Chapter 748
Chapter 748:
Fernanda grabbed a slice of pizza, taking a big bite, her eyes lighting up with delight. “This is incredible!” She dunked another slice into chili sauce, finishing it with a satisfied grin.
“Where did this pizza come from? I need to get my hands on it next time,” Fernanda asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.
With a mischievous grin, Cristian replied, “I made it myself.”
Fernanda’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You made this?”
“Yep. While you were asleep, I prepped the dough and baked it fresh this morning,” Cristian said, chuckling. “Not bad, right?”
“Unbelievable,” Fernanda marveled, giving him another thumbs-up. “I could never make something like this.”
The thought of making dough seemed impossible to her. She remembered the times when she was little, making pizza with Hiram. She’d roll out the dough, often leaving it uneven. His laughter would echo as Hiram reassured her that making pizza was all about having fun. They’d work together, laughing, and then enjoy their delicious, fresh pizza straight from the oven.
After Hiram’s death, making anything from scratch became a challenge. Fernanda found herself resorting to buying food, but it never tasted the same—nothing could match the way it used to be when he was around.
“If you ever crave pizza again, just let me know. I’ll take care of it,” Cristian offered, handing her another slice.
Fernanda nodded as she processed his words.
Cristian could see the change in her expression. He had come to recognize that whenever she wore that sentimental look, it meant Hiram was on her mind.
To lift her spirits, he steered the conversation elsewhere. “You asked me yesterday how I knew something was off with that man.”
Fernanda glanced up at him and said, “Please enlighten me.”
𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲: g𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀․𝖼𝗈𝗆
“Back when I was in the army, my instructor and I participated in several missions, one involving the dismantling of a drug cartel,” Cristian said. “We had to stay undercover in a small county for over two months. During that time, I saw numerous people who had been ravaged by drugs—sunken cheeks, gaunt frames, and vacant stares. The man yesterday struck me with that same look. To most people, he might have just seemed unwell or underweight, but my gut told me otherwise. So, I had the officer test his blood.”
Cristian paused briefly before continuing, “The results came back from the police station. My suspicions were confirmed.”
Fernanda, having suspected as much the night before, accepted the confirmation without surprise, her expression steady and calm.
A deep sense of pity for Neal washed over her.
“It explains why Neal is always short on cash,” Fernanda mused. “No matter how much he made, it would never be enough for his father to waste on drugs.”
Addiction, she thought, was a relentless void—an insatiable force that consumed everything in its path.
After breakfast, Cristian took Fernanda to the address the man had mentioned the day before. It was in a dilapidated neighborhood, where narrow lanes wound through a maze of tangled electrical wires.
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