“You heard me!” I bark.
Cristiano stands by the window, looking at them.
He looks as shaken as I feel. I have to remember it was him who found Carlos, and it couldn’t have been easy to go to the morgue. It wasn’t easy for me to see Carlos like that either.
The coroner also confirmed from the other marks on Carlos’ body that there was a struggle. He was strangled with a wire then shot.
It made me think someone was waiting in his apartment for him, and the moment he arrived was when they struck.
The men look at each other again. Thiago’s face is pale, Lorenzo looks like he’s going to be sick, and Marcus looks as angry as me.
All three are exhibiting signs of shock, but they’re also the same signs you would exhibit when you’re guilty as fuck. The body doesn’t respond that much differently.
“When did it happen?” Thiago asks. “H-how?”
I wish I could believe from his stutter that he’s grieving because he worked so closely with Carlos, but I can’t.
“Carlos was murdered last night at around nine. He was strangled and shot ten times. Ten times. Someone broke into his apartment and killed him.” And someone else besides the fucker I killed was following me and Lucia, so realistically, the hours of concern are between seven and nine. “Tell me where you were between seven and nine last night. Actually, let’s make it nine thirty for good measure.”
I glare at each of them, cold, hard, and flinty.
Marcus shoots up from his chair and shakes his head.
“Not me.” He motions to himself. “Alejandro, how could you even include me in this?” His face turns crimson.
“Tell me where you fucking were, Marcus.”
“I can’t believe you would think that we killed him.”
Cristiano cuts me a glance, and I remember him saying he thought Marcus could be innocent. But then I also suspected Carlos from the same intel he gave me.
“Tell me where you were. Do it!” I straighten.
“I was with Monica and the babies. I was with her from about six. She can verify everything.”
Verify? Another person’s word is useless to me.
“I’m sure your wife would be willing to lie for you.”
That makes him snap. He comes after me just like he did when we were boys and would get into all kinds of fights at school and in life. Authority knew no bounds. It doesn’t now, so I’m ready for him.
I throw the first punch, but it doesn’t knock him down. He lunges for me, throwing his body weight into my chest. It feels like being hit by a fucking truck, but it’s not enough to get me to the ground either.
Instead, I use my body weight to slam him into the wall.
I then grab his neck, pull my gun on him, and hold it to his head. That’s what stops him from doing anything more to me.
The anger in his eyes recedes and is replaced by disappointment and regret.
“Go ahead, friend. Do it. Kill me,” he says, speaking in a voice that reflects his expression. “Take me out of this world and away from my wife and my kids. Do it.”
I rivet my gaze to his, gritting my teeth as I try to tamp down my rage. I find I can’t, though, even when I’m staring at him and my fucking heart is telling me he’s not my traitor. I can’t calm down. I’ve gone too far, and it’s going to take everything inside me to bring me back to that level of calm.
“Fire the gun, Alejandro,” he adds. “Maybe then you’ll believe me. My death might make you believe me. I took a bullet for you twenty years ago. Remember that? Know why I did that? Because I love you like a brother. Now look at you, holding a gun to my head because you think I killed Carlos and I’m working with El Diablo. Fuck you for thinking it’s me. Fuck you.”
Feeling ashamed I release him, realizing I’m making the same mistake I made with Carlos.
I glance at the others, who’ve come up to us. I look from Thiago to Lorenzo.