I still can’t believe that my dad is gone. Maybe he wasn’t the best father on the planet, but he was my father. Work always came first for Manuel Sandoval, which wasn’t unusual. No one expected the head of one of the three biggest Mexican cartels to spend a day playing hide-and-seek with his kid, or anything like that, but he loved me in his own way. A sad smile forms on my lips. Manny Sandoval might not have come to my recitals or helped me with homework, but he made sure I knew how to shoot almost as good as any of his men.
Male laughter reaches me from the patio, making me shudder. That lying bastard and his men are still celebrating. It wasn’t enough that he killed my father, the man he did business with for more than a decade. Oh, no. He took over his home and his business contracts.
