Vincenzo Dante Volkov;

I had every intention of skipping dinner, and I told my mother as much. But, as usual, her tears and dramatic pleas were impossible to ignore. Somehow, she even managed to drag Little Mouse into it, who gently insisted we should go.

And now, here I am, sitting amidst the Volkovs, feeling like an outsider in my own family. My gaze drifted to my father, his expression unreadable as he silently worked through his plate.

“Vince, aren’t you eating? I spent hours ...