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Chapter 9

The following night, dinner was held again—but this time at Aaliya’s home. The Saidi family met her parents, and through two translators—Saher and Damir—Mrs. Emine, smiling conspiratorially at Zulfiya, once again formally asked for Aaliya’s hand. She presented the girl with a beautiful set of jewelry: a necklace, earrings, and bracelets—from both herself and Omer. She had shown the gift to Zulfiya in advance, making her blush with embarrassment. She couldn’t afford even a quarter of such a present, but they quickly reassured her, insisting she had already repaid everything many times over. Zulfiya eventually agreed to play her part in the engagement.

Aaliya’s parents were also modest, ordinary people. They accepted the proposal, thanked them for the gifts, and gave their blessing for their only daughter to move to another country. But they made Damir promise that he would cherish their daughter and take good care of her—and allow her to visit them whenever she wished. Everything moved quickly, just as Damir had planned.

Within two weeks, they had secured a wedding date at the civil registry, booked a banquet hall, bought everything they needed, and on July 18, 2015, Damir and Aaliya officially became husband and wife.

The wedding banquet was modest—just a few relatives, a couple of close family friends, and a handful of the bride and groom’s childhood companions. Damir danced the wedding waltz with his new wife, unable to take his eyes off her beauty. She had flawless makeup, her hair styled like royalty, and the jewelry she’d received the night before added a glowing aura to her look. When it was Samad’s turn to give his blessing—having agreed on it with his parents—he presented an original gift: the keys to a small truck for Aaliya’s father.

On their first visit to her home, Samad had noticed an old delivery truck in the yard. Later, he learned her father used it for work to support the family. Now, they had decided to replace it. After the heartfelt congratulations and cheers, Samad joked,

“Now I’ll have to marry a girl from Iran—just to keep up with Damir.”

Everyone laughed and cheered the idea. Tatar indeed! He said. And proud of my blood!

“I never thought I’d be celebrating my son’s wedding in the very town where I gave birth to him,” Emine whispered to her husband as they stood together watching the couple walk away.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Omer added. “Simple, in a Russian style we’re not used to—but I liked it. And you, darling?”

“Oh yes, me too. May Allah grant them happiness—that’s the most important.”

“May Allah grant it,” he echoed.

“And our Saher danced so much—did you see the way the local boys were staring at her?”

“No, I didn’t. But don’t worry. With Damir’s reputation, no one’s getting near her,” he said with a proud laugh, pulling his wife into a hug.

Damir’s childhood friends pitched in and booked the couple the best suite in the city’s top hotel as a wedding gift. They decorated it with flowers and rose petals on the bed, and the hotel staff set up a small table with sweets and drinks.

Following tradition, at the entrance of the banquet hall, Aaliya threw her bouquet. Girls—and even some boys—scrambled for it in a chaotic scuffle. In the end, the bouquet landed in the hands of the strongest guy there. The whole scene was hilarious. On their way to the hotel in a limo decked out in white flowers and wedding rings, Damir couldn’t stop laughing.

“The girls wanted your bouquet so bad, it almost turned into a wrestling match!” he joked. Aaliya laughed too.

“And that clever one who caught it—‘also a girl,’ apparently. Wants to get married just as much!”

They kept joking the whole ride until, red-faced from laughter, they arrived at the hotel. Moments later, standing in front of their suite, Damir turned serious. He bent down, lifted his bride into his arms, and carried her inside. Then he stopped.

The room was dimly lit, glowing with candlelight. Soft romantic music played in the background. Aaliya gasped. Damir smiled at her reaction and asked gently,

“Do you like it?”

But without waiting for a reply, he leaned in and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss. Still kissing, he carried her toward the bed, gently laid her down, and leaned over her, his lips never leaving hers. Then he paused, looked into her eyes, smiled, and said, “You’re so beautiful… You drive me crazy.”

“I’m thirsty,” Aaliya blurted out.

Maybe she really was thirsty—or maybe she was nervous. Damir froze for a second, then pulled her into his arms, sat down beside her, and reached for the juice. She sipped slowly, sometimes looking at him, then lowering her eyes, drinking and drinking. Something wasn’t right. He stood up and gently helped her to her feet. Taking the glass from her hand and setting it on the table, he pulled her close. Placing one hand on her waist and the other in her palm, he led her in a slow, romantic dance to the soft music playing from the speakers. Aaliya lit up. Seeing the joy in her eyes, Damir felt deeply happy.

The entire next day, they didn’t leave the suite—just basked in each other’s presence. Damir extended their stay for five more days and told the family they had gone on an impromptu honeymoon. Samad later brought them a bag packed by their mother with clothes and necessities. When he knocked, Damir answered the door—his hair tousled, wearing only a loosely tied bathrobe. Samad burst out laughing.

“Shhh,” Damir said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

“Sorry—I can’t invite you in.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

Samad handed him the bag, then asked with a grin,

“So… how’s married life treating you?”

Instead of answering, Damir just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Samad laughed again. They stood there like real brothers—as if no bad blood had ever passed between them. Damir took the bag, thanked him, and slipped back inside.

“Why was he laughing?” Aaliya asked suspiciously, standing by the window in her own plush robe.

Damir set the bag down and walked over. In one smooth move, he let the robe slip from his shoulders and kissed her on the neck.

“He laughed at my messy, happy face,” he whispered. Aaliya relaxed and hugged her husband.

On the morning of the fifth day, after breakfast, Damir said with a hint of sadness in his voice,

“In about…” —he checked his watch— “two hours, we need to head out.”

Aaliya smiled and gently stroked his cheek.

“But we’re going together, right? You won’t leave me behind?”

She meant their trip to Canada. He kissed her hand tenderly, ignored her fear—which he understood—and sighed.

“What upsets me,” he said, “is that I won’t be able to enjoy being close to you every hour. I’ll have to wait for nightfall. And I’ll go mad until then.”

This time, Aaliya rolled her eyes and laughed, “You’re crazy, sweetheart.”

“I can’t help it. You’re delicious—and I can’t stop wanting you.”

Chapter 10

Six months had passed.

“We’d like to discuss the terms of payment, if you’re satisfied with the delivery conditions,” Damir addressed the potential clients from the UK. During another business meeting, representatives from a small ice cream factory were present. Diana handed him an open folder with the necessary documents. Damir took it and began reviewing the points. The authorized representatives listened carefully and nodded in agreement.

“That’s your fifth contract this week, Mr. Damir. You’re doing an outstanding job,” praised his assistant, Diana. They exited the conference room, having just signed another long-term supply contract. Today, their monthly delivery volume increased by five tons. Damir, proud and confident, lifted his chin and headed toward his office. When he entered, his secretary informed him that Mr. Omer was expecting him.

Without hesitation, he turned around and made his way to his father’s office. Inside the CEO’s office, the other deputy, Samad, was already there, seated with a few documents in front of him. He held a pen and was watching Damir with a gloomy, unreadable gaze. After a brief greeting, Omer spoke.

“How did it go, Damir? Were the contracts signed?”

“Yes,” Damir replied, handing him the folder. Omer sat down and flipped through it slowly. Damir remained standing.

“Sit,” Omer said without looking up. Damir sat, feeling tension in the air. He glanced at Samad, silently asking with his eyes what was going on—but received no response. Samad simply lowered his head, then looked toward their father.

“Everything’s correct. No errors,” Omer finally said, closing the folder and looking at his son with no trace of enthusiasm. Then he turned to Samad and stretched out his hand.

“Give me the list of the companies we’re currently working with.”

Samad handed over two printed pages. Omer reviewed them, circling certain names with a pen. After what felt like an eternity, he called Damir closer.

“Take a look at this.”

Damir furrowed his brow, stood, and leaned in over his father’s desk. There were 23 companies listed—partners he had secured in the past five months. Twelve of them were marked in red.

“What does this mean?”

Omer turned to look at him.

“How did you find these companies? How did you connect with them?” Damir felt a chill creeping beneath his clothes, wrapping around him.

“Each one differently,” he said quietly.

“For example, the one from today?”

“Through the internet. I sent commercial proposals, and one of them responded.”

Omer pursed his lips and folded his hands together on the desk.

“Would someone explain what’s going on?” Damir demanded, looking from his father to Samad.

“The thing is,” Omer said, “these companies weren’t properly vetted. The ones marked in red, including today’s, turned out to be fraudulent. They were apprehended as they were leaving the building—they’re on their way to the police now.”

Damir turned pale. He didn’t know what to say. He barely even grasped the meaning of what had just been said.

“So… twelve companies received our goods and…”

“…had no intention of paying for them,” Samad finished the sentence.

“Samad, start gathering all the documentation and file lawsuits tomorrow,” Omer ordered.

“You’re telling me I’ve bankrupted the company?” Damir asked, unable to believe his ears.

“You’re not to blame. I am,” Omer replied, mostly to himself.

“I acted too hastily. You weren’t ready for such a huge responsibility. I placed too much faith in you. I handed over the future of this company to an intern straight out of college!”

He slammed the desk with his palm. Samad remained silent, lowering his head like he was the one being scolded. But for Damir, it was a knockout. Not physically—but morally. He had fallen into a pit, a black hole. Damir sat on a bench in an alley near some building, just like almost a year ago, once again unsure of what to do next. His Tatar mother had moved in with him to his biological father’s house—his dream father. His wife, four months pregnant, also lived under the roof of the man who had just expressed his disappointment in him. He felt like screaming from hopelessness and rage—but nothing would help. He had no legal path to defend himself. No one would even listen. He was still a citizen of another country, living in Canada on a visa. Yes, he had changed his surname from Palatov to Saidi—but now he regretted it. He had no one to call, no one to seek advice from. He trusted no one in Canada. To them, he was a stranger.

Twisting a small twig in his fingers, he realized how deeply and helplessly stuck he was. A cocky lion caught in a well-set trap. Now, it was useless to thrash and chew at the steel jaws cutting into his flesh. A lion? What lion?

“What a joke,” Damir chuckled bitterly to himself.

“More like a complete idiot.”

The twig snapped in his hand, crumbling into pieces. With no idea what else to do, he got into his car and drove aimlessly. His phone, left in the car earlier when he stepped out to smoke, started ringing. It was Diana—18 missed calls, all from her. He accepted the call via Bluetooth.

“Hello, Mr. Damir? Where are you?”

“In town,” he said calmly. The world had already collapsed. No news could shock him now.

“It’s chaos here. I don’t even know what to do…”

Damir stayed silent. What could he possibly do? He didn’t even have the money to cover a tenth of the damage. The car, the bank account—none of it was truly his. Lighting a cigarette, he said, “Can you sneak out of the office and meet me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll drive up to the parking lot.”

“Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in his car.

“I don’t understand everything yet, but I need copies of all the contracts we’ve signed over the past six months. Can you get them?”

“I think so, Mr. Damir. But… there are rumors going around the company that you’ve swindled your own father for a huge sum of money.”

That did shock him. He turned to her with a glare, as if she were the one spreading those rumors.

“What?!”

She looked startled and shrugged. Damir gave a bitter smirk and looked straight ahead, tightening his lips. Now he was starting to understand who was behind all this. His jaw clenched, cheek muscles twitching. No way. It can’t be. We became close—back there in Russia, in Bolgar! He apologized. I forgave him! Damn it. DAMN IT!

Damir slammed the steering wheel with his fists.

“Please, calm down, Mr. Damir. This won’t help.”

He covered his face with both hands and sat in silence. Eventually, he exhaled and told her he needed to think. He’d call her back.

An hour later, Damir returned home—only to find even more chaos than at work. Loud voices filled the house—heated arguments in Persian. He saw his father—furious like a wild beast—arguing with his wife. She was defending her biological son. They were yelling at each other. Zulfiya and Aaliya sat huddled on the couch, frightened and confused.

“I didn’t take your money,” Damir said from the doorway. His father’s furious gaze met his—but Damir didn’t look away.

“It’s not about the money!” Omer said in a low but firm voice.

“I would’ve given it all to you.”

“I never took a single cent without your knowledge—believe it or not.”

“Come with me,” Omer ordered, heading into his office. Damir followed him. Omer grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and tossed it at him. It didn’t land properly—falling to the floor at Damir’s feet.

He looked at his father, then silently bent down and picked it up.

“Recognize it?” Omer asked, on the verge of shouting.

“I recognize my name. What is it?”

“What kind of lawyer are you if you don’t know what this is?!”

“I understand—it’s a bank statement…”

The words hit him like a knife. He looked again at the document. The final balance, along with regular deposits—$1,457,880.

“What the…?”

“Not a bad sum, huh?”

“Trace it—find out how the account was opened and where the funds came from!”

Damir shouted, waving the document. “I’ve never opened any account like this in my life!”

“Samad handles those things,” Omer said, turning to the window.

“Samad?!” Damir scoffed bitterly.

This time, Omer spun around and stormed back toward him. Pointing a finger at his chest, he growled, “Don’t you dare accuse him! He may not be my blood, but he has never done anything that would make us ashamed—not once! And as for my real son—well, we both know exactly what he’s capable of!”

Chapter 11

That was it.

The feeling of happiness from reuniting with his biological family, from having his father back in his life—it all began to shatter like fragile crystal. He hadn't even fully processed what he'd become, hadn't yet tasted the new life—and once again, he was being pushed away. From the very start, he felt it would all end like this. So why had he tried so hard to convince himself otherwise?

It doesn’t matter who you were born as. What matters is your purpose in this life. Those born to crawl may never fly… or maybe they can. And those who once soared high can end up at the bottom of a pit—so deep, their past flights feel like nothing but illusions.

And reality?

Reality is right here.

Early in the morning, Damir received a call from Russia. It was his former classmate and once-best friend, Vadim. The surprise thrilled him. Vadim was the only person Damir truly trusted in this entire world—and now, during the worst moment of his life, Vadim had called him.

“Hey, brother! I finally found you! I heard you got married and ran off to Canada?” Vadim said, laughing.

“Sorry, bro, it all happened so fast,” Damir rubbed his forehead, feeling genuinely uncomfortable.

“When I explain everything, you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s all good. So, when are you coming back?”

“Soon. Vadim, I’m in a really messed-up situation right now, and your call came at the perfect time. I need advice—or even legal help.”

“You’re a lawyer yourself.”

“Apparently, not a very good one,” Damir replied bitterly.

“Do you need someone who specializes in Canadian immigration law, or did you get yourself into some kind of criminal mess?”

“Looks like the second one.”

There was a long pause. Then Vadim spoke again.

“Tell me it’s not prison time.”

“I don’t think so. I could come back, but… that’s probably not an option for me right now. Let me explain the situation briefly, and maybe you can recommend someone in Moscow I could talk to.”

“Alright, brother. Go ahead.”

For the time being, Damir rented an apartment in a more populated area and moved in with his mother, Zulfiya, and his wife. Emine wanted to come too. She didn’t believe a single word her husband had said and was deeply hurt by the accusations he had thrown at their biological son. She kicked him out of their bedroom and stopped speaking to him. Saher didn’t believe the story either. Samad had left on a business trip. Despite everything, Omer didn’t freeze Damir’s bank account. In fact, he added more money to it. He no longer blamed or scolded him either, and when he heard that Damir was moving into a rental place until he could prove his innocence, he accepted it. Meanwhile, Damir was waiting impatiently for a call from his Moscow friend while preparing to move.

Diana had found a small, furnished apartment on the outskirts of the city in just a few hours. When they met, she handed him all the document copies he had asked for. Damir, his mother, and his wife packed their belongings and left.

Soon after, Emine and Saher arrived. Damir tried to comfort both of his mothers—who fully believed in him. They were devastated, unable to understand who could have betrayed their boy like this. They also hoped the other son, as a brave and loving brother, would uncover the truth and save him.

Three days later, Vadim finally called back and gave him an address in Montreal.

“Call this guy and explain everything in person. He’ll help you find the right people over there.

Trying to handle it from Moscow is useless—they told me that.”

“Who is this?” Damir asked, reading the name he had just written: Alexander.

“He’s… a good friend of a very influential person living in Canada.

He’s Russian. When he heard about you, he agreed to help—once he found out you were also from Russia and who your father is. I think he’ll be useful. Damir, I don’t know what else I can do for you, brother.”

“Thank you, man. I owe you big time. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

“No worries. We’ll settle up later. Just let me know how the meeting goes. Call or text me.”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter 12

By half past twelve, Damir arrived at the restaurant where the meeting was scheduled. He walked inside and asked the host where Mr. Alexander was seated. The host politely led him to the table. Alexander turned out to be a man in his mid-fifties, tall and lean, with sharp facial features and a cold, steely gaze of icy blue eyes.

“Good afternoon,” Damir greeted him and sat down.

“I’m listening, young man,” Alexander replied, his voice tight and oddly restrained. Damir cleared his throat, unsure of where to begin.

“Just the essentials, briefly,” the man offered, helping him gather his thoughts.

“I suspect my stepbrother of setting me up,” Damir began, “but I have no idea how to prove it to my father. I need someone who can dig into this.”

Just then, a waiter arrived and began placing dishes on the table.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you before you arrived. I hope you’ll enjoy it,” Alexander said, gesturing to the food.

Damir glanced at the plate in front of him, then at him. He hadn’t eaten properly since that day in his father’s office—his appetite had vanished completely. But right now, food was the last thing on his mind.

“As for your case,” Alexander started in a monotonous tone, sipping soup between words, “I believe it can be resolved.” Then, turning the subject back to the food, he insisted, “Your brain works better on a full stomach, young man. Don’t be stubborn.”

Damir sighed and picked up his fork.

“Give me until tomorrow,” Alexander continued. “I need to talk to a few people, and then I’ll tell you the next steps.”

“I brought copies of the contracts with me,” Damir said, nodding at the briefcase resting on the chair beside him.

“That’s for later, Mr. Damir. First, we need to arrange for the right people to handle your situation. You’ll give them everything they ask for.”

Damir nodded, exhaling with slight relief. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. He was barely home these days. His pregnant wife had become a shadow of herself, just like his mother. He didn’t want to burden them with his turmoil, and he didn’t have the strength to pretend everything was fine. So every morning, he’d leave as if he had errands, and return only in the evening.

At their next meeting, Diana told him his office had been locked, and staff were told he was on a leave of absence until further notice. But she also said no one at the company actually believed he was involved in any shady dealings.

That made him smile. At least something good. In the six months he’d worked alongside his father, he had built good relationships with many of the staff, even the field workers he’d visited frequently with clients or his father to show the operations and discuss product quality. He had really done his job with integrity. Rubbing his eyes, he let out a long sigh.

“You look absolutely exhausted,” Diana said, giving him a sympathetic look.

“I know. I barely sleep.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

He looked at her, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“What else could you possibly do?”

“I’m willing to do anything,” she said softly.

His eyebrows arched slightly in surprise. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and murmured, “Thanks. But unless you’ve got a magic wand, I don’t think you can help.”

“What if I did?”

He looked at her again. Her persistence was becoming almost puzzling. But he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to analyze it.

“I’d ask to go back one year.”

“What happened a year ago?”

He turned to look at her. Her insistence was starting to wear on him. But as he studied her face, it dawned on him—she was actually very beautiful. How had he never noticed before?

“Do you have a husband?” he asked suddenly, not even sure why.

“No. And no boyfriend either,” she replied, her gaze steady and direct.

He held her eyes, then glanced at her lips before returning to her eyes. But as if shaking himself free of something, he straightened and said, “I think I’ll go home. Try to get some sleep. Might go back out later.”

“Can we meet tonight?” Diana suddenly asked.

Her behavior caught him off guard. He had never noticed her being this forward or flirty before. After a pause, he replied, “I have a business meeting tonight.”

At eight, Alexander finally called. Damir had been counting the minutes, checking his phone and the clock over and over. He had showered, lay down to rest, and asked his family not to disturb him for a few hours. AAliya tucked him in with a blanket and quietly left the room.

When the phone rang, he jumped up and answered immediately.

“Good evening, Damir. Can you come now?”

About twenty minutes later, he was at the hotel.

“Have a seat,” Alexander said, pointing to the chair across the table. Two men were sitting with him—one, a young stylish guy with a sharp haircut and a fashionable look, the other, around fifty, with an athletic build and piercing dark eyes. They looked at Damir with interest, and he returned the look. He shook hands with both and sat down.

“Mr. Gregory and Mr. Edmond,” Alexander introduced them. Damir nodded with a slight smile.

“These men have the connections and skills to untangle your case,” Alexander explained. “They’re also familiar with the Saidi family—especially Mr. Samad.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but that’s irrelevant. They worked briefly on a joint project. Nothing more.”

“I’d be grateful if they could help me,” Damir said, his voice full of hope.

“That’s what we need to discuss,” Alexander said.

“What do I have to do?” Damir asked.

Alexander pulled out a pen and scribbled something on a napkin. Then he turned it toward Damir.

“If they succeed—and they will—you’ll need to pay this amount for their services.”

Damir looked at the napkin. “Five hundred thousand US dollars?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“It’s not a large sum in your situation,” Alexander replied calmly. “Given that you’re new to the family and your resources are limited, this was deemed sufficient. I suspect this won’t be the last time you’ll need our help. We’ll settle the rest later.”

Damir was stunned. Just a guy from Bolgar who once risked prison for a lousy grand, now discussing a half-a-million-dollar job with the mafia?

“I agree. If I can raise the money, I’ll pay every cent.”

“You’re the son of a very wealthy man. You’ll find the means. Just don’t double-cross us,” Alexander said flatly. “You’ll pay one way or another. Better to know what kind of game you’re in, than to guess while you’re already losing.”

His strange voice, like some ghost from the 18th century, made Damir shiver. He understood now—he was dealing with some kind of crime syndicate. He had no choice but to say yes.

Fear and hope now churned inside him, cracking a hole in the wall that had trapped him for weeks. Damir started smoking again—two packs in a week. Once he had sworn off all vices. Now here he was, with gangsters and cigarettes again. What next? Damn Samad!

The next day, Emine’s mother and sister visited. She begged them to come home, saying the house felt lifeless without them. Omer and Samad barely showed up either.

“It’s just Saher and me now!” she lamented, crossing her arms like a child who had lost her toy.

Saher, too, looked heartbroken. She and AAliya were sitting together, hands clasped like inseparable twins. Over the last few months, they had become close friends. AAliya’s kindness made it easy. Zulfiya silently wiped away tears, her head bowed. Damir stood in the middle of them, unsure how to stop the emotional whirlwind.

“Alright!” he said loudly. Eight teary eyes looked up. “We’re going out. All of us.”

They hesitated in shock, but his firm tone had them moving quickly. Fifteen minutes later, AAliya sat in the front seat beside him, the two mothers and Saher in the back.

They went to a restaurant first. Omer hadn’t cut off Damir’s credit card, not wanting to upset his wife. For now, Damir still had access to enough money to support the whole family.

He hated depending on Omer, but what choice did he have? So he told himself he’d pay it all back one day, even if he had to join the mafia to do it. At the restaurant, Emine began reminiscing about Iran. Zulfiya joined in, and soon the women were deep in conversation. AAliya, though, remained quiet. Damir felt guilty—he had been neglecting her. He reached over and took her hand, making her jump a little.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he said, gazing at her.

“Thank you,” she said with a soft smile. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“Hello, Mr. Damir! Good evening, everyone!” came a female voice.

Damir looked up and saw Diana approaching. He gave her a neutral nod. “Hi, Diana.”

She beamed at the sight of him with his family. “I’m Diana, Mr. Damir’s assistant,” she said, as if they still worked together.

He glanced nervously at AAliya, who was studying Diana’s tight jeans and sheer blouse. He squeezed her hand gently. When she finally looked at him, he gave her a calm, reassuring expression.

He then turned to his mothers and sister and said, “These are my lovely mothers, my beautiful sister Saher, and my beloved wife, AAliya.”

Diana introduced herself politely again, but thankfully, when the mothers invited her to join them, she declined.

As she walked away, Damir leaned into AAliya and whispered, “You’re the only woman I want. Always.”

After dinner, they went for a walk in the park. Emine chattered nonstop. Saher had learned some Russian, and AAliya had picked up some Persian and English. Their conversations no longer needed Damir’s translation. The women were laughing and eating ice cream. Damir had forgotten his problems—until his phone rang. Unknown number.

“Damir, this is Gregory,” said the voice.

“Yes, I remember,” Damir replied, stepping aside from the group.

“We’ve discovered something. You might’ve been right about your stepbrother.”

Damir let out a slow breath and muttered a curse.

“There’s more…”

“Yes?”

“It’s best we meet.”

“I’m with my family in the park. I need to take them home first.”

“No rush. We can talk in the morning.”

“Okay. Thank you, Gregory.”

“Always,” the man replied.

Damir hung up. AAliya was waiting for him. He walked over, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed her strawberry-flavored lips.