“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!
