Sweet Hatred Chapter 481: War

"And in exchange," I said slowly, understanding dawning, "they give him the muscle to take you down. To take down. To eliminate anyone who stands in his way."

"Exactly." Ewan’s jaw clenched. "Andrew’s plan isn’t just to take over the legitimate businesses, the conglorates, the public-facing companies. That’s just the surface."

He paused, his eyes eting mine with an intensity that cut through his physical weakness.

"The real Roman empire is underground, Kael. The arms deals. The political manipulation. The blackmail networks. The money laundering operations that fund half of Washington. That’s where the real power is. That’s what builds dynasties that last for generations."

My hands tightened on the folder.

"And Andrew is offering all of it," Ewan continued, "to the most dangerous criminals in the world."

The gravity of the situation crashed over like a wave.

This wasn’t just a kidnapping.

This wasn’t just Andrew throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get the inheritance he’d expected.

This was a hostile takeover backed by international cri syndicates. This was the kind of thing that could trigger an international incident if it went public.

And Aria was caught in the middle of it.

I closed the folder and looked at Ewan.

He looked old. Tired. Fragile in a way I’d never seen before.

But there was sothing else in his eyes. Sothing that looked almost like regret.

"Be careful son," he said. "These people don’t play by any rules. They’ll kill you without hesitation if it serves their purpose. And they won’t just kill you, they’ll make it hurt. They’ll destroy everything you care about first."

I moved toward the door. "Neither do I."

"Kael. "

I stopped, glancing back.

"I’m truly sorry for everything."

For a mont, our eyes t.

And in that mont, I saw sothing I’d never seen before: a father who actually gave a damn about his son’s happiness.

It was too little, too late.

But it was sothing.

"If you’re sorry then get better."

And then I left, the folder clutched in my hand, my phone already ringing as I coordinated with my teams.

Aria was out there sowhere.

In the hands of criminals who had nothing to lose and everything to gain from using her against .

But they’d made one critical mistake.

They’d underestimated what I was willing to do to get her back.

...

The command center had taken over the top floor of my downtown building, what was usually a pristine conference room now looked like a war room. Maps covered the walls. Laptops lined the massive table. Whiteboards filled with surveillance photos, tilines, and locations.

Ash stood at the center of it all, coordinating with Hayes and three other security chiefs. Sylas was on his phone, barking orders in Spanish to soone on the other end.

The mont I stepped through the door, everyone’s attention snapped to .

I didn’t waste ti with pleasantries.

I threw Ewan’s folder onto the table with enough force that it skidded across the polished surface, sending a laptop charger clattering to the floor.

"We have a bigger problem."

Ash moved imdiately, flipping open the folder. Her eyes scanned the first photo, Andrew and Dante Moretti at that café, and I watched her expression shift from concern to shock to cold fury.

"This bastard," she breathed.

She flipped through more pages, her movents becoming faster, more agitated. Sylas abandoned his phone call and ca to look over her shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," Sylas muttered. "Is this, "

"Los Fantasmas," I confird. "xican cartel. Italian mafia. International cri syndicate with connections in three governnts and more firepower than so small countries."

"And Andrew’s working with them." Ash looked up at , her face pale. "Kael, this isn’t just about Aria anymore."

"I know."

"No, I don’t think you do." She spread the photos across the table, her finger jabbing at each one. "If Andrew gave them access to Roman Holdings, to your shipping routes, your real estate, your political connections, this is an international cri syndicate taking over a legitimate empire."

"A legitimate empire built on illegitimate foundations," I said flatly.

Ash ignored that. "Do you understand what this ans? Los Fantasmas with Roman infrastructure? They’d be unstoppable. They could move weapons, drugs, people across borders with complete impunity. They’d own half the politicians in planet within a year."

"Which is exactly why Andrew offered it to them." I moved to the table, my hands bracing against the edge. "He needed muscle. Protection. Resources to go up against and Ewan. And he found the only people dangerous enough to give him a fighting chance."

Sylas picked up one of the photos, the one of Javier Ruiz, the heavily tattooed enforcer. "We need to contact the FBI. Interpol. This is beyond what we can handle on our own."

"No."

The word ca out sharper than I’d intended.

Sylas frowned. "Kael..."

"And tell them what?" I cut him off. "That my brother is working with cartels? That he’s offering them access to Roman Holdings?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

"You know what happens the second we make that call?" I straightened, my voice hard. "That opens up OUR operations to investigation. Everything my father built. Everything I’ve been running for the past one year. Every offshore account, every shell company, every shipping route that’s ever moved anything that wasn’t 100% legal."

Understanding dawned in Sylas’s eyes.

"They’ll seize everything," I continued. "Roman Holdings will be frozen while they investigate. Assets confiscated. Properties searched. And you know what they’ll find? Enough to put half the family in prison for the rest of our lives."

"So what?" Ash’s voice was tight with frustration. "You’re just going to let Andrew win? Let him hand over your entire empire to criminals?"

"No." I t her gaze. "We handle this ourselves."

"How?" Sylas demanded. "You’re talking about going up against Los Fantasmas. They have hundreds of n. Military-grade weapons. Politicians in their pocket. They’re not just so street gang, Kael. They’re a multinational criminal organization."

"I know what they are."

"Then you know this is suicide."

"It’s not suicide." My voice dropped to sothing colder. Darker. "It’s war."