When We Met

CH 8 Logan

"What the...f-" Noah began defiantly, but Father cut him off with a seething glare.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence in front of me, boy," he growled, slamming his wine glass down on the table with a force that made us all flinch. "Show some goddamn respect for your leader."

Noah clenched his jaw but stayed silent, the defiant fire still burning in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at Father. I could sense my brother's infamous temper simmering just beneath the surface, ready to provoke real violence at any moment with one wrong word.

"Father, surely you can't be serious about whatever this plan is?" I interjected, hoping to redirect the tension before Noah's lack of filter ignited the powder keg. "Going after another cartel outfit unprovoked would be dangerously reckless and destabilising to our operations here."

I knew questioning Father's decisions so baldly was like daring a recovered alcoholic to take a swig of whiskey. But someone needed to be the voice of strategic reason when his ambitions and ego outpaced pragmatic reality.

His head whipped around, nostrils flaring as he fixed me with a look that could liquefy carbon steel. For several tense beats, I legitimately thought he might abandon all propriety and backhand me across the face right there in front of Mother and Maria.

"Logan, you arrogant, naive little pup," Father sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You should know better than to question my authority on matters you clearly know nothing about."

He rose from his seat and began slowly circling the table like a hungry shark catching the scent of chum in the water. I felt my pulse thundering as his predatory presence seemed to suck all the air from the room.

"The Fernandez cartel is no mere small-fry outfit looking for a foothold here," he continued darkly. "They are the single most powerful, vicious syndicate rampaging across all of Central and South America as we speak."

Reaching the other end of the table, Father braced his hands on the polished wood and glowered at each of us in turn.

"Ruthless butchers who have razed a swath of overwhelming bloodshed and corruption through every territory they've expanded into without mercy. Make no mistake - they are making inroads right here in London, setting up operations, sinking their fangs into our communities as the prelude to an outright takeover."

A ripe silence hung in the air as we absorbed the ominous implications of that chilling revelation. The Fernandez were the kind of deep-rooted, endemic criminal cancer that could metastasise and devour any smaller opposition if allowed to spread their influence unchecked.

"This is an existential threat to everything we hold," Father stated with cold finality. "An apex predator powering its way onto our territory to seize control through complete domination. Over my dead body will I permit those high-riding Meso-punk wankers to wrest control of what is rightfully mine by birth and conquest?"

His eyes bored directly into me as those last words seemed to crash over the table in a tidal wave of barely restrained madness and fury. I felt a shudder run through me at the intensity of his gaze.

"But...how? What exactly is your plan to counter such an immense force as the Fernandez?" I heard myself asking, unable to keep the trepidation from my voice. "Taking them on directly would be virtual suicide in our current position. We'd be hopelessly outmatched and outgunned."

For a long moment, Father simply stared at me, making me feel about two inches tall and just as insignificant. Just when I thought he might unleash his terrible wrath upon me for continuously questioning his judgment, his features settled into an eerie calmness.