~María José's Point Of View~
The day Axel called Father out, he barely made it out the gate before the storm began.
My father stood frozen for a second, his chest rising and falling in quick succession with his nostrils flaring. That was something I liked to call; silence before the explosion.
And then it came.
"¡Maldita sea!" He roared, grabbing the closest thing in his reach—which happened to be a heavy wooden ashtray… and hurling it across the room. It hit the far wall with a crack, scattering ashes all over the floor.
I winced, but I didn't dare move.
"Summon the men," he barked at one of his guards. "We're going to the butcher's."
The words sent a cold shiver down my spine.
I already knew what this meant. My father was about to make a scene, to stomp through the butchery like an angry bull and salvage whatever respect he believed I had single-handedly destroyed.
