Page 51 of The Killer Who Kept Me

“Okay.”

“You’re saying Lynus told Ramsey he killed Bernard and Cora Tancredi?”

Em’s eyes widened. “He said Bernard, never the last name. But I could be wrong, it could be some other Bernard, right?” He looked at me with so much desperation. “Right?”

“Em, sweetheart.” I kneeled and took his hands in mine. “Breathe, I’m okay. I can take it.”

“Saros, did…did he kill your parents? I mean he just used the first name, Bernard, never once said the name Cora.”

I glanced at Andrew and back to Em. “The person who took over, did he ever say Andrew or Drew?”

Em shook his head. “No, another name, not typical, I think it was a last name. But not Tancredi, so it can’t be your dad then, right?”

“No, Em.” Andrew sighed. “Was the name Florakis?”

Em’s face dropped; his skin paled. “Yes, that’s it, why?”

Andrew’s head fell forward.

“Em.”

He turned to me. “What? Is it? It’s not them, right?”

“My uncle Andrew is my mother’s brother. His last name isn’t Tancredi, it’s Florakis.”

Em covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh, my God.”

“All these years we never knew who killed your parents, and it was Lynus Frazee.”

“Barrett had to know.” Cosmo’s face was red.

“Which is why he’s working with Ramsey—to finish what his father started.”

My heart ached, but the anger surging through my veins was far greater. I leaned in and wrapped Em in my arms.

“Thank you.”

He hugged me back with so much strength.

“Why are you thanking me? I just told you who killed your parents. That’s horrible news.”

I pulled away and looked into his sad eyes. “Em, not knowing has been a nightmare for us. Now that we know, we can make it right.”

By the time this was over, I’d wipe out every Brookes and every Frazee for good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get—only with what you are expecting to give—which is everything.”

~ Katharine Hepburn

Em

Andrew and Sarosneeded to talk to Penelope and Dafni and while he didn’t kick me out, I chose to leave. This was a private moment, and it didn’t feel like it was my place to be there.

The house was bustling with people, and Martha was darting from room to room. I approached and asked if I could help in any way.

“You’re such a dear, but you shouldn’t be on your ankle so much.” She eyed my hand. “And that needs to heal properly.”

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