Chapter 284: Give Him a Bottle of Poison
Rodolfo, back in his guise as the faceless man, adopted an even colder demeanor, a palpable air of superiority cloaking his every action. Fixing his gaze on Winona, he declared, "Miss Sullivan, our relationship is strictly business. I ensured your safety in A City because you're a valuable asset. My investment in you is significant—I can't afford to cut my losses now."
He removed his hat, smoothing back his disheveled hair. "As for the supposed presence on the third floor, whether there's someone there or not, they are under my jurisdiction. As an employee, Miss Sullivan, you have no right to see my people."
Winona's brow furrowed in frustration. "All I want is to uncover information about my mother. That was the condition under which I agreed to this arrangement."
Without the leverage of those photos and their insinuations of possessing crucial knowledge, she would never have consented to this daunting task.
Rodolfo's face hardened. "You’ve unearthed nothing and nearly lost your life in A City. Miss Sullivan, if your mother knew, she would never condone these risks. The adversary we face is beyond your reckoning."
Winona, undeterred, asked, "What if I insist on investigating?"
Irritated by her obstinacy, Rodolfo snapped, "If it weren't for..." He halted abruptly, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "I can save you once, but not again. If you persist in this suicidal escapade, you're on your own. Prepare a heartfelt apology for your mother and grandfather in the afterlife for your recklessness."
Winona replied, "Okay."
Rodolfo was momentarily speechless. Did this woman not grasp the gravity of his warnings? Couldn't she see he was trying to dissuade her?
Ignoring his displeasure, Winona made her way to the easel, putting the finishing touches on the painting. "Here," she said, handing it over with finality. "Examine it. If it's satisfactory, it's officially yours."
Her implication was clear—what happened to the painting afterward was not her concern.
Rodolfo, distracted and irritated by unfinished directives from superiors, barely glanced at the painting, which was just an excuse to get close to Winona, and now that the goal was achieved, the painting was even less important.
He glanced at it casually and tossed it aside.
Seeing her meticulous work treated like trash tugged at Winona's heartstrings, but as a restorer, she kept her professional composure. She offered Rodolfo a curt nod and walked out.
Rodolfo followed her out of the study, his presence more a shadow than a chaperone.
As they passed the staircase, Winona looked up at the third floor. "My mother used to live in this villa, didn't she?"
Her question seemed directed at the unspoken presence above, or perhaps it was meant for Rodolfo, a challenge dangled in the silence.
Rodolfo’s silence spoke volumes.
Her intuition confirmed, Winona surveyed the villa. What had once felt sinister now held a peculiar sense of solace. She turned to Rodolfo, a mix of defiance and determination in her expression. "If you're so worried about me floundering like a headless chicken, why not fill me in? Let me at least know the enemy I’m up against."
True to form, Rodolfo remained mute. Undeterred, Winona continued forward, leaving the shadow of the faceless man behind. The first-floor living room, devoid of Emerson, felt strangely vacuous, a prelude to the unknown battles ahead.
Rodolfo escorted her to the car, his normally tightly pressed lips softly parting as he uttered a single, weighty word.
Winona's eyes widened in surprise.
Because of the delay at the villa, by the time she returned it was quite late, and the recently developed commercial area was alive with the sights and sounds of various vendors. Feeling a pang of hunger, Winona ambled towards a brightly lit food truck. "One hot dog, please."
Before she could fully process the exchange, a familiar voice chimed in. "I'll have the same as her."
Winona turned her head, frowning at the two people standing beside her. "What are you doing here?"
Dylan smiled and said, "We followed you."
"I was waiting with Mr. Bailey at the apartment entrance, and when we saw you head this way, we decided to join you," he explained.
Zachary, with an air of aristocratic annoyance, chimed in, "You enjoy these cheap snacks, so I'll eat with you. Don’t be mad."
Winona couldn’t help but laugh at his high-and-mighty yet self-perceived compromising attitude. "Alright."
Leaning closer to Zachary, she whispered conspiratorially, “Look at that hot dog guy. He’s not wearing a hat or a mask, wiping the stove with a rag, then grabbing the meat with the same hand...”
Her voice, kept low out of courtesy to the vendor, barely masked her amusement.
Most street food vendors weren’t known for impeccable hygiene, a fact that didn’t bother Winona but was sure to ruffle the feathers of someone as finicky as Zachary.
"And look at those wilted vegetables in the basket. They're definitely not fresh and might not even be washed."
She was deliberately poking at Zachary’s sensibilities, knowing exactly what would unsettle him.
Despite his usual aversion, Zachary’s hand instinctively found her waist, maintaining a respectful distance yet unmistakably protective. "Are you really going to eat it?"
Her scent enveloped him, and the warm tickle of her breath on his ear turned it a shade of pink.
“Of course, I’m going to eat it,” Winona replied with a playful gleam in her eye.
“Then I’ll eat with you,” Zachary said, with more resolve than the casual nature of his words suggested.
Straightening up, Winona quizzed Dylan. "What’s wrong with your boss?"
Only a short time ago, Zachary had barely been able to look at her eating without a hint of disdain, longing to douse everything in disinfectant.
Dylan, who had been gazing skyward since Winona’s whisper, sighed softly. "Probably love. Mr. Bailey loves you and wants to share your experiences. He’d drink poison if you handed it to him."
Love-struck minds were beyond reason, he thought to himself. Tonight’s planned meeting with several branch managers would have to be postponed, as Mr. Bailey was preoccupied with wooing his ex near a food truck.
The hot dogs were quickly made. Winona grabbed hers and found a nearby table, eager to dig in. Zachary followed suit, watching as she nibbled at her food like a content hamster, her cheeks bulging adorably.
The hot dog was mediocre at best. Zachary, not particularly hungry, took a perfunctory bite before setting it down, his gaze never leaving Winona. "Don't you dislike onions?"
Winona shook her head slightly. "No, I actually like them."
Zachary, with a contemplative look, continued, "And the meat? It doesn’t seem very fresh."
"It's smoked meat," she explained, her tone unbothered. "Probably quite old."
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