Natalia leaned slightly toward me.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Кто научил тебя говорить на этом диалекте?”
Who taught you to speak this dialect?
For a moment, I couldn't answer.
It wasn't the question itself that frightened me.
It was the way she asked it.
Not like a wealthy customer impressed by a waitress's language skills.
Like a woman who had just recognized something she had spent years trying to forget.
I kept my expression neutral.
“My university,” I answered in Russian.
Natalia's eyes narrowed.
Dominic looked between us.
“What did she say?”
Natalia didn't answer him.
She continued staring at me.
“That isn't university Russian.”
Victor slowly put down his glass.
He had stopped smiling.
I felt every instinct telling me to leave the table.
Instead, I stood perfectly still.
Dominic finally laughed.
“Well, this got interesting.”
He turned toward me.
“Apparently my waitress has secrets.”
“I don't have secrets,” I said.
Natalia's gaze dropped to my left hand.
Then she looked back at my face.
“Your father was Daniel Harper.”
The tray in my hand suddenly felt much heavier.
I hadn't heard my father's name spoken in Russian in years.
My father had been dead for three years.
To everyone at Le Rêve, he had simply been a man who died leaving behind medical debt and a daughter who had stopped pursuing her career to pay it.
I stared at Natalia.
“How do you know my father?”
Dominic's smile disappeared.
Victor looked sharply at Natalia.
“Natalia.”
She ignored him.
“Your father translated for the Minsk negotiations.”
I felt my heartbeat change.
Four years earlier, Daniel Harper had worked as a freelance interpreter for international energy and logistics negotiations.
I had spent years listening to him discuss contracts at our kitchen table.
But he had never told me about Minsk.
“You knew him,” I said.
Natalia nodded.
“He saved my life.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“That's enough.”
“No,” Natalia said.
Her voice was suddenly firm.
“It's not.”
Dominic looked annoyed.
“Victor, explain to me why your guest knows my waitress.”
Victor didn't answer immediately.
He looked at me instead.
“Your father died three years ago?”
“Car accident?”
Victor's expression hardened.
“It wasn't an accident.”
The restaurant seemed to become strangely quiet.
I heard silverware from another table.
A cork being removed near the bar.
Soft piano music.
But my entire world had narrowed to Victor's face.
“What did you say?”
Victor lowered his voice.
“Your father was investigating something.”
Natalia answered.
“People disappearing from the European logistics network.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“Natalia.”
She finally looked at him.
“You wanted her attention.”
“I wanted to embarrass her.”
Her voice became colder.
“You got something much more dangerous instead.”
Dominic looked at me.
For the first time that evening, he wasn't looking at a waitress.
He was looking at a problem.
Simon appeared beside the table.
“Mr. Pierce, is everything—”
Dominic cut him off.
Simon looked at me.
I gave him the smallest nod.
He walked away.