Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO KNEW MY FATHER
I had spent seventeen years believing my father died because he translated the wrong conversation.
Now two strangers were telling me his death was connected to Adrien Moretti.
And the man beside me wasn't denying that possibility.
"Tell them to explain," Adrien said.
I translated, although my voice shook.
The scarred Russian studied him.
"Viktor Petrov discovered a network of illegal payments hidden inside diplomatic translations."
"What payments?"
"Judges. Officials. Businessmen. Criminal organizations."
Adrien leaned forward.
"And you want me to believe his daughter knows where the records are?"
The Russian smiled.
"She will."
My stomach tightened.
I wanted to run.
But the restaurant was filled with men who had already heard too much.
The Russian continued.
"Seventeen years ago, Viktor hid the original account records before he disappeared."
"Where?" I demanded.
The man looked at my necklace.
I instinctively covered it.
A simple silver pendant shaped like a snowflake.
My mother had given it to me when we arrived in America.
It was the only possession my father had chosen specifically for me.
"Interesting," he whispered.
Adrien noticed my reaction.
"Don't touch her."
The scarred man laughed.
"Such concern for a waitress."
Adrien's expression hardened.
"Such poor judgment from a guest."
For the first time, I understood why men feared him.
He didn't need to shout.
The threat lived in his stillness.
But fear didn't make him trustworthy.
My father had taught me that men who spoke softly could be the most dangerous.
I placed the poem on the table.
"I'm finished translating."
Everyone turned.
Adrien studied me.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
The scarred man sneered.
"You don't get to leave."
I looked directly at him.
"I wasn't asking you."
Then I stood.
For a terrifying second, nobody moved.
Adrien finally nodded toward Salvatore.
"Escort Miss Petrov to the employee corridor. Make sure nobody follows her."
I hesitated.
"You're letting me leave?"
"You didn't agree to become part of this."
His answer surprised me.
I walked away before anyone changed his mind.
In the employee hallway, Marco nearly dropped his tray when he saw me.
"What happened?"
"I need to go home."
He looked toward the dining room.
"Moretti won't like that."
"He told me to leave."
Marco stared.
Then lowered his voice.
"Natalya, those men weren't supposed to recognize you."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
His face changed.
"I mean—"
"You knew who they were?"
He stepped backward.
"Forget I said anything."
I grabbed his sleeve.
"Marco."
He looked terrified.
Then whispered, "Your name was on the private guest briefing."
My breathing stopped.
"I'm a waitress."
"I know."
"Why would my name be on a guest briefing?"
Marco swallowed.
"Someone specifically requested that you serve table twelve."
I stared at him.
"Who?"
He shook his head.
"I only saw the initials."
"What initials?"
Marco looked toward the security camera above the corridor.
Then whispered two letters.
A. M.
May you like
Adrien Moretti.
And suddenly, I wondered whether the man who had just protected me was the same man who had arranged for me to become a target.
