“My parents were murdered in front of me when I was five years old.”
I froze. My chest tightened with a deep, restless thrum.
“Parents?” I asked, confused. Wasn’t Thomas his father?
He nodded, his fingers slowly unhooking mine from the suitcase handle. “You’ve always wanted to know who I really am, haven’t you?”
I had already lost the moment I let him take my hand. I always lost when it came to him.
Marco pulled me out of the closet, guiding me to the sofa. I didn’t resist. I just stared at him. “Explain,” I demanded, though my voice came out weaker than I intended.
He leaned back, his gaze unfocused, like he was reaching for something buried deep in his past.
Running a hand down his face, he let out a slow breath. “Thomas isn’t my biological father,” he said at last. “He… found me
