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Rafael’s face paled and I waved my hand at him.

“Go find them. We’ll be fine.”

He smiled in thanks, and after Arlo told him where to find his parents, he was off, a few men right behind him to keep him safe. Who knew what Antonio was capable of after a stunt like this?

“What about Mamá?” I asked quietly, fear driving deeper into my chest and making it harder to breathe. As much as I was angry at Papá, his death had been a knife to the gut. Mamá’s would be so much worse. She was a shining light in darkness.

Arlo glanced down the hallway and gestured for us to follow. He led us past the nurses’ station and up in an elevator. The ride was in silence, and our men stood in front of us, like the wall of protection they were meant to be. When the doors opened, they stepped out of our way, and Arlo led us along a clean white-walled hallway past some of the rooms until we reached room 335. He stopped just outside and turned to us.

“They had her in ICU for twelve hours, thought she might not make it, but she stabilized.”

“What are her injuries?” I asked, reaching out for Manny’s hand. He slid his fingers into mine and held on tightly.

“Bruises, scrapes, a broken hip, a bullet hole to the stomach and one in her chest.” Arlo grimaced as he spoke, and his face twisted with a rage I understood well. “They were going to put a bullet in her head, but she fought back. Tadeo saw her fight them. She wrestled the gun off one of her attackers while she was shot, Thiago, and she put a bullet in him instead. Our mother is fucking badass.”

“I could have told you that,” I said, squeezing Manny’s hand. “And now?”

“They got the bullets out and the doctors say she should make a full recovery, but she’s not as young as she used to be. She’ll be in a lot of pain.”

Mierda. I was going to murder Antonio and rip his limbs apart.

“I want to see her.”

Arlo opened the door and led us inside, and the sight made me gag, almost vomit. I’d never seen Mamá like this before, battered and bruised, groaning in agony even though she was clearly either sleeping or unconscious. Her face was worse than Arlo’s, bruises purple and black on her golden skin. She wore a hospital gown, but I had no doubt there were bandages wrapped around her torso and belly.

I gritted my teeth and curled up the fist that wasn’t holding Manny’s hand. “Who did this to her?”

“They said they worked for Antonio.” Arlo growled low and angry.

“Same as the ones who hit us at Maddock’s house.”

He spun and widened his eyes at me. “They attacked there, too?”

I nodded. “Apparently he thought he’d hit us both at the same time, try to take out the Reyes family for good.”

“Maldito hijo de puta.” Arlo shook his head then rested his gaze on Manny, like he expected him to argue with him, but Manny’s face crumpled and he released my hand, stepping forward to pull Arlo into a hug. The animalistic part of me hated that he was touching Arlo, but I didn’t really want them to stop being friends, and Arlo had been respectful recently.

He looked at me for approval and I nodded, so Arlo wrapped an arm around Manny and they fell into the hug. I heard Manny apologizing, murmuring in Spanish until Arlo’s shoulders relaxed and he was saying “thank you” in return.

I stepped past them and closer to the bed, brushing some of Mamá’s bangs off her forehead. A photo of Santa Muerte sat on the bedside cabinet with a cross right beside it, probably courtesy of Arlo. We both knew how much her religion meant to her.

“Tell me we’re retaliating, Thiago,” Arlo said.

I turned back to them, and now that their hug was over, Manny moved to my side again, gripping my hand hard. I appreciated the support more than anything.

“We will not discuss this here.”

Arlo bent his head in acknowledgement, but I didn’t miss the way Manny narrowed a look in my direction. I didn’t care that I was training him, when it came to his father, I wanted him to stay away from it. We’d deal with Antonio without Manny ever knowing.

A knock on the door interrupted us, and I glanced toward it, smiling at the sight of my uncle, Estován. He didn’t have much to do with the cartel, other than offer advice on anything to do with the law. He’d moved to America before my papá and became a lawyer in Louisiana; however, he knew what we did and respected it. His children, on the other hand, joined our cartel.

I walked over to him and shook his hand before he dragged me into a hug. “Cómo esta tu madre? Arlo me llamó y vine enseguida.”

“Thank you for coming. I’m glad Arlo called you.” I sent my brother a quick smile. “The doctors say she’s on the mend.”

“Who did this?” Estován asked. Even though he’d been living in America long before I was born, he still had a stronger accent than me. I supposed it was because I moved here as a child, while he waited until he was twenty-two. Papá used to call him idealistic and a dreamer, and I never understood why he disliked his younger brother’s law pursuit so much. Estován had taken a stand for us when he needed to.

“Come with me.” I waved toward the door, and Estován nodded, walking back out. When Manny went to follow us, I raised my hand to him and he stopped. “Stay, hermoso. This is between me and my tío.”