Damir was stunned by the scale of the operation. On the way to the office, his father gave him a brief overview of the business and its structure. It was clear he’d need months to learn everything thoroughly.

“I don’t even know what to say, I…”

“Everything will come in time, my son. The main thing is—you’re here with us. You’ll succeed, I’m sure of it. Especially since, according to our information, you graduated university with top marks and studied very diligently. You’re smart—and you’re no coward.”

Omer emphasized those last words, looking straight into his son's eyes. Damir met his gaze and saw a warm smile. Omer closed his eyes briefly and nodded, silently answering the questions he saw in his son’s face. Of course they had done their homework on him. Damir had no doubt—they knew everything about his past. Who he hung out with, the trouble he’d been in. And yet, they hadn’t hesitated to accept him into the family. Even with his rough, borderline criminal past. Sure, he had left all that behind and put on a tie—but the past didn’t change. Yes, his skills might come in handy, but still—objectively, he had been a dangerous man. The thought made him feel ashamed of himself. His throat tightened. He covered his mouth with a fist and started to cough. Omer laughed.

“I was the same,” he said, putting a firm hand on Damir’s shoulder again. “You’re my son—through and through.”

In the days that followed, Damir spent every morning to evening working with his father. He was being groomed to lead the contracts department, a role Omer had handled himself until recently. And from evening until late at night—he was in his mother’s embrace, turning back into a boy. Only once did he manage to slip away and take a walk around the city with Saher. One question kept nagging at him—where was Samad? But everyone seemed so calm about his absence that Damir decided to wait and not press the issue.

“Damir, wait here for a bit, okay? I need to talk to someone quickly and I’ll be right back,” Saher said.

“With who?”

Big Brother mode kicked in instantly, and she laughed out loud. Touching his hand on the table, she assured him everything was fine. She was just stepping out of the café for fifteen minutes. He smiled and nodded in agreement. It was only 11 a.m., after all. Sipping his coffee slowly, Damir watched the people around him. People of different nationalities, skin colors, and religions passed by or sat at tables, each busy with their own life. Most spoke French—which he didn’t yet understand. Some talked loudly, laughed, and gestured animatedly. Life unfolded in all its color and joy.

«Hi, how are you?»

Damir looked up and saw a young man—pleasant-looking, about his age, maybe a bit shorter than his own six-foot-three frame. Light brown hair, warm hazel eyes. Without asking, the guy sat across from him, called the waiter, and placed an order in French. Damir frowned slightly, watching this bold behavior. Maybe it was normal here to join strangers at cafés—he wasn’t sure yet. But the fact that the guy had addressed him in English meant one thing—he either had been watching Damir and Saher… or he knew exactly who he was approaching.

Montreal was, after all, a mostly French-speaking city. Maybe he was Saher’s boyfriend, and that’s why she ran off so quickly?

Adjusting his watch, the young man across from him introduced himself.

“I’m Samad Saidi.”

Damir was stunned. He studied the man’s face, searching for any resemblance to his Tatar mother.

“So that’s what you look like…” Damir said in a hoarse voice, lips pressed together as he leaned forward slightly. “Mother would be proud to have a son like you.”