Sweet Hatred
Chapter 98: Business men not Butchers.

Chapter 98: Business men not Butchers.

Taking a seat, I flexed my hand against the armrest, biting back the curse crawling up my throat. Of course he needed me. He always needed me when the bodies started piling up.

"And what kind of problem requires dragging your decrepit ass all the way here?" I muttered.

He leaned in slightly, his smile sharpening like a blade.

"The Bellandi family."

The name hit me like a shot of adrenaline. Not because I feared them — because I knew exactly who they were and what they were capable of.

The Bellandi family. East Coast royalty in organized crime. Old money, older grudges, and enough bodies buried to populate a small country.

I didn’t say anything. Just let the silence stretch, my mind already calculating, rearranging priorities.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

"Years ago, I asked them for a favor," he said. "One of my competitors... inconveniently survived an accident I arranged. Luca Bellandi finished what I started. But now he’s in trouble. His territory is falling apart, and he has nowhere left to turn."

My fists clenched at my sides. I could already see where this was going, and I hated it.

"And now what?" I asked, teeth gritted. "He’s asking for repayment? Then give it to him."

He smiled like a shark smelling blood.

"And now," he said, his lip curling into a snarl, "he wants a seat at the table. Half the corporation. Half of our empire. He thinks because we don’t run guns and women like they do, we’re soft. He thinks he can threaten us into handing over what’s ours."

I laughed once — short and sharp. "He’s dumber than he looks." He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of cigar smoke on his breath.

"He’s here Kael," he said, tapping two fingers against the wood. "In our backyard. Silent. Watching. Like he thinks he’s owed something."

"And you’re telling me this why?" I said coldly. "I don’t get it. Why the hell can’t you just handle it? You’ve got more than enough power to crush him."

His mouth twisted, and I caught a flicker of something ugly in his eyes.

"I’m not the man I used to be son," he said, voice low. "Age...has a way of dulling your teeth."

Bullshit. He wasn’t scared. Ewan Roman didn’t know what fear meant. He knew the Bellandis weren’t the same fumbling street rats they used to be. They were rabid now. Wounded and vicious from whatever mess they’d gotten into back in their own territory. And wounded animals didn’t back down. They tore, they clawed, they killed.

"I want you to remind all of them," he continued, eyes gleaming. "Remind them who they’re fucking with." He paused, studying me like he was weighing something darker.

"Remember when I told you, Kael... we’re not butchers. We’re businessmen?"

I didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge his question. He smiled — and this time, it was pure venom.

"I lied," he whispered, voice hollow and hungry.

Of course he did. I always knew.

"We’re butchers, Kael. Only difference is we wear silk ties while we carve flesh. We don’t just cut , we slice with precision. We don’t just kill — we erase. No splatter. No trail. Just meat in a suit. And we smile while we do it."

His pupils blew wide like some starving animal in a cage too small for his sickness. He leaned closer, breath cold as a morgue slab.

"We don’t get blood on our hands, son... because we taught it how to disappear."

I pushed the chair back with my knee and grabbed my jacket off the stand.

"You should’ve called your dear friend Dimitri Kurov" I said over my shoulder. "He would’ve loved to get his hands dirty for you."

My father chuckled, raspy and old, but still proud.

"Why send for a viper from across the ocean," he said, "when I’ve got a wolf right here?"

I didn’t bother answering. I just slid my arms into the sleeves and rolled my shoulders back, feeling the weight settle.

"Send me everything you have on them," I said, my voice cool, detached. "I’ll pay them a visit."

For a second, there was silence.

Then, quietly, my father said, "Show them why the Romans were feared."

I didn’t look at him. Didn’t promise him a damn thing.

I was already thinking about Aria again. About the brief, dangerous fantasy I’d allowed myself earlier — her in white, soft and smiling, wearing my ring, carrying my name.

Behind me, I heard his voice one last time — low, satisfied.

"Good boy."

I pushed it out of my head and stalked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind me.

By the time I hit the elevator, my mind was already moving three steps ahead. Luca was smart enough to still be breathing after fifteen years in the game, but desperate men made sloppy choices. And if he thought the Romans were a softer breed now, too busy playing at corporations and gala fundraisers to remember how to rip out throats, he was about to get a brutal education.

I leaned back against the wall as the elevator doors slid shut. A flash of Aria’s face cut through the blood and strategy swirling in my head — that startled look in her eyes when I kissed her, the way her lips parted like she wasn’t sure whether to slap me or pull me back in. The memory clung to me like smoke, sweet and stubborn, soft in all the wrong places.

Stupid. That kind of softness was dangerous.

I clenched my jaw and shook the thought off like blood from a blade.

By the time I stepped into the garage, Niko was already waiting, standing beside the car like a soldier awaiting orders. He didn’t say anything. He never did unless spoken to. That’s why I kept him close. I didn’t need noise—I needed precision.

His eyes flicked to mine as I approached, the faintest shift in his posture betraying that he already knew something was wrong. He didn’t ask. Just opened the passenger-side door, then moved around to the driver’s seat without waiting.

I got in. Closed the door behind me. Let the silence sit for a second before breaking it.

"The old man showed up at the tower," I said flatly.

The car started with a low growl beneath us. Niko didn’t look at me. His eyes were on the mirrors, hands on the wheel, movements sharp and methodical.

"I saw." The engine roared. "What did he want?" he asked.

"He wants me to handle something... unpleasant." I paused, watching the city pass through the tinted glass. "A name came up. Luca Bellandi."

This time, Niko’s hands stilled for half a second. Just one. Enough to confirm he understood exactly what that meant.

"The Mafia?"

"Yeah. Apparently, years ago, my father used them to wipe out a competitor. Now the favor’s come back to collect—with interest. They’ve decided XE is ripe for the taking. Think we’re vulnerable. Think we forgot who we are."

Niko didn’t respond immediately. He turned onto the main road, merging with traffic like he was guiding a blade into flesh.

"They have presence in the city?"

"According to him, yes. Quiet. Subtle. But they’re here."

"What’s the directive?"

"Full sweep. I want files on every asset tied to the DeLuca name. Business fronts. Personal contacts. Security patterns. I want to know where they sleep, who they fuck, what they eat, and when."

"I’ll pull everything."

I glanced out the window, watching the skyline bend and stretch in the distance.