Page 35 of Promise Maker

My heart pounds even faster.

Eyes begin to water.

My throat burns as I fight back the sob.

Nervously, I collect the envelope. “Um, was my dadburied next to my mom? What kind of stone did—”

“I handled everything,” he says, patting my armgently. “Your father also had things in place for employees at the shippingyard. A manager is carrying on the container shipments. No need to fret aboutthat. I met Bishop’s wishes.”

“Oh…” I free the grittiness from my throat. “Whatabout the people who killed him? Did you find who is responsible? Where’sMathew? Is he all right?”

A deep frown appears. “I’m afraid Mathew isinvolved,cara.”

“He is?” I sputter in shock. “I…can’t believe it.He never regarded us with anything but kindness.”

Sympathy blankets his face. “You never truly knowpeople. We haven’t found him as yet. But we will, and we’ll uncover hispartner. I promise you.”

Mathew is involved in my dad’s murder.

My god.

Sniffling, I bob and tell Mr. Martelli, “Thankyou.” I’m about to leave when I recall what Domenico told me. “Your sonmentioned that my dad saved your life?”

His eyes flutter at the memory. “Yes. I wasfourteen. My family was vacationing in Lakewood. I snuck out and went for awalk alone in town, ended up in gang territory. They…beat me terribly.” As ifexperiencing phantom pain, he rubs his left temple. “Bishop was going by andsaw the commotion. He intervened.” He pauses to catch his breath. “Bishop wasonly fifteen, but they had such respect for him and his family. I never forgot.We became friends, and I told him no matter what, he could always trust me. I’dlook out for him.” He drops his head as regret warps his features. “I failed myfriend.”

“You tried to help,” I mutter, recalling how heand Domenico came to see my dad that night.

Determination replaces his guilt, and he says withcertainty, “I’ll make it up to him by protecting his daughter and catching hiskiller.”

All I can do is nod. Then I exit the office,pausing outside with the envelope at my chest.

Unsealing it, I slide out the will and skimthrough the details. He’s declared me as the beneficiary of his estate. Nosurprise there. But he’s left absolutely nothing for Mathew.

Did Dad suspect his right-hand man?

Refolding the will, I slip it back inside theenvelope and wander across the piazza to the patio.

I need some privacy and a place of solitude toread my dad’s last written words.SoI stroll to theyard and sit beneath a lemon tree.

My hands start to tremble whenever I attempt totake the letter from the envelope.

Tears break free and stream down my cheeks.

I drop the envelope into my lap.

Whimpers seep out of me as a tsunami of sorrowwashes over my body.

I begin to bawl from the indescribable ache in mychest. “Oh, god…Daddy…”

My crying turns into hiccups, and soon I’mdesperate for air. It’s so erratic that I’m scaring myself.

“Ugh…what’s…wrong…with me?” I choke out, pressingmy hand at my heart.

I cringe when strong arms wrap around me.

“Breathe,” Domenico whispers in my ear. “Breathe.”

I listen to his voice while inhaling and exhaling.

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