Page 40 of Promise Maker

“Perhaps you shouldn’t go out,” Mrs. Martellitells me. “It isn’t safe. Who knew men would come to Agrigento foryou.”

“Were they Italian?” Francesca asks Domenico,slanting to him.

He nods once.

“Only a few Italians do business in the same areaas your father,” Mr. Martelli states. “I’m one of them. I know it wasn’t Rossi.We’re still digging into the rest.” He slants to Domenico. “Go. Find out whatyou can in Palermo.” He grips his arm as he utters in Italian, “Procedicon cautela.”Proceed with caution.

“Sì, Padre,” Domenicoreplies. He briefly glances at me before stepping outside.

I watch him hop into the SUV, and Rodrigo peelsout the gates.

Please come back, I silently pray, becauseas frightening as that ordeal at the café, I still only feel safe with him, andI want him to be all right.

12

Domenico doesn’t come to my room that night. I’msure of it because I stayed up waiting for him. And I know he returned fromPalermo because I was watching the gates from my balcony. I saw the car enter,and he’d stepped out.

Those men would have either assassinated orkidnapped me. I may oppose killing, but in Domenico’s defense, he had to.Sothe moment sunlight peaks into the room, I rise with themission to thank him for saving my life.

After showering, I dress in jeans and anoff-the-shoulder blouse.

Surprise rocks me to the core the second I openthe door. “What…”

There’s a Canon camera on the floor.

It’s mine. The small heart sticker on the sideproves it. Dad gave me that camera for my twenty-first birthday.

My eyes water as I lower to pick it up, realizingthere’s a small photo underneath. The image of both my parents pulls a sob outof me.

It must have beenhim.

I slip the photo into my pocket and go searchingfor Domenico.

Paolettaglimpsesme as she’s cutting across the main entry.“Buongiorno, Solari.”

“Buongiorno, Paoletta.Couldyoupleaseshow me Domenico’s room?”

She delays a moment as if repeating my words inher head. “Ah,sì.” She slants and points down theopposite hallway to a door at the end. “Nico’s room.”

“Grazie.”

As she continues to the kitchen, I mosey to thedark wooden door and knock softly.

Domenico doesn’t answer.

Considering he loves to enter my room without aninvitation, I should do the same.

I turn the knob. The door isn’t locked.

Quietly, I enter his bedroom, only to be greetedby darkness.

The drapes are drawn, eliminatingsunlightand creating ghostly shadows.

I squint at the enormous bed suited for a king.

It’s empty.

Perhaps he’s out by the fruit trees.

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