Chapter 83 It Doesn't Matter

• Vincenzo Dante Volkov
• “You have thirty minutes, Vince,” Little Mouse said, sitting stiffly on the couch. It felt like an eternity since I’d last seen her, and every part of me ached to hold her, to kiss her, to tell her how much I missed her. But the way she looked at me—with hatred burning in her eyes—stopped me cold.
• “First, I’m sorry for everything,” I began, my voice quiet but firm. “And my family had nothing to do with your parents’ deaths.”