Note: This story appeared in the fall 2018 issue of GQ Style. After the magazine went to press, news broke that Jermell Charlo had been arrested and indicted on one count of third-degree-felony domestic violence. This story has been updated with additional reporting.

“Bruh, look what you did.” Jermall Charlo was pointing to a tiny red speck on the white sleeve of his Gucci polo.

Jermell Charlo, his twin brother, glanced up from his plate of ravioli—the sauce was the same color as the speck. “I owe you now?”

“I need 500,” Jermall said. He wasn't kidding, but he wasn't not kidding, either. This is how the Charlo brothers talk, especially to each other: in a constant torrent of provocations, always probing for weakness.

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Jermall Charlo is a 28-year-old middleweight (160 pounds) boxing champion from Houston, and Jermell is almost exactly the same, except that he is one minute younger and, when he fights, six pounds lighter—a junior middleweight (154 pounds). Boxing championships can be dubious: A number of different organizations distribute championship belts, not always wisely. But these two are unanimously recognized as top-five fighters in their respective divisions and rising stars: accomplished and brash, known roughly equally for impressive victories and nonstop trash talk.

The twins were at a fancy Italian restaurant in Los Angeles, where Jermell, notwithstanding the ravioli, was cutting weight for his next fight, which was about a week away. The fight was at the Staples Center, where the Lakers play, although it was not the main event; Jermell's name and face were on billboards around town, but not very prominently. He claimed he didn't care. “It's a doubleheader,” he said, and he boasted that fans might leave once he was done. He was fighting a respected veteran named Austin Trout, whom Jermall had already beaten, by 12-round decision, in 2016. Jermell was planning to win by knockout, thereby outdoing his big brother—maybe even proving he was the big brother.

At lunch, this suggestion did not go unchallenged. “You ain't bigger than me,” Jermall said.

In response, Jermell flexed, and gazed meaningfully at his left biceps.

Sam Watson, a garrulous boxing executive who has worked closely with the brothers, examined them both and burst out laughing. “Man!” he said. “You niggas look the exact same size to me.”

The Charlo brothers have been boxing most of their lives: They are technically skilled, but they also fight with the kind of meanness that encourages fans to get carried away and to believe that the two guys in the ring are trying to settle a score, rather than just trying to win an athletic competition. Perhaps because they are twins, and because they started young, they are used to being thought of as tagalong kids—and are sick of it. They seem convinced that they are never given enough respect or attention.

Last year, at Barclays Center in Brooklyn, Jermell knocked out a previously undefeated prospect named Erickson Lubin. Jermell knocked him out in the first round, with a sneaky inside right hand that dropped Lubin not on his back but on his side, half stiff and still in his fighting crouch, frozen. This should have been a triumphant moment, but during the post-fight interview, both Charlos looked as if they were ready to fight some more—as if the knockout hadn't been enough. “They threw a chair at my brother!” said Jermell.

Jim Gray, the interviewer, turned toward Jermall, who had climbed back into the ring. “Are you okay?” he said.

Jermall glared at Lubin, who had wobbled back to his corner. “I'm good,” Jermall said. “Is he okay?” He kept glaring at Lubin. “Is you okay?”

The Charlo brothers are known for making a scene wherever they go, and when they arrived at a studio in Culver City for their GQ Style shoot, they were cheerful and characteristically confident. “My mom just picked up my lion head,” Jermell announced—back in Texas, he had commissioned a special prop for his grand entrance at Staples Center.

The brothers' careers have been guided by Al Haymon, one of the most powerful men in boxing (he helped Floyd Mayweather earn his fortune) and one of the most reclusive. Haymon stopped by the shoot, wearing a baggy suit and an indulgent smile, and the brothers seemed flattered that he had taken the time to come, perhaps because it suggested that they were among his top priorities. At 28, the Charlos are on the verge of joining the boxing elite—so long as they keep winning. (In boxing, it can take years to rebuild after a single loss, and many fighters never do.) Jermall's division, middleweight, includes two of the sport's biggest stars, Saúl “Canelo” Álvarez and Gennady “GGG” Golovkin, who are scheduled to meet in September; he is eager to fight either one. The brothers are finally in their professional prime, which means that the next few perilous years will determine how much money they make and how much damage they sustain. Between sittings, Jermell told Haymon about his lion head. “I spent a lot of money on that shit,” he said.

It was probably a good investment: The next week, at Staples Center, Jermell entered the ring like African royalty, with a furry coat to match his lion head. The fight itself, broadcast on Showtime, wasn't quite so memorable: Jermell twice knocked down Trout but didn't hurt him badly, and won by decision, much as his brother had two years earlier. “I know they're used to seeing me knock them boys out,” Jermell shouted during his post-fight interview. “Sometimes you knock someone out, sometimes you just beat 'em.”

Fans booed, perhaps because they had been hoping for a knockout, or perhaps because they had been against Jermell from the start—not a few people find the Charlos obnoxious. But in boxing, being reviled can be nearly as lucrative as being adored. The Charlos have put themselves on a pedestal. Soon we will find out whether anyone can knock them off.

Not long after that fight, in late July, ESPN reported that Jermell Charlo was the defendant in a criminal case. He had been arrested on May 18, after an alleged attack on a woman whom he had been dating. And on June 19, a grand jury indicted Charlo on one count of third-degree-felony assault toward a member of his household—that is, domestic violence.

Asked for comment, Charlo directed questions to Mike Howard, his lawyer, who said that Charlo is planning to plead not guilty. “The evidence in this case is actually really clear,” Howard said, arguing that the complainant described “an absolutely brutal attack,” of a kind that could cause severe physical trauma. “You would expect horrendous injuries,” he added. “And that’s just not what we have here.” The indictment alleges that Charlo “did...intentionally, knowingly, and recklessly cause bodily injury” to the complainant, “by grabbing and by squeezing complainant’s neck with a hand and by forcing complainant against a fence and by forcing complainant to and against a floor and a railing and by grabbing and by pulling complainant’s hair with a hand.”

It is hard to tell how much any of this will affect Charlo’s career, particularly because of the career he has chosen. There is no morals clause for boxers, because there is no central boxing authority. In America, the state athletic commissions are in charge of licensing, and they are empowered to suspend or ban boxers for cheating, or for medical reasons. In 1967, they banded together to deny a boxing license to Muhammad Ali, after he refused to be inducted into the army. But more recently, the basic rule has been that as long as you are not presently incarcerated, you are free to fight. Fans have shown no inclination to boycott boxers who are also abusers—and the same, relatedly, has been true of boxing executives. (Showtime declined to comment on Jermell’s arrest.) Even in recent years, as men in other domains have faced serious professional consequences for accusations of abusive or violent behavior, boxing has seemed largely immune.

Part of this has to do with the nature of boxing itself. The sport depends upon athletes who are willing to spend decades trading punches. As we are learning, getting hit in the head can be profoundly damaging—possibly in ways that can make a person more likely to perpetrate violence outside the ring. And fans are aware that many boxers come to the sport precisely because their lives have been difficult, and sometimes tragic; we see a reflection of that when we watch boxers put themselves and one other through hell in the ring. As a result, the boxing world has generally been a place where all sorts of indefensible behavior is tolerated, or else ignored. As the case against Charlo progresses, we may learn more about what happened in May. And from the reaction, we may learn more about boxing—about the extent to which it remains, as it has long been, a world apart, with its own logic and its own rules.

Kelefa Sanneh is a staff writer at The New Yorker.