Three days later, Henry came to my room.
He looked different. Tired. Worn.
"I have the name," he said.
"What name?"
"The man who killed your mother."
I felt my heart stop.
"Who?"
He sat down on the edge of my bed. "It's someone you know. Someone in the family."
"Who?"
He looked at me. His eyes were sad.
"It was our father," he said.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"What?"
"Marcus. He ordered the hit." He looked down. "He was involved with the dealers. Your mother was going to expose them. He had her killed."
I stared at him. I couldn't breathe.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know. Because he's never paid for what he did." He looked at me. "And because I can't keep the secret anymore."
I thought about Marcus. The cold eyes. The way he'd looked
