Sweet Hatred
Chapter 101: Kael Roman - i

Chapter 101: Kael Roman - i

KAEL

I sat alone in a private suite, a glass of untouched whiskey sweating on the table beside me. Dim lights. Dead silence. The kind of quiet that forced thoughts to the surface—the kind I didn’t want.

Her laugh echoed In the back of my skull, soft and uninvited.

I shut it down.

Now wasn’t the time for ghosts in silk blouses and sharp tongues.

The door clicked once before it opened. Niko stepped in, composed as always, hands behind his back where they belonged. He knew better than to bring chaos into my space. His eyes met mine briefly—a silent nod—before he moved to stand at a respectful distance.

"Luca Bellandi’s been active," he said. "Three new properties under shell accounts. Two are legit fronts—clubs. One’s a house outside Florence. Likely private dealings."

I didn’t respond. I leaned back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, watching him. Letting him sweat under the weight of my silence.

He continued, tone tighter. "He’s trying to spread faster than his resources allow."

"He’s also been consolidating," he added. "Shifting men from Naples to Milan. Selling off minor stakes to push funds into offshore accounts. He’s bleeding but playing like he’s got cards."

He paused.

I tilted my head. "What’s he hiding?"

"Desperation." Niko’s tone sharpened. "His cash flow is garbage. Two shipments went missing last month— another group intercepted them. He’s too proud to show it, but he’s panicking. Reaching."

I nodded once. "He’s looking to XE for oxygen."

"Wants to latch onto the Roman core business," Niko confirmed. "If he does, he’ll use that position to climb—maybe even push your father into retirement. He wants power, not partnership."

I leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled. "What about the bounty?"

Niko’s jaw ticked. "Not yet confirmed but it sees another family’s got a silent mark on Luca. He doesn’t know it yet. But someone’s just waiting for him to choke."

I let that sit. Let it stew. My mind was already setting up the board—knights to flank, pawns to bleed."

"And?" I said finally.

Niko shifted slightly. "We found a paper trail linking his original holdings to your father’s bailout—fifteen years ago. Technically, the Bellandis have claim to a margin of our ports. Not half. Nowhere near. But Luca’s twisting the paperwork."

Desperation. Weak men made loud demands when they were drowning.

Before I could speak, the air changed—electric. A colder presence swept in behind Niko like a shadow with weight.

Clan.

He didn’t knock. He never did. Former black ops, now mine. A ghost with blood on his hands and no record of existence. If Niko was my tactician, Clan was my warhead. He led the wipeout team to rescue Aria too.

"Luca’s moved twenty of his men into the city," Clan said. Voice like gravel, deep and unforgiving. "Four at the Bellucci club. Six at that high-rise in Torro Heights. The rest scattered. All armed. All jumpy."

"And what’s your assessment?"

Clan’s eyes didn’t blink. "They’re not ready for a fight. They’re trying to look bigger than they are."

I smirked, just barely. "Inflation works both ways."

I stood, slow and deliberate. Walked to the table, touched the rim of the glass but didn’t drink. Just stared into the amber swirl, thinking moves ahead.

"If he’s playing Sicilian..." I murmured, more to myself than them, "I’ll go Caro-Kann. Let him open first. Let him believe I’m passive."

There was a knock, sharp and hesitant. The door opened an inch. One of the boys leaned in, his face pale.

"Someone dropped this off. Said it’s urgent."

He stepped in and handed a thick black envelope to Clan, not me. The hierarchy was respected.

Clan tore it open. A small card inside. Nothing but an address and a time. I took it from him, looked it over. Luca was making his move.

Good.

"Bellucci club," Clan said quietly. "He’s summoning you."

"No," I said, slipping the card into my coat pocket. "He’s setting the board. He thinks he gets white."

I turned, slow smile curling at the edge of my lips.

"They expecting a shootout?" Niko asked.

"They’re hoping for a win," Clan replied. "Problem is—they’re betting on the wrong devil."

I smirked. Clan stepped forward, set a flash drive on the table. "Floor plans of the club he picked. Two exits. Six security cameras. He’s got muscle posted at every stairwell. Amateurs."

I slid the drive into my laptop. Pulled up the blueprint and zoomed in. "How tight’s the perimeter?"

"Loose enough to leak blood," Niko said, crossing his arms. "We can have eyes in the lounge before you ever step out the car."

"Good," I murmured. My voice didn’t rise, didn’t need to. "No one makes a move unless I say so. If they touch me, break their hands. If they point steel, gut them."

Clan nodded once. "I’ve got teams stationed in a two-block radius. Silenced. Unmarked. You walk in clean. You walk out cleaner."

I looked up at both of them. "This isn’t a shootout. It’s a statement. I want Luca scared enough to taste it. Let them bring fire, I’ll teach them who invented it."

....

The car was quiet. Just the low sound of the engine and the occasional click of Niko’s pen against the notepad he never actually wrote in. Clan sat beside him, arms folded, jaw tight. The city blurred past the tinted windows—until something made me lift my head.

Red. Not just any red—her red. Blood. Silk. Sharp cut. Slit high enough to haunt.

It was displayed in the boutique window like a dare.

"Stop the car," I said.

Niko blinked. "Sir?"

"Now."

The brakes hissed as we pulled to the curb. I stepped out without another word, adjusting my coat, the cold biting but not enough to matter. The boutique was empty save for a pale salesgirl who looked ready to faint the second she saw me.

I pointed through the glass. "That dress. Size two."

She nodded like her life depended on it.

Behind me, through the reflection, I saw Niko and Clan watching from the car. Clan didn’t move, but I could practically feel Niko’s confusion radiating through the windshield.

Five minutes later, the dress was in a pristine white box, tied with a black ribbon. I didn’t say who it was for.

I walked back to the car, slid in, dropped the box gently on the seat between us like it wasn’t a live grenade, and murmured, "Continue."

Clan raised a brow. Niko didn’t speak.

Smart men.