“It’s a long story, but my brother was killed when I was young. My parents lied about what had happened. After that, I watched and learned. It wasn’t all that hard when you actually pay attention.”

A sly smile spread across his face. “Atta girl. No pulling the wool over Sofia’s eyes.”

I chuckled, appreciating his ability to lighten the mood. That was how it always was with Michael—effortless. Our friendship came naturally, and even heavy subjects never felt all that burdensome. I wished I could allow him to slip into that hole Nico had left in my heart, but it had been barricaded shut.

I couldn’t do it.

I feared only one man would ever fit into the misshaped organ in my chest, and that man was gone. Fortunately, Michael never took our friendship that route. I wasn’t sure if he sensed my reluctance or if it was for other reasons, but I certainly wasn’t going to bring up the subject and ask. I was just glad I had him in my life and didn’t want to do anything to disrupt that.

For two more years, Michael and I maintained our easy friendship. Just to be safe, we kept our relationship under wraps. He didn’t come to my parents’ house and didn’t mention me on trips into the city with his father. The dynamic worked for us, and it wasn’t until the end of our senior year that things unexpectedly changed.

I was lined up to start at Columbia in the fall, and Michael was debating whether to go to work for his father. His mom hated the idea, but she couldn’t do anything about it. The prospect of the bratva hadn’t bothered me all that much. Watching my family all those years, I knew he could live an essentially normal life whether he was in the bratva or out. I was just glad he talked to me about it and included me in his life, even the darker parts.

As seniors, we were exempt from our last round of finals, so the administration had planned to take us on one last field trip into the city to visit the Met, otherwise known as the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’d been countless times in my life, but I always enjoyed going. Between the sheer size of the place and the traveling exhibits, there was always something new to see.

The buses were scheduled to leave first thing that Friday morning, but Michael was late to our homeroom class. I texted him, pissed he was going to miss the trip, but never got a response. It wasn’t until we were lining up to get on the bus that he came running over.

“Where the hell have you been?” I fussed at him, punching him in his chest.

Michael winced and stepped back, his shoulders curving in protectively. “Fuck, Sof, that hurt.”

“What are you talking about? I barely touched you. What’s going on?” I might as well have just slapped a bug away, so there was no way it should have hurt.