I pulled the needle from my hand and sighed, thinking it was the first of many needles I would need throughout the day. I couldn't show any weakness. I put them back in the car's front seat's back slag. As I saw Guvnor opening the door to the backseat, I tensed. He didn't sit down but peeked through, his eyes moving to my clenched hands before locking onto me.

"Everything sorted?" he asked, nodding at me.

I sighed and nodded back. He turned away but quickly turned around again, glancing at my legs. This time, he spoke slowly so the driver wouldn't hear.

"Listen, I can handle this alone. You don't have to come with me. You could take a break, maybe check out the clubs, see how things are running," he suggested.

I glared at him. I didn't have a problem, and I could manage just fine. That's why I was here with him. But he always had to show some power, some control, trying to assert dominance over me.

"I was saying we haven't seen the work of the clubs since we arrived. Why don't you check them out and make sure that they understand the rules? All you need to do is inform our club handles to let them take advantage of our privileges, once they show you, they've completed their daily targets," he said. shutting the door behind me with a loud slam. I stood there, feeling my legs steady beneath me, which somehow calmed the rapid nerves in my brain.

I turned to Guvnor. He leaned out of the car door and, shutting it, slipped his hands into his pockets. He turned around and looked at me, his head cocked to one side. He smirked at me, knowing full well how irritated I was by his pointless words and needless concerns.

I walked around the car and sneered, "You're an expert in business deals and getting cozy with drug dealers, huh, Adam? Why not?" I ignored him and headed straight for the imposing building ahead.

The building was a monolith of sleek glass and steel, a towering symbol of power and dominance kissing the skyline. It's specifically designed for meetings like these and features a three-story underground warehouse, perfect for 'treating' those who don't see eye to eye with us during discussions. Under this very roof, we deal out punishment to those who dare to defy us. The entire structure is reinforced with bulletproof walls, and the soundproof offices and two interrogation rooms ensure absolute discretion. This fortress is owned by Guvnor's father, a man whose family is no stranger to crime and corruption.

I handle the business of our drugs, the smuggling, and the payments involved. Essentially, I manage the hidden operations of our criminal organization, especially when it comes to revenge and blood oaths. On the surface, the government and the public see the merchandise business as being controlled by Guvnor. He doesn't want me involved in that aspect, he wants to keep things peaceful and under control. It's not like I'm putting major obstacles in his way. I'll just sit and listen during the meeting. I might even enjoy it.

Guvnor sighed loudly behind me as we walked into the building. "Since this is your first time attending this kind of meeting, there's no need to get worked up," he said. "We're just going to listen and then tell them what's expected."

I nodded, thinking the same thing.

"There will be no conflict. No one will lay a hand on anyone, and you'll hand over your gun to the guard before entering the building," Guvnor said. I frowned and glanced over my shoulder at him. Seeing his gun tucked into his waistband, I raised an eyebrow.

"I know how to control myself," he barked, shaking his head at me. I glared at the guard standing at the entrance, shoving my favorite gun into his hand, making him stumble. "Keep it safe," I growled before stepping into the building.

We both entered the elevator, and I could feel Guvnor's eyes on me. I looked at the elevator door and met his gaze through the reflection.

"If you can't follow these rules, Adam, then turn around now. Because if you screw this up, I'll kill you myself," he said, his jaw clenched tightly. He was tense, worried about my behavior, probably about my temper. Patience isn't my strong suit. My gun is always ready for anyone who even slightly steps on my toes. I held his gaze until he finally looked away.

We walked into the office, and I noticed that everyone for the meeting was already there. His secretary stood behind the central chair of the hall. The Guvnor entered right after me and took a seat in that large brown leather chair. I settled into my black chair on his right side. Pulling my phone from my leather jacket pocket, I busied myself with checking emails, making sure to keep my ears open to catch every word being discussed. I also kept an eye on who was paying attention to the Guvnor's upcoming speech.

His secretary removed the pad, picked up a glass of water from the table, and took a few gulps. A sigh escaped his lips as he placed the glass back down. He walked to the front of the table, set the pad on the glass surface, intertwined his hands, and looked straight ahead. The paper on the pad fluttered at one corner, caught by the cold air from the air conditioner.

The people in this meeting were the heads of all forty to fifty operations. They managed our small and large factories in the country where the damage had occurred, and they were all eager to discuss boosting security.

"Alright, everyone. I'm George. We've been reviewing your concerns, and we've finally decided to address them in this meeting." George's voice was commanding, cutting through the room.

"So, we'll go around the room, and each of you will present your concerns to Guvnor Genovese." As George mentioned the Guvnor's name, a murmur rippled through the room. After a few moments, silence fell again. A man in the middle, dressed in a black suit and white shirt, spoke up.

"Sir, there are many factories under the God Father Merchandise brand, and due to the fire near the factory where I work, my people were there that day. They went to the backside of the warehouse to collect materials when the building exploded. They were killed instantly, and the factory warehouse caught fire," man explained. Our merchandise brand name is God Father Merchandise, which we use on clothes as our logo, 'GF'.

I picked up a list from the table and saw the name 'Charles London' on it. His name was on the list, meaning he was from the factory where families were devastated by the fire. 

"And now the workers are refusing to come to work," the man seated at the far end of the table spoke up, raising his hand and receiving a nod from George for permission to speak.

"Sir, the workers are demanding that the factory at that site be closed and they be transferred to another facility," another man's comment caused the Guvnor to clench his hands.

"Sir, it was lunchtime and some of their wives were there with them. They were instructed to wait in the warehouse temporarily, and now they are threatening legal action if we don't provide money for medical operations or surgeries. They're also demanding additional funds for their children's upbringing, and we simply don't have enough funds," I smirked upon hearing his complaint. He must have squandered that money on nightclub entries and having fun with some blonde, leaving his wife at home.

Another man chimed in, "The intermediary agents working in that area aren't coming to take orders for foreign shipments."

Another hand shot up, "Can I get a glass of water?" The man next to him smirked at his friend's request. A scoff escaped my lips. These jokers were here just for a laugh.

The Guvnor gritted his teeth hard, and I couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle. The Guvnor shot me an angry look, raising an eyebrow. I just shrugged it off and noticed George at the far end of the table making a call to request water for the office.

The man opposite me leaned toward the Guvnor, elbows on the glass table, fingers intertwined, and spoke, "Sir, as you know, I don't agree with their demands. Closing this factory would mean billions in losses for us." He adjusted his glasses, then looked directly at me. "I think, instead of pandering to them and giving in to every whim—especially since they waste time resting in the factory—we need to respond with firm measures, not with love, understanding, or any strategy of appeasement."

I smirked at his bluntness and lazily glanced at the Guvnor, thinking about how I'd love to clear out the trash.

Hearing him, the other people glanced around nervously. Some faces showed visible panic, while others started turning red with anger. The Guvnor also glared at him. George almost ran over, bending down from behind and whispering loudly into the man's ear, "Sir, what are you saying?" Startling the man.

"We should make decisions calmly, sir, and handle the situation with kindness, not taking the law into our own hands or making enemies by retaliating against their grievances," George pleaded, his innocence showing more than I had thought possible. I stared at the Guvnor, wondering how he could employ someone so naive. If George ever saw the basement room in our mansion, he'd run backward and wouldn't stop praying to God to take his eyes back.

The same man rolled his eyes at George's words, and maybe the Guvnor saw it because he banged his large hand on the table, making a loud thud. The whole room fell silent, and the only sound was the hum of the air conditioner. I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms over my chest, and exhaled.

"George!" the Guvnor growled. George quickly returned to his spot, clutching his pen and pad, standing rigidly by the table. He glanced around nervously, adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat.

"We've heard all your concerns, and we've decided that the workers at the Croydon factory will stay there. There will be no transfers." Three of them gasped, while the others in the room sighed or smiled in relief. One man shot up from his chair, sending it crashing into the wall with a loud clatter. The Guvnor ignored him, staying focused on George, who was offering the solution.

"Instead, we will provide you with new employees. You have immediate permission to recruit new workers. If any of them don't follow the rules, you're allowed to fire them. However, you'll receive an email within a week stating that any information they know about the company is false and that any claims of working here will be deemed false allegations."

"That means if anyone tries to report anything about what happens inside the company to the police, we will ensure it is dismissed as untrue. They will write a letter claiming they applied but were fired, and any accusations they make against us are false." He glanced at me and gave a small smile, which made me raise an eyebrow in doubt. Then he added, "And this way, we won't have blood on our hands." I rolled my eyes at him. But we could easily put some blood in his mouth with a bullet through his tongue.

good at nobody will know that we do the drugs smuggling with the use of merchandise.

I noticed a man sitting across from me. His eyes were fixed on the table, head down, and he blinked almost continuously, every few seconds. Sweat was dripping down his neck.

He looked like he was carrying a heavy burden. There was a strange look on his face, as if he wanted to hurt everyone. He had scars on his body, visible despite the burns on his hands that showed from under his half-shirt. There were also bruises on his face. He seemed very tired, like he didn't want to say anything here, and maybe he knew that whatever he said would be what the boss wanted. He seemed smart and somewhat calm, which was a sharp contrast to the current situation.

When another separate hand went up to speak, I sighed as I focused on what he was going to say. "Sir, as you know—" A scoff came from beside me. Everyone looked surprised in that direction, wondering who had the audacity. I glanced over and saw the same man who had been looking down throughout the entire meeting. I frowned, noticing how he kept staring down. A smirk crossed my face as I thought about how long it would take for him to stumble.

"You know what? They have absolutely no clue about the sacrifices us small guys make. Whether a bomb drops or a storm hits, it doesn't mean a thing to them, huh, sir?" The man finally looked up, his gaze shifting from the boss to me. I lifted my head from my hands, noticing the pain etched across his face.

"But how would you understand any of this, sir? You just bark out orders. If we toil for peanuts and that's not good enough, then just fire us. Someone else will fill our shoes. And if any of us dare to seek legal recourse, you won't hesitate to eliminate us, or worse, target our families." A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"I don't know what kind of self-image you have, sir. Even if you profit from shady deals, others might worship you like a god, but not me. I had hoped to earn a decent living, educate my daughter, and have a couple of square meals a day with a bit of sweetness, but people like you ensure the poor never escape poverty." It was crystal clear—this man wasn't a leader, he was just another worker trying to survive.

The room fell eerily silent, except for the unsettling sound of Guvnor's chewing his skin into his mouth. I glanced over at George, who sighed deeply as he moved to close the gate of the glass-walled room. I knew exactly what was coming next. Do you think this guy stands a chance here now? Maybe, if Guvnor decides to deal with him favorably, but deep down, I doubted it.

As I looked around the room, I realized just how boring these meetings could get. I saw Governor rise from his seat as he began to speak, which made everyone sit up straight. Governor uttered only eight words that froze everyone in place, "You heard George, you will follow the orders." Then, he gave a stern look at the man with guts and left the meeting. I glanced over at George to see his reaction. He appeared content, perhaps relieved there would be no bloodshed, while others at the table were visibly shaken.

The meeting wrapped up, and the man who first suggested fight approached me, extending his hand for a shake. I glanced at his hand, then at him. He nervously smiled, "I'm James London. It was really nice meeting you, sir." People rarely see me, and those who do often don't live much longer. If he's introducing himself to me, he must have seen me somewhere, maybe while I was slicing someone's throat. I need to stay alert. His smile was sinister, and he had a bullet scar on the side of his head where no hair grew. His presence gave me weird vibes, so I nodded at him, shoved my hands into my pockets, turned around and walked out of the room.