Sweet Hatred-Chapter 480: The Folder

KAEL

I froze, my hand still on the doorframe.

"What do you know?"

The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but I didn’t care. If Ewan knew something, anything, about where Aria was, I needed it now.

Ewan shifted slightly in the bed, wincing at the movement. "You know I have my ways with information."

Irritation flared hot in my chest. "So what’s your point?"

I didn’t have time for his cryptic bullshit. Not now. Not when every second that passed was another second Aria was in danger.

"I might be able to help you find her," Ewan said, his voice steady despite his physical weakness.

I turned fully to face him, my pulse quickening. "How? What do you mean? Connections?"

"No." He shook his head slowly. "Not connections."

A pause.

The machines beeped softly in the background, filling the silence with their rhythmic, clinical sound.

"The girl who took her, Sarah Brown, she’s been found dead," Ewan continued. "That means someone else took Aria."

My jaw clenched. "I know that already. We found Sarah’s body less than an hour ago."

"Then you know you’re not looking for a desperate woman anymore." Ewan’s gaze held mine. "You’re looking for someone with resources. With manpower. With a plan."

"So you know who took her."

It wasn’t a question.

Ewan’s expression darkened. "Yes. I think I might have an idea."

"Who?" The word came out like a growl.

"Unlike you," Ewan said quietly, "my other son is very predictable."

The air left my lungs.

Andrew.

Of course it was Andrew.

I’d suspected it from the moment we found Sarah’s body, the execution-style gunshot, the professional boot prints, the coordinated extraction. It had Andrew’s fingerprints all over it.

But hearing Ewan confirm it made it real.

Made it undeniable.

My brother had kidnapped Aria.

I moved back toward the bed, my voice dropping to something dangerous. Something bordering on a threat.

"Where the fuck do you think she is?"

Ewan didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

"I’m not 100% certain," he said carefully. "But I have an idea."

"Then tell me. Now."

"Before the accident, I was tracking Andrew’s activities." Ewan’s fingers twitched against the hospital blanket. "Just like you were tracking him, I was too. And he’s gotten involved with some very dangerous people."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Mexican cartel. Italian mafia. That level of dangerous."

I scoffed, a bitter sound escaping my throat. "No shit. We’re not any better than them."

Ewan’s eyebrows rose slightly.

"We’re just better at hiding bodies and covering tracks," I continued, my tone flat. Honest.

The Roman family empire wasn’t built on legitimate business alone. We both knew that. The shipping routes that moved "legal" cargo also moved weapons. The real estate portfolio included properties that existed solely to launder money. The political connections weren’t just for favorable legislation, they were insurance policies against prosecution.

We were criminals.

We’d just never been caught.

Ewan laughed, a weak but genuine sound that turned into a cough. When he recovered, he was smiling.

"You’re right about that," he admitted. "But that doesn’t change anything, does it?"

"No." My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "It doesn’t."

"So where do you think she is?" I demanded.

Ewan reached for the call button on his bedside table, pressing it once. Within seconds, the door opened and a middle-aged woman in a gray suit stepped inside.

"Margaret, bring me the Andrew file." Ewan said.

Margaret’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the only sign of surprise she allowed herself, before she nodded and left.

I waited, every muscle in my body coiled tight with impatience.

Thirty seconds later, Margaret returned carrying a thick manila folder. She handed it to Ewan without a word and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Ewan held the folder out to me.

I took it, flipping it open immediately.

The first thing I saw was a photograph.

Andrew, sitting at an outdoor café, across from a man in an expensive Italian suit. The man’s face was sharp, angular, his eyes cold even in the grainy surveillance photo. In the margin, someone had written a name: Dante Moretti.

I flipped to the next page.

Another photo. Andrew shaking hands with a heavily tattooed man whose military bearing was obvious even in civilian clothes. The notation read: Javier "El Cuchillo" Ruiz.

More photos followed.

Andrew meeting with corrupt politicians I recognized, senators Ewan had bought and paid for over the years. Business rivals. Former investors Ewan had screwed over. Ex-partners who’d been cut out of deals and left with nothing but grudges.

Page after page of Andrew building something.

Building an army.

"Los Fantasmas," Ewan said quietly. "That’s what they call themselves. The Ghosts."

I looked up from the folder. "Who are they?"

"A shadow organization." Ewan shifted in the bed, his expression grim. "They’re not your typical cartel or mafia. They’re something worse. A hybrid network that operates across borders, the cartel muscle combined with Italian mafia structure, all wrapped up with corrupt government connections on three continents."

My stomach tightened.

"They handle the jobs that other criminals won’t touch," Ewan continued. "Political assassinations. Blackmail operations. Arms dealing on an international scale. Human trafficking. They have connections in the Mexican government, the Italian government, and more corrupt US officials than I care to count."

"And Andrew’s working with them."

"Not just working with them." Ewan’s voice hardened. "He’s offered them something they can’t get anywhere else."

"What?"

"Us." Ewan gestured to the folder in my hands. "Roman Holdings. Our entire infrastructure."

I flipped through more pages, my blood running colder with each one.

Financial documents showing offshore accounts. Property deeds for warehouses in six countries. Lists of shipping routes and port access. Names of customs officials on the Roman payroll.

Everything.

Andrew was offering them everything.

"The shipping routes alone are worth billions to an organization like Los Fantasmas," Ewan explained. "Legitimate cover for smuggling operations. Access to ports and customs officials we’ve spent decades cultivating. It would revolutionize their entire operation."

I kept reading.

Real estate portfolios. Political connections. Banking infrastructure.