Page 42 of Promise Maker

The intensity is so immense it stirs a shudder.

Silence engulfs us until he says, “Go. I need toget myself together and head to the office.”

I suppress the emotions and ask, “Where’s youroffice?”

“PortoEmpedocle. Abovethe warehouse that holds the liquor.”

“You pack and ship from there? Do you produce youralcohol?”

He angles his head. “No, it is supplied. We doship from there, though. You seem curious about our business.”

“I’m always curious about operations. I got itfrom my—” A lump forms in my throat, turning my voice into a whisper as Ifinish with, “My dad.”

“That’s good,” Domenico says. He straightens andtows me from the floor. “I’ll join you for breakfast shortly.”

Unexpectedly, a smile curves my lips.

“Amo quando sorridi per me.”

I repeat the words in my head, becoming hot allover when I realize he said he loves when I smile for him.

Feigning confusion, I ask, “What did you say?”

He snorts. “I’ll find that tutor for you. It’sunacceptable only to be proficient at curses.”

“They do come in handy, though,” I play around.“Especially when you piss me off.”

Domenico rumbles and opens the door.

“All right. I’m going.”

I step out of his room and wander to the kitchen.

Paolettais atthe massive island, preparing the dough. It seems no one else is awake yet.

“Coffee is ready,” she tells me.

After pouring a cup, I sit on the stool and watchher. “How long have you worked for the family?”

“Work…” She curls her thin brows. “Ah. Twentyyears. Since Nico and Fran were children.”

“Wow. That’s a long time.”Soshe knew the grandfather. I wonder how he died. Domenico never mentioned it, butI have a feeling his lifestyle caught up to the man.

“You take pictures?” She juts her chin at thecamera.

“Yeah. It’s a passion.”

Paolettalooks sofocused while kneading the dough that I power on the camera and snap a photo.The flash surprises her, causing a chuckle.

“No pictures of me. Find prettier things.”

I reach over to pat her arm. “Paoletta,you are beautiful.”

She waves me off. “I’m old. Wrinkly.”

“Beautiful,” I stress.

That warrants a playful tsk before she resumeskneading. The smile stays on her face.

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