Page 45 of Promise Maker

He chugs his drink and fills both our glasses.

“How old were you the first time you saw yourfather—”

“I was ten,” he answers before I finish. “Itwasn’t my father. He never did that in front of us until we got older. Mygrandfather didn’t care. He said it’d toughen us.”

I throw the liquor back. “No offense, but I wantto punch Grandpa Martelli for doing that.”

Domenico slowly nods. “He was brutal. The worst ofthem.”

“How did he die?”

“A deal went wrong. Men ambushed him.”

“Sorry.” I pause before asking, “What about yourgrandmother?”

Regret instantly saturates his gaze. “Nonnadied before I was born. Francesca was two.”

“I’m sorry. What happened to her?”

He pours another round of whiskey before tellingme, “Someone drove her car off a hill.”

I spill my drink. “Jesus, Domenico!”

“It’s one act of violence after another when itcomes to my family. My mother’s family wasn’t much different.”

“Let’s talk about other things.”

“I agree.” He chugs the whiskey and asks, “Did youquit smoking? I haven’t picked up the scent this whole time, and you haven’tasked for cigarettes.”

I down my drink and pour another. “I haven’tsmoked since that time in the garden. I found my love for photography.”

“What made you start doing that in the firstplace? Peers at school? Did you think it was cool?”

“Um…” I look down and trace the rim of my glass.“You could say I was going through a weird phase. Maybe it’s because I wassixteen.” I throw the liquor back in one swig.

“Tell me,” heinsists.“What sort of phase? What was going through your mind at that time?”

I’m about to pour another, but Domenico stops mewith a firm, “No more.”

“Sobossy.” I stroll tothe balcony and lean against the doorframe. “I’m sure you know that my motherdied in childbirth.”

“I do.” He walks over and stands across from me.

“Well, my dad told me when I was eight. A daybefore we met.” Drawing for strength, I stare up at the starry sky and waxingmoon. “I didn’t process well, and it played in my mind as if I’d killed her.”

“But you didn’t, Solari,” he quells so kindly.

“I know. I told you, I was in a weird phase.” Isteer my eyes to him. “It’s a wonder how the recent events haven’t sent me backthere.” My eyes tear up, and my voice breaks as I add, “But it does hurt moreknowing they’re both gone now, and I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone,tesoro.”He quickly closes the gap and holds my hand.

I tremble at the way he’s threading our fingers.

After a minute or two, Domenico utters a low growland asks, “Why did you believe me back in the garden? What was it that made youbelieve my promise?”

“Something about the way you looked into my eyes,”I answer honestly. “It’s how you’re staring at me now.”

He drops his head and groans in frustration. “Myhunger is growing, Solari.”

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