THE SISTER CONTINUES TO SPEAK UP: From a sweet boy to a cold figure after joining a mysterious group — and Alex Pretti’s appearance at Renee Good’s memorial shocked everyone. But now, an unexpected turn has left family members speechless: ‘If only…’ — the sister’s choked sob raises a series of unanswered questions.
In an emotional, tear-soaked exclusive interview, the heartbroken older sister of slain ICU nurse Alex Pretti has spoken publicly for the first time – pouring out her grief and bewilderment over how her “sweet, gentle” little brother transformed into a distant stranger before being gunned down by federal agents in Minneapolis.
“He was the most adorable kid you could ever meet,” she sobbed, clutching a framed photo of a beaming young Alex in his hospital scrubs. “Always smiling, always helping everyone. He’d bring me flowers just because, call me every Sunday to check in. That was my Alex. But then… he changed. Completely.”
The 37-year-old nurse, killed on January 24 during a chaotic confrontation with ICE agents on “Eat Street,” had been swept up in the city’s furious anti-immigration enforcement protests. Just weeks earlier, he marched in the funeral procession and vigil for Renée Good – the mother fatally shot by federal officers on January 7 – holding a candle and chanting for justice.
But according to his big sister – who asked to remain anonymous to protect her privacy amid the media storm – the shift began months ago when Alex started hanging out with a tight-knit online and street activist group opposing Trump’s migrant crackdown.
“From the moment he joined that group, he became someone else,” she said, voice cracking. “Cold. Distant. He stopped coming to family dinners. Barely answered texts. When I asked what was wrong, he’d snap, ‘You don’t understand what’s happening out there.’ He’d talk about ‘the system,’ ‘federal overreach,’ how ICE was ‘terrorizing’ people. It was like he was brainwashed.”
She described heart-wrenching moments: Alex skipping his niece’s birthday, ignoring calls on holidays, growing irritated when family questioned his late-night meetings or why he was always filming on his phone.
“I thought maybe it was burnout from the hospital,” she recalled. “He worked brutal ICU shifts saving veterans. But no – it was the group. They fed him this rage. He started saying things like, ‘If we don’t stand up, who will?’ I begged him to be careful. He just laughed it off. Said I was ‘part of the problem’ for not seeing it.”
Then came the Renée Good funeral march. Alex was there – front and center – holding signs, blowing a whistle to warn neighbors of ICE sightings, filming every moment. His sister saw the photos online and felt a chill.
“I texted him: ‘Please come home. We miss you.’ He replied with one word: ‘Soon.’ That was it. That was the last time we really spoke.”
On January 24, everything ended in gunfire. Leaked videos show Alex filming agents, intervening to help a woman being pushed, getting pepper-sprayed, dropping to his knees – then shot multiple times while apparently motionless. No weapon. No threat visible. DHS insists he resisted violently. His sister calls it “murder.”
“I watched those videos over and over,” she whispered. “My baby brother on his knees. Begging? I don’t know. But he wasn’t attacking anyone. He was trying to protect people – like he always did in the hospital. And they killed him for it.”
Now, the family is shattered. Photos of Alex as a child – gap-toothed grin, hugging his big sister – sit next to his VA hospital badge and protest candle stubs. Mourners have turned the site of his death into a sea of flowers, candles, and handwritten notes: “ALEX – YOU SAVED LIVES,” “GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN.”
Protests rage on in Minneapolis and beyond, with crowds chanting his name alongside Renée Good’s. Signs read: “ALEX WAS ONE OF US,” “STOP THE KILLINGS.” His sister attended one vigil, holding his photo high, tears streaming.
“I keep thinking… if he’d never joined that group, maybe he’d still be here,” she said, choking on sobs. “Maybe he’d be calling me right now, telling me about some patient he saved. Alex, oh God… giá như – if only. If only you’d come home. If only you’d listened. I love you so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t pull you back.”
Her final words, barely audible through tears: “He was my little brother. Sweet, kind, funny. They took him from us. And now the world sees a ‘resister’ or a ‘victim’ – but I just see the boy who used to steal my cookies and hug me when I cried. Come back, Alex. Please.”
As the investigation drags on – with conflicting videos, withheld bodycams, and furious demands for justice – one thing remains painfully clear: a family has lost its heart. And a sister is left with nothing but memories, regrets, and a desperate wish that her brother had never walked down that path.
Alex Pretti is gone. But in his sister’s broken voice, his story lives on – a tragic warning about how quickly love can turn to loss when rage takes hold.
