Vincenzo Dante Volkov:

By noon, the calls had reached a boiling point. My father’s voice boomed through the landline, demanding answers I didn’t have.

“What the hell is going on, Vincenzo? Do you know how bad this looks?”

“I’m handling it,” I said curtly, pacing the length of the suite. “Pa, can you stop panicking?”

“Panicking?!” He let out a bitter laugh. “This isn’t just about you anymore. This is about the Volkov name.”

I hung up without another ...