"It was different."
She leans forward slightly. "Different how?"
"We talked to each other," I say. "Face to face. If you wanted to know something about someone, you had to ask them directly."
"Sounds terrifying."
"It was normal."
"What were you like? In school?"
"Focused."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the truth. I knew what I was being groomed for. What my future held. There wasn't time for..." I trail off.
"For what?"
"For being young."
Something shifts in her expression. Softens.
"That's sad," she says quietly.
"It's just how it was."
"Did you have friends?"
"I had brothers."
"That's not the same thing."
"It was enough."
She's quiet for a moment. Processing.
"I had friends," she says. "Before everything fell apart. Before my mother got sick and my father started gambling. I had a whole life planned out."
"The bakery."
"The bakery." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Seems stupid now."
"It's not stupid."
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
The sound cuts through the moment like a blade.
I pull it out. Pietro's name on the screen.
"I need to take this."
Antonella nods.
I answer. "What?"
"We have a situation." Pietro's voice is tight. Controlled. "Warehouse on the south side. One of our shipments got hit."