Page 15 of Promise Maker

The person enters.

Thinking it’s Domenico, I don’t bother to rollover.

“Ms. Solari?” a warm, elderly voice mutters. “Mr.Martelli says you must wake up. They’ll be leaving soon.”

I turn, confirming it’s the housekeeper from lastnight that brought me clothes.

Recalling what she said, I ease up in the bed.“They’re leaving?”

She nods. “Sì. Nico saysyou should eat before going on the plane.”

I push the sheet aside and climb off the bed.“Thank you, Gaia. But I’m not going anywhere with them.”

Fixing my t-shirt and pajama pants, I step pasther and go downstairs in search of theMartellis.

I hear voices in the hallway and follow thechatter to a large kitchen with sunlight pouring through the bay windows.

Mr. Martelli, Domenico, and a gorgeous petitewoman with long, dark brown hair and piercing gray eyes glance in my direction.

Domenico rises from the circular table. “Solari.”

“Thank you for coming last night,” I mutter.“Also, for letting me stay here. But I’m going to see my friend and talk to thepolice.”

“Naïve girl,” the young woman says, voice heavywith the Italian accent. Her remark seems more so out of sympathy.

“You cannot see your friend,” Domenico dissuadesme. “Forget about the police. Aside from corruption, the rest don’t have a cluehow to handle these things.”

“Come with us to Sicily,” Mr. Martelli says.“You’ll be protected.”

“No offense, but I’d rather go see my friend.”

I turn to leave. A beefy man in a suit pops out ofnowhere, blocking me.

“That wasn’t a request,” Domenico grunts, makingme look back at him. “I promised your father to keep you safe, and I intend todo just that.”

I huff. “You’re only great at making promises butnot keeping them.”

“Forget our silly words from eight years ago!” heclips. “Someone killed your father, and you’re next.”

That reminder brings fresh tears to my eyes.

Clenching my fists, I say defiantly, “I can takecare of myself.”

“Don’t be foolish.” The woman stands, almost astall as Domenico in her heels. “The minute you step foot out there, assassinswill put a bullet in your head.”

I twist my mouth, fighting to hide how much thatterrifies me.

“Do you want to live?” Mr. Martelli asks,straightening from the table. He’s rather intimidating when he wants to be.

His question jolts me back to the last momentswith my dad.

You must live.

I have to carry on his legacy, and more thananything, because he sacrificed his life to give me a chance.

He was a good man. Not perfect, but he was my dad,and he spoiled me with nothing but love.

“Yes,” I answer at last.

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