.”

“That’s nothing for us,” the woman says, exitingwhat appears to be an office with Mr. Martelli. She extends her hand to me.“Francesca Martelli. Firstborn.”

Domenico’s sister. Now that I’m observing hercloser, they do resemble. Francesca has the same intimidating, ashen tone eyesas her father.

“Andiamo,” Mr. Martelli orders, walking outside.

Everyone starts moving, so I figure the word meansto leave.

“I’ll get you something to eat on the way,”Domenico says as we approach the SUV.

I shake my head and tell him, “I’m not hungry.”

There’s hardly any talking during the drive. Allthe men appear on alert, checking the mirrors for suspicious cars. Meanwhile,Francesca is bobbing her head to whatever music she’s listening on the earbuds.

She seems fearless. Not easily fazed.

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