Chapter 25 – Alejandro
Chapter
Twenty-Five
ALEJANDRO
Alana squeezes my hand as we stand outside my father’s hospital room. We had a call from the doctor at six this morning to say he was coming around and would be waking shortly. My mama went in to see him first and just walked out of the door with tears in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.
“He wants to see you, hijo,” she says to me, giving me a reassuring hug. “All will be well, Alejandro. I know that now.”
I kiss the top of her head and turn to Alana, gesturing that she should come with me. “No. You go on in and see him first. I’ll wait with your mom for now,” she says softly.
I nod, seeing the sense of it. There will be things we need to discuss that I don’t want her or my mother hearing.
She knows that and is subtly removing the problem.
I didn’t think it was possible to love her more, but now she feels part of my whole world, not just a piece of it.
Our marriage might have started as a business proposal, but I could not have chosen a better queen if I had searched the land with a glass slipper.
“Gracias, princesa,” I say as I kiss her on the forehead and let go of her hand.
I take a deep breath and push open the door to my father’s room. He’s lying on the bed surrounded by machinery with his eyes closed. He looks so peaceful that I don’t want to disturb him. But his eyes snap open as soon as he hears my footsteps on the floor. Still alert, which makes me grin.
He turns his head. “Mi hijo,” he croaks with a small smile.
“Papa.” I walk over to the bed and sit beside him, taking hold of his hand and squeezing. “It’s good to see you awake.”
“It would take more than a couple of bullets to stop me, hijo,” he says with a faint laugh. Clinging on to his pride and his bravado, which can only be a good sign.
“I know that Papa. But still, I’m happy to be here talking to you.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, all of the unanswered questions and unspoken words hanging in the air between us.
“I haven’t found him yet, Papa,” I say eventually as I put my head in my hands. I feel like a failure admitting that to him.
“Do not worry, Alejandro. You will, hijo,” he says as he places a consoling hand on my head, just as he used to when I was a kid and frustrated at a soccer match or some other triviality.
My problems are bigger now, but I still take solace from his presence.
“I know you will, because you are your father’s son. ”
I look up at him. This man has taught me so much.
He is the man I respect more than anyone else in the whole world.
The fact that I almost lost him feels like a knife twisting in my heart.
I realize that I have never once told him how much he means to me, because I am my father’s son in so many more ways than one.
“I love you, Papa,” I say quietly. I expect a slap around the head and a few choice words in Spanish. This man does not do overt displays of emotion.
“I know,” he mutters in his croaky voice. “I love you too, hijo.”
I am surprised and happy. If I ever do become a dad, I promise myself that I won’t make my child wait a lifetime before he feels comfortable uttering those words.
My father is of an older generation, and I agree with many of his morals and principles, but a man should always be able to tell those he loves how much he adores them.
The silence drags out a little longer, and then he says three more words that I have never heard from him in my entire life. “Lo siento, Alejandro.”
I frown at him in confusion.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you about Alana.
I was angry about the Ortega situation. I was already upset, felt like our world was under attack.
Then you told me about the doctor’s news, and it was just one more thing that seemed to be going wrong.
I found her for you, and I took it personally, when really it has nothing to do with me.
All that should matter is your happiness, your love.
I see that in you both. I see how much you love her.
How much she loves you. That is far more important than providing another generation of Montoyas. Forgive me?”
His eyes are fluttering open and shut. The effort from talking is so obviously draining him.
“Of course I will forgive you. I already have. I’m also grateful, because without you, Alana would not even be in my life. It’s like you knew what I needed before I did.”
He lets out a subdued laugh, grimacing in pain afterwards. “Well, that is what papas are for, no?”
I let him settle, helping him sip some water through a straw. “I’m sorry too, Papa. For everything that has happened, and for not being here when you needed to see me. I know you are tired, but I need to ask. Did you see anything at all that might help us find who did this?”
He shakes his head, even that small movement causing him pain. “No. But whoever it was knew exactly where I would be and at exactly what time. That means you can’t trust anyone within our organization, hijo. Only me and your uncles, you understand?”
I nod. I hate the idea of not trusting my own men, but that inside information must have come from somewhere.
“It’s time for you to step up now, Alejandro. Phillipe and Carlos will need you more than ever.”
“I know,” I reply, the weight of that knowledge lying heavy on my shoulders. My father has always looked out for his younger brothers, protecting them from any potential dangers.
“You need to keep an eye on Carlos especially. I’m worried about him. You know he can be a loose cannon. Even now, he is capable of acting recklessly. With Carlos, sometimes you have to protect him from himself.”
I think back to yesterday, to the insulting way he talked about Alana. I was seconds away from punching him in the face.
“Well, right now he’s just pissed that somebody tried to kill his big brother.”
My father opens his eyes again and stares at me. “No. It’s more than that. I think he might be getting sick again, Alejandro.”
This is a subject that is rarely discussed, even within our closest family circles. I was a teenager when it first happened, and even then, much of it was kept from me. All I know is that seventeen years ago, my Uncle Carlos had some kind of mental break.
Nobody knows the exact reason why. But it was so bad that he ended up out of control, running away and embarking on a killing spree. Our family is no stranger to death, but from what I can gather this was not related to our business. It was because of his psychosis. His victims chosen at random.
Eventually he was found after several days.
Naked, shivering, covered in the blood of those he had killed, and mumbling incoherently.
My father leapt into action straight away, determined to protect his little brother at all costs.
He managed to cover up the killings, and Carlos spent a full year in one of the best mental health facilities in California.
After extensive therapy and medication, he was deemed fit to be released and has lived within our code ever since.
It is, perhaps understandably, a part of our history that is kept buried.
My father meets my eyes, a pleading expression on his face. He loves Carlos, and I will do anything I can to put his mind at rest. “Of course, Papa. I will keep a careful eye on him and make sure he stays well. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Alejandro. I know he is not always the easiest of men to get along with, but he has had so many struggles, you know? He needs his family.”
I nod and pat my father’s hand. “And he has us. Don’t worry about it. Now, you probably should get some rest, Papa.”
My father catches hold of my hand, squeezing it with a reassuring burst of strength. “Gracias. You are a good son.”
He closes his eyes again, obviously relieved that our conversation has reached its conclusion. I look on as his chest rises and falls and he drifts back to sleep. I don’t know how long I sit there with him, holding his hand and watching him.
My mind races with dozens of questions. I am turning over every stone I can think of to uncover the answers, but I’m not finding them fast enough.