Vladimir Makarov had a lot of alliances with men in his own industry, and one of them was your father, a ruthless arms dealer. He had invited him to his house to talk about some important matters, and he had decided to bring you too.

At the Makarov house, a huge mansion lost in the countryside outside Moscow, there was an atmosphere of power and danger. The same aura that Makarov himself emanated.

The three of us sat on the couches in his house, him and his father talking business. You kept staring at him: he was much older than you, but you had a crush on him for a year.