When We Met

CH 5 Logan

As I opened the door to my family's huge mansion, I was hit with that familiar sense of it being more like a gilded cage than a home. Even after all these years of living here since getting pulled into the family business at 18, the opulent estate still felt confining rather than comfortable. Though I supposed having gotten older and taller helped me feel slightly less trapped within these ornate walls.

I made my way toward the kitchen, the atmospheric scents of my mother's cooking providing a rare sense of normalcy and warmth. As I stepped inside, I found her swaying her hips subtly to the strains of her favourite music playing, looking so at peace readying our evening meal.

"Hi sweetie, how was work today? Everything okay?" she asked in that tender tone I'd always remembered, not even turning around from the simmering pots.

I froze, startled by the question. Work was never something she inquired about - not the real work, at least. She knew the dark truth of what our family did, the criminal underworld we operated, but she maintained a willful ignorance about the details. As long as her sons and husband were provided for, she seemed content living in our luxurious prison.

Finally sensing my hesitation, she glanced over her shoulder at me with a wry smile. "I'm asking about the legal work, Logan. Does it look like I want to know how Noah's...what do you boys call it? His hunt went?" She made a disapproving click of her tongue. "No, I don't need those details. I just want to know if your day at the offices was productive."

I exhaled and moved further into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the stools at the centre island. The familiar smells and homey setting helped ease me back into a steadier mindset.

"It was a good day at work, Mum. Dad would be pleased to know we earned a profit of one million pounds from our latest investment. It's a bit of a smaller haul than usual, but still—"

"But it's a profit nonetheless," a deep, gruff voice interrupted as the man himself strode into the kitchen with his usual air of command. "Well done, son. I knew you were up for the challenge of righting the ship."

I straightened a bit taller on the stool, preening at the rare praise from my father. He was right - we had neglected the legitimate business side while expanding our underground operations lately. Profits had plummeted as a result, and I'd had to spend months doing damage control.

My father and I never had a typical father-son relationship. From a young age, his priorities were building his own criminal empire, no matter how small or short-lived. While other dads attended their kids' events, mine was hustling to carve out his foothold, determined not to just be a foot soldier for the wider Walsh family syndicate.

For a few years, it looked like he might succeed. Money poured in and we deluded ourselves we could rise above being another branch on the family tree. But it all came crashing down when my uncle dismantled everything, forcing us to crawl back under the syndicate's shadow.

That night of utter defeat was one of my earliest memories - the stench of my father's failure and humiliation as he demanded with cold resolution that we fully immerse ourselves. No more indulging fantasies of legitimacy. From then on, he made it excruciatingly clear that I, as heir apparent, would need to lead the entire illicit empire one day.

So while others learned to play sports from their dads, I received a different tutelage - drilling me in not just business, but psychology, violence, and cruelty, the black skills required of any underworld don. My childhood innocence was ruthlessly excised as he hammered home the brutal mentality I'd need to thrive as a vicious ruler someday.

Even now, I see the way he evaluates me solely as the instrument to enact his vengeful return to power over the Walsh family - never as his son, but as the heir who will help him settle scores. We never experienced father-son bonds, only a legacy of savagery and ambition where my role was etched from birth.

My dad moved to pour himself a glass of 18-year-old scotch from the decanter, keeping his focused gaze locked on me as he took a sip.

"Yes, thanks to the windfall from our new drug supply lines last year, we have income that needs...laundering, for lack of a better term." A faint smile played across his lips as he clearly had an idea forming behind those cold eyes. "I'm thinking you could use some of these legitimate profits to open a new, fresh business venture. Something other than your typical obvious strip club or casino front."

I leaned forward, intrigued. Part of my role in overseeing the legal realm was coming up with ways to creatively integrate the illegal cash flow through new investment streams. I lived for opportunities to deploy my skills at diversification and making our operation even more untraceable.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, unable to keep the excitement from building in my chest. "I've got some ideas pencilled out for potential new startups we could pour some funding into as false instruments..."

My father grinned that thin, skeletal smile of his - the one that always sent a shiver through me despite how accustomed I'd become to his ruthlessness.

"Listen to your old man, son," he said in that soft, dangerous tone. "I think I know just the person to consult about getting us into some new...profitable harbours, shall we say."

At that moment, despite the lavish trappings and my mother's humble domesticity around us, I was harshly reminded that we were a family of wolves simply waiting to be unleashed once more.

I knew if I wanted to save my siblings and mother from the insidious darkness running through the Walsh family, I couldn't keep running from it myself. For too long, I'd clung to pursuing the legitimate side, deluding myself I could avoid the underworld entirely. But that fragile illusion shattered after seeing how effortlessly the shadow's existence had already consumed Noah.

My brother's eyes, once bright, now burned with feral hunger for the violence and depravity defining our bloody trade. I couldn't allow that light of decency to be extinguished within my own soul too. Nor could I stand by as it was snuffed out in my sister Maria or my mother, whose grasp on normalcy was the only tether to reality.

No, for their sake, I would need to let the darkness in. But not the unchecked, rabid darkness claiming Noah. I'd nurture the shadowy predator dormant within while maintaining an iron grip on my humanity.

It would be a tight serpentine coil, channelling just enough savagery to establish dominance and usher in the Walsh ascendancy my father craved, while not drowning completely. A tall order, but one I knew I must master if I wanted any chance of emerging victorious with my family still intact.