At sentencing for murder outside Minneapolis restaurant, victim’s family and killer express anguish

The murder of Franclin Ignacio Orellana left everyone in anguish, including the man who killed him.

At the sentencing Wednesday for 22-year-old Juan Josue Canario Robles, who pleaded guilty to second-degree murder for killing Orellana, 44, last winter outside the Conga Latin Bistro in Minneapolis, the endless string of lives affected was on display.

Orellana’s wife, Kayle, said when she showed up at the hospital and saw her husband covered in bloody towels, the doctor told her they had brought him back to life but he was being rushed into surgery. Orellana had been shot in the head and neck but the doctors said he could still hear. She should speak quick. She was 12 weeks pregnant with their third child. All the strength in her body left her. All she could say was, “Babe, I’m here.”

After she gave birth to their son several months later, she had to stop breastfeeding. Her body was too weak. Her 3-year-old daughter, one of Orellana’s five children, knows her dad is now an angel, flying through the sky. She asks if it’s possible they could catch him.

Orellana was known lovingly as Nacho. His nephew, Omar, said of all the things Nacho was, No. 1 was a family man.

His older daughter, Melanie, told the court that her father was born on Dec. 25 and Christmas was a time of massive celebration for the family. Orellana was shot on Dec. 16, 2023. The altercation started when a friend of Orellana approached Canario Robles’ wife on the dance floor and several fights ensued throughout the night, though Orellana never took part.

As Canario Robles was driving away, he shouted a threat and Orellana and a friend chased the car. Canario Robles fired a gun out the window. Orellana died two days later. Neither man had any criminal history in Minnesota.

“Christmas is now something I dread,” Melanie said, describing how the family stands around her father’s grave and sings him “Happy Birthday.”

Nacho was the linchpin of his large family, which packed the Hennepin County courtroom. He was a constant presence on the phone and a best friend to his children, including his son, Eddie, whose foot tapped anxiously as he gave his victim impact statement to the court. Eddie spoke of their unbreakable bond, how when they were served a bad meal they would throw chips into it and laughingly say, “the chips were pretty good.” They would play basketball and football and drive for hours just to be together.

“Mr. Robles,” Eddie said, looking at his father’s killer who interlaced his fingers and looked back, “you took my father, my best friend, my mentor away from me.”

Before he was sentenced, Canario Robles was given the customary right of being the last to speak.

He looked at the Orellana family, several of whom had said they were terrified of him, of his eventual release from prison, of what he might do to them and of his seeming lack of accountability for his crime.

Canario Robles began to sob and said, “There is not a letter that I can write to explain the remorse that I feel for that family.”

He said he did not care how much time he spent in prison, all that mattered was that they knew he was sorry. Canario Robles said he grew up without a father, that his uncle was murdered with a gunshot to the head and that everyday he will live forever with the “split-second” decision he made outside a Minneapolis nightclub. He said every night he dreams of Orellana. In those dreams, he sees Orellana with his family and at the hospital. On the worst nights, he is carrying Orellana’s body trying to restore his heartbeat.

“All of this stuff haunts me and for the rest of my life, it will,” Canario Robles said. “I will never do anything to any of you.”

He began speaking to the Orellanas in Spanish and Judge Carolina Lamas reminded him that he needed to speak English and that he should direct his statement at her, not the family. But Canario Robles continued to turn and plead with the Orellanas.

Canario Robles told them he recently asked his mom if the family ever forgave the man who killed his uncle. His mother told him, no.

“All I ask is forgiveness,” Canario Robles said.

Orellana’s family sat together, three rows deep in the gallery. Several leaned forward and stared at Robles as he spoke. If they were inclined to that forgiveness, it did not show.

Assistant Hennepin County Attorney Brian Duginske argued that Canario Robles had several chances to walk away that night and change the fate of so many lives. He asked Lamas to sentence him to 15 years.

Travis Keil, Robles’ attorney, said that Canario Robles had pleaded guilty, shown remorse for his crime and that while he would not argue self defense, Orellana and a friend had chased the car Canario Robles was driving and pounded on his windows. Keil asked for 11½ years.

Lamas sentenced him to 12½ years. Under Minnesota sentencing guidelines and with good behavior and credit for time served, Canario Robles could be out in a little over seven years.

Canario Robles’ mother sobbed in the courtroom, “Te amo, hijo,” she said squeezing her arms around her chest. Robles looked back at her as Orellana’s family began to file out of the courtroom and said, “I love you, too.”