Page 7 of August and the Night

Reaching across the table, I hold her hand in mine, soothing her nervous fidgeting. As she takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady herself, she finally speaks. "Well, I don't really go out that much. So, this truly is one of the most incredible restaurants I've ever experienced."

Recognizing the opportune moment to delve into my investigation, I patiently wait for the waiter to place an expensive bottle of wine and two ice-filled glasses on the table before stepping away. With the waiter gone, I resume our conversation.

"You don't go out often? Why is that?" I inquire gently while pouring the wine, hoping that a slight intoxication might make it easier to extract information from her.

Nervously eyeing my hands as I pour the drinks, she mumbles, "My father has always been excessively protective, and I'm also quite introverted."

I nod in understanding before handing her a glass. She eyes it with curiosity before hesitantly asking, "This is wine, right?" Her question elicits an incredulous look from me, and she quickly becomes defensive. "Hey! Don't look at me like that. I don't drink," she asserts with a shrill tone, furrowing my eyebrows in response.

"What do you mean you don't drink? Don't you attend your father's business parties?" I inquire, attempting to mask the disbelief in my voice.

Her father's business parties are known for their indulgence in drinks, drugs, and strippers. While I've never personally witnessed her presence at these gatherings, I've often seen her cousin Lily there. I had assumed she was engaged in private activities with one of the men.

Observing a hint of discomfort on her face, she reveals, "No, my father always takes my cousin, Lily, with him." She swirls her cup slightly before taking a sip of the red liquid. Her face scrunches up, and she hastily places the cup down.

"You don't like it?" I ask, trying to stifle my laughter. She responds quickly, seemingly afraid to offend me. "It's okay. I'm just not accustomed to it."

"So, this is your first time trying alcohol?" I inquire, unable to hide my shock. She shakes her head and explains, "Yes, I've always wanted to, but alcohol isn't allowed in the house. And Lily has always warned me against it."

As I process this information, I find it perplexing. Why would a sex addict and heavy drinker like Lily discourage her cousin from consuming alcohol? Why would an alcoholic with no interest in recovery ban alcohol from his own home? My head begins to spin, and I hastily gulp down my glass of wine.

"So, Layla," I began, my voice laced with calculated curiosity. "Do you often hear about your father's business dealings?"

"Oh, absolutely. My dad's work is quite fascinating. He's always traveling and attending meetings with important people." She says.

I lean in slightly, my interest piqued. "Traveling, you say? Any specific destinations he frequents for his business?"

Her eyes light up as she shares, unaware of my ulterior motive. "Definitely. He often goes to Europe for his meetings. Countries like France, Italy, Spain, and Greece are common for him. He spends more time in Europe than in America."

As she speaks, I mentally take note, filing away the information. Layla is unwittingly providing me with key details about her father's travel patterns and connections.

"That sounds quite impressive," I say, injecting enthusiasm into my tone.

Layla nods, a small smile gracing her lips. "Definitely. It's a world I don't understand, my expertise is in the lab.”

Our conversation proceeds, with me guiding her towards sharing more about her father's activities without raising any alarms. “Does he ever mention any challenges he faces in his line of work?"

Her expression becomes slightly more guarded, but she continues. "Yes, of course. I have seen him Livid due to his work more than once, I never ask the details though, he and Lily tend to not like to talk much about their work."

I maintain a sympathetic look, as if I truly care. "It sounds like a complex world."

"Definitely. He and Lily seem to be always working." She tells me.

A victorious feeling surges within me. Her casual admissions provided the confirmation I need—her father's criminal activities has a layer of complexity that involves international connections. I keep my expression neutral, masking my triumph.

I store away every piece of information, every subtle hint. Layla was unknowingly helping me piece together the puzzle of her father's criminal empire.

"What is your relationship like with Lily?" I ask, even though I am aware of their incredibly close bond. However, sometimes things are not as they seem. A smile instantly lights up her face, and she warmly replies, "She's more than just my cousin; she's my best friend and sister." I nod in response, forcing a smile to mask my true thoughts.

"Do you have someone like that in your life, August?" she inquires, and it takes me a moment to consider my response. While I should probably fabricate a person to create a sense of shared experience, something within me compels me to be truthful with her, despite the potential risks.

"No, I've always preferred solitude," I confess, and she looks at me with a hint of worry. Gently, she asks, "Why?" I contemplate her question, realizing that this is the opportune moment to gauge her knowledge about the incident involving my father.

"Well, both my parents passed away when I was young. So, I grew up alone, and old habits die hard. It made me value solitude," I reveal, closely studying her facial expression for any signs of recognition. However, none surface. Instead, a stray tear escapes her eye, which she hastily wipes away.

"I'm so sorry, August. That must have been incredibly difficult for you. May I ask how they passed away?" she cautiously inquires. Just as I prepare to answer her, three waiters approach, each carrying platters of sushi. They place the dishes on the table, interrupting our personal conversation. Observing her quick composure, as though she doesn't want anyone to overhear, I clear my throat and express gratitude before they depart.

I watch as she eats hesitantly, waiting for me intently as if her next breaths hinge upon my words. Joining her, I eat a few pieces of sushi before resuming our conversation, keenly observing her expressions for any signs of recognition or malice.

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