No Love For The Villain - Chapter 42
When Dominic returned to his hotel room, he took photographs out of the inside pocket of his jacket.
They were pictures of a car taken from a distance.
As the photos fell onto the blanket one by one with soft taps, the faces in them gradually became clearer.
A woman sat in the passenger seat.
The prosecutor’s daughter was looking at the man in the driver’s seat.
A woman destined to die and a man who had come to kill her—however they were entangled, the man and woman in the photographs looked quite tender with each other.
Dominic recalled the man who had shown indifference when Dominic delivered his father’s request.
Eli Dimion.
His surname was not inherited from his biological father, but a kind of baptismal name given to him by the boss.
In exchange for abandoning his past and becoming his father’s possession, he had received a new name.
The man who had saved the Family that Prosecutor Knightley had driven to the edge of a cliff.
All enemies who threatened the Family died by his hand. The name Enrico himself bestowed completed his myth.
The organization’s members heard his name spoken in only one situation.
“Call Dimion.”
An order to summon him was tantamount to a death sentence. He was the final means of resolving difficult problems; any matter passed to him never returned alive.
His name meant death.
The human brain is absurdly simple.
Like a dog that salivates at the sound of a bell once it has been fed to it enough times,
a name heard in moments of terror was remembered as fear itself.
However, myth or terror aside, in the end he was just a man whose eyes had been caught by a woman.
It had become clear that waiting for him to kill that woman was a waste of time.
Another method was needed.
Dominic picked up the clearest photograph and lifted the receiver.
Just one woman—an inept field operative should be able to kill her, at least.
“It’s me. About the thing I asked you last time. Yeah, that woman. The prosecutor’s daughter. You can take care of it, right? Cleanly.”
A knock at the door cut off the conversation.
“I’ll call you back.”
Dominic set the receiver down.
Room service, apparently.
Without much caution, he opened the hotel room door.
A silhouette showed through the narrow gap.
A black-haired man.
Dimion.
Dominic’s spine chilled as the name flashed threateningly through his mind.
The moment he met those eyes, devoid of even a trace of light, a shiver ran down his back.
“Were you waiting for me?”
A shoe forced its way into the gap, preventing the door from closing.
A jet-black hand clad in a leather glove seized the not-quite-open door and wrenched it wider.
Dominic stumbled a step back.
His gaze darted quickly around the room.
A suitcase—there was a gun inside it.
Suppressing his agitation and forcing his steps to stay calm, he moved toward the suitcase.
In the meantime, the uninvited guest who had entered the room looked down at the bed.
He was looking at the photographs of himself with the prosecutor’s daughter.
“You even took pictures. You’ve been busy.”
Eli lifted his gaze and looked at Dominic.
Dominic, who had been reaching for the suitcase, flinched as if caught by the scruff of the neck.
Watching Dominic closely, Eli slipped a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“But what a shame. I don’t like being watched.”
A gun, or a knife—something threatening might come out.
Dominic tensed.
But what Eli pulled out was a cigarette.
He took one from the pack and held it between his lips.
“Mind lending me a lighter?”
With no choice, Dominic backed away from the suitcase and took a lighter from his jacket.
When he held it out, the intruder crooked his head, beckoning him closer.
It was the arrogant manner of someone accustomed to commanding subordinates.
Dominic was a full-fledged executive who had risen to the rank of directing organization members.
Yet the man who was nothing more than “Dimion” behaved as though everyone in the world were his underlings.
Instead of lighting his cigarette, Dominic remained stiffly where he stood and asked,
“Did you approach the prosecutor’s daughter in order to kill her, or was there another intention?”
“Another intention?”
Eli asked back around the cigarette between his lips.
“If you were to develop personal feelings for the prosecutor’s daughter… wouldn’t that interfere with carrying out your father’s will?”
Dominic barely managed to finish his words, his tongue tangled with tension.
Eli, holding the cigarette loosely between his fingers as he watched for a reaction, wore a relaxed smile in his eyes—
relaxed, yet chilling.
“A good son.”
After looking at the stiffened Dominic, Eli checked his wristwatch.
“I don’t have much time. About ten minutes left. Let’s get to the point. I’ll handle that woman myself.”
That man has no intention of killing the prosecutor’s daughter.
Dominic pushed back against the man who was defying his father’s orders.
“Even if you don’t kill her, that woman will die.”
“Is that so?”
Eli replied mildly and took something out of his jacket pocket.
Photographs.
Dominic’s eyes widened.
In the picture, the face of his wife—who should have been waiting at home—was clearly visible.
“I took a few pictures too. Do you like them?”
Unaware that a killer had been photographing her, Dominic’s wife was smiling brightly, holding their child in her arms.
The hand holding the lighter began to tremble.
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