Alejandro
Carlos was shot several times.
He’s lying in a pool of blood on the floor of his living room.
I run a hand over my beard and try to breathe past the lump that’s lodged in my throat.
Clearly, he wasn’t the man who betrayed me. He never was, and it’s too late to undo the way I behaved toward him over the past year.
As I stare at his mangled body, I remember the conversation we had in my office weeks ago.
He’d said he hoped this would be resolved and I would see it wasn’t him who betrayed me. I didn’t think this would be the way.
“The neighbors said they heard gunshots about half an hour ago,” Cristiano explains. “It was them who called me.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“No. They didn’t see anybody leaving his apartment, and they don’t know when he came in or if he was there all day. I came by when I got the call and saw him like this. The coroner is on his way.”
“Fuck.”
Eric walks out of the bedroom and shakes his head. “There’s nothing that stands out to me. But I’ll come back in the morning and do a full search with forensics.”
“Thanks. Anything else you can deduce?”
“There’s no surveillance. It’s been down since midday, so I don’t know if he was out and there was someone in here waiting for him, or if they broke in while he was here.”
“And he’s dead because he must have seen something he shouldn’t have seen, and someone wanted him quiet. It has to be that. This isn’t an isolated attack.”
“No way,” Cristiano agrees.
“So, that narrows it down to Lorenzo, Marcus, and Thiago. Contact them for questioning,” I order Cristiano. “Tell them to meet me at the office at eight sharp. Eric and I will go to the morgue. We should be done by then.”
Cristiano nods and gets on the phone.
I return my gaze to Carlos once more, feeling like I lost another brother.
I will avenge his death, too.
At eight,I have Lorenzo, Marcus, and Thiago sitting in my office waiting for me.
Cristiano and I walk in, and I get ready to rip into them.
We haven’t given a reason for the meeting, so they’re doing a good job of looking innocent. I’m done with this shit.
“Where’s Carlos?” Thiago asks, glancing at the door.
The mere question infuriates me. I shoot him a glare with my nostrils flared and hands balled into tight fists. I’m only seconds away from snapping someone’s neck.
Carlos’ death has pushed me over the line of sanity, and I’m at the point where I almost don’t give a fuck about keeping them alive to lead me to El Diablo.
“He’s dead,” I spit, and the three of them exchange shocked, mortified glances.
That enrages me further, because if any of them killed him, the fucker is still acting. Making a fucking fool out of me.
“What are you saying, Alejandro?” Marcus asks.
I take my place in front of my desk, knock the stack of documents to the ground, and sit on the edge.