13. Truth?

MARCELLO

Alan grabbed my hand and pulled me to a distance away from the house that was out of earshot. "I cannot risk anyone listening in on what I am about to tell you."

"Well, start talking then." I was beginning to grow impatient.

"Alright." He gulped. "My mother told me a lot of things this last time I paid her a visit." He sat on the carpet grass beneath us and pulled me to join him on the ground. "Firstly, my father did not just die in his sleep. He was killed when he found out things that he was not supposed to know."

I sucked in a sharp breath at that. How was he so contained knowing that kind of thing? "Did she tell you who killed him?"

"Yes." He sounded wry.

"Who?"

"Your father."

"What!?" I backed up, my eyes reducing to slits. "What are you saying?"

I knew that my father was a very hard man, strict with most things, but accusing him of killing his own younger brother was a reach, a massive one. My father was not capable of that.

"Listen to me, Mar—"

"No!" I got