Page 70 of LA Reign

He sucks air in through his teeth, about to reprimand me, I’m sure, until we are disturbed by two more figures walking into the room: Jax and my Uncle Carlos.

Carlos is the youngest of the brothers, and while he looks like his older siblings, that’s where the similarity ends. There’s a ten-year gap between him and Phillipe, and at forty-eight, he’s only fifteen years older than me. I suppose his relative youth explains why my dad is so protective of him.

When I was growing up, he was always a hero of mine. Almost an older brother rather than an uncle. But then there was the incident, and his time away, so we drifted further apart. By the time I was an adult and starting to take on more of a role in the family business, I sensed resentment building between us. He and I have very different ideas about how things should be done. Whereas my father and Phillipe see my head for commerce as an asset, I think he sees it as a weakness.

Even now, in his late forties, Carlos is what my father describes as a loose cannon. He’s unpredictable and impulsive, but also also a skilled assassin and a ferocious fighter. The blood he’s shed in the last sixteen years has been for the Montoya family. Despite his volatile nature, he is one of our greatest assets.

It’s a complicated combination, and I understand why the other two have always felt like they have to keep him in line and look after him. Now, along with the other duties I will be taking up, it looks like I’ll inherit that one as well. All while he clearly still sees me as a callous and inexperienced boy. I will do my best to show him the respect he needs, and one day, I will win him over. I’ll show him that I’m worthy of the Montoya name and our family legacy.

That day is not now, however. He walks into my office like he owns it, Jax behind him rolling his eyes. Jax is not my Uncle Carlos’s biggest fan either, largely because Carlos seems to resent Jax’s status as my right-hand man. Jax is from Dallas, the son of a cowboy—he isn’t a Montoya, he isn’t even Spanish, and therefore, in Carlos’s eyes, he shouldn’t be allowed into the inner circle. What he doesn’t understand is that, as far as I am concerned, Jax is my brother. We’ve been through more together than most men do in a whole lifetime. I trust him with my life, and we couldn’t be any closer, even if we shared the same blood.

“Have you found out anything useful yet?” Carlos barks, glaring at me.

“Nothing yet. How about you three?” I ask with a sigh.

“Us?” Carlos sneers. “I thought you were the brains here, Alejandro?”

Anger surges in my chest. Carlos still blames me for not being here the morning my father was shot. I blame myself too, but I can’t let him know that. I have to stay calm, stay in charge. I remind myself of what my father asked me to. To keep an eye on his baby brother, to make sure that Carlos was okay. I promised him I would, and losing patience with him this quickly would not be honoring that promise. Still, remaining calm and looking out for him does not mean I have to be his scapegoat. I will not be spoken to like that by anyone, not even by my uncle. The sooner we establish a few ground rules the better. I think Carlos would appreciate me showing my teeth anyway. That’s a language he respects.

I see my Uncle Phillipe’s mouth open as though he is about to speak, no doubt to intervene the way he usually does whenever Carlos is running his mouth. I hold up my hand to stop him. I’m not just his nephew anymore, and he needs to remember that too.

I step around my desk until I’m directly in front of Carlos. I meet his eyes, showing no fear or signs of intimidation, keeping my voice low and controlled.

“Let’s get a few things straight. I might have been in New York when my father was shot, Uncle, but you were here. You took your eye off the ball too. You are the muscle of this family, are you not? You are the one who is supposed to deal with our enemies. You are supposed to watch your brothers’ backs. This happened on your watch, too. So, yes, I want to know what the hell you’ve managed to find out. This isn’t all on me.”

He scowls, no doubt wondering whether to challenge me any further, but he throws his hands up in the air and pulls a face. He curses under his breath and sits on one of the chairs opposite my desk, muttering to himself but accepting my authority. Phillipe sits down too, while Jax stands behind them, near the door. He’s chasing leads all over the country, and if he receives a call, he can easily step out and take it in the other room.

“Okay. So. What do we know?” I ask as I sit behind my desk. “Jax?”

He clears his throat. “CCTV from the diner across the street shows a motorcycle pulling up next to your father’s car at the intersection. Two shots were fired through the window before the shooter sped off in the direction of downtown. High caliber, armor-piercing bullets. Your father was wearing a vest when he was shot. The bike was found abandoned two miles down the road. Whoever was on it must have had someone waiting. The bike was stolen. False plates. No prints. This was a planned and well-executed attack by someone with power and connections.”

I nod. “Ruling out the Ortegas?”

“I believe so,” Jax says.

“We can’t rule them out entirely,” Phillipe interjects. “Just because this is not their usual style doesn’t mean it’s not them. They could have evolved, or hired out.”

“I know, Uncle. Which is why Joey Ortega is currently our guest in a container at the shipyard. Jax and I are going to pay him a visit shortly. But this doesn’t fit with their MO at all. The Ortegas are not this well-organized or sophisticated. They don’t use shooters either. Their calling card is to set their enemies on fire and toss them off a building. Besides, this is personal. With the Ortegas, it’s business. It’s the clubs and the local drug runners they’re interested in.”

“Maybe they are branching out?” Carlos suggests.

“There is always that possibility,” I nod in agreement, happy to concede a point to smooth things over between us. “And as I say, Joey Ortega will be telling us everything he knows, one way or another. But all my instincts tell me no. This was too well executed, and they knew too much.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos asks, frowning.

“To start with, nothing about my father’s trip to LA that morning was public knowledge, or even planned. His drive from San Diego that morning was spontaneous. He’s usually accompanied by security, so someone, somewhere found out he was out alone and vulnerable. He was wearing a vest, but the shooter had armor-piercing bullets. None of that can be a coincidence. For fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t even have been here.”

“But anyone could have seen him coming in and out of the hotel, amigo,” Jax offers. “People know who he is. He’s not exactly inconspicuous.”

I can’t help but smile. “No. He is not.” My father is larger than life. He charms anyone who meets him, until they irk him in some way and then incur his legendary temper—something which isn’t hard to do. Not to mention he usually goes everywhere with at least two armed bodyguards.

Except on the morning he was shot. Why?

I rub a hand over my jaw. “Why did he leave the house that morning? And without his guards?”

“Your mama said that he told her he needed to see you,” Phillipe replies. “He left in a hurry.”

“Why did he need to see you so bad?” Carlos snaps. He senses weakness, damn him. He’s like a dog with a bone.