Chapter 25 Lupo
I see the men in the cars before they see me.
Two black sedans pulling into the construction site parking area. Expensive. Out of place among the beat-up trucks and work vehicles.
My hands go still on the lumber I'm carrying. Every instinct I have screams danger.
"Lupo?" Aldo calls from across the site. "You okay?"
I force myself to move, to set down the lumber. "Fine. Just need water."
But I'm watching the cars. Watching as four men in suits get out. One of them is the man from Isabella's description.
They're scanning the site. Looking for someone.
Looking for me.
I could run. Slip away through the back, disappear into the surrounding buildings. But where would I go? And running would only confirm I'm who they're looking for.
Besides, it's too late. One of them has spotted me.
The older man goes completely still. His eyes lock on me and his face transforms. Relief. Joy. And then confusion. He strides toward me, moving fast, and I tense. Ready to fight if I need to.
"Boss!" he shouts, and heads are turning now. Workers stopping to watch. "Boss, thank God! Where the hell have you been? What the fuck are you doing here?"
He reaches me and grabs my shoulders like he's going to hug me, but I step back, my hands coming up defensively.
"Who the hell are you?"
He stops, his expression shifting to confusion. "What? Boss, it's me. Ciro. What are you talking about? Who am I?"
"I don't know who you are." I keep my voice low. "And I'm not your boss."
"What kind of game—" He stops, really looking at me now. Taking in my work clothes, my longer hair, the confusion in my eyes. "Are you fucking serious?"
"Yes."
"You don't recognize me? Not at all?"
"No."
"Fuck." Ciro runs his hand over his face. "What happened to you? Are you—is this some kind of cover? Are you undercover or—"
"No, I don't remember anything. Not you, not where I came from, not who I am. Nothing."
Ciro stares at me for a long moment, and I watch him process this. See the moment he realizes I'm telling the truth. "You suffered a head injury," he says slowly. "When Dante beat you. It must’ve been worse than we thought."
"Who's Dante?"
"Your—" He stops himself, looking around at the watching workers. "We can't talk here. Please. Come with me. Just to the car. Five minutes is all I ask."
"I don't know you. Why would I go anywhere with you?"
"Because I have information you need. About who you are.
What happened to you. Why you're here." His voice drops.
"And because if I found you, others can too.
People who want you dead. People who won't care about—" He glances toward the road, toward where the farm is.
"About anyone who gets in their way. Innocent people. "
The mention of Isabella and Elena makes my decision. "Five minutes. That's all."
Ciro nods and leads me to one of the cars. We get in the back seat. His men stay outside, clearly standing guard but giving us privacy.
"My name is Ciro Moretti," he says. "I'm your—I was your second-in-command. Your friend. I've been searching for you since you disappeared weeks ago."
"Searching where?"
"Everywhere. Naples. Rome. Florence. Tuscany. We've been turning Italy upside down trying to find you." He pulls out his phone. "You really don't remember anything?"
"Nothing before waking up in a barn weeks ago."
"Where?"
I hesitate. "Near here. I was hurt. Someone helped me."
"The woman? The one at the farm? She seemed terrified when I showed her your photo. You look different now. The hair, the beard. And even your eyes—" He shakes his head. "It’s weird. You’re the same person, but you’re different."
"I am different. I'm not whoever you think I am."
"Yes, you are. You just don't remember." He scrolls through his phone, then shows me a photo. "This is you. A few months ago."
The photo shows me—but not me. Clean-cut, wearing an expensive suit, standing with other men in what looks like an office. I look powerful. In control. Completely different from the man I see in the mirror every day.
"That's not—" I start, but I can't finish. Because it is me. The face is mine, even if everything else is wrong.
"That's you," Ciro says firmly. "And these are your men. Your organization. We've been falling apart without you. We can’t do this without you."
"My organization?"
"You're the boss. The Don. The head of one of the most powerful crime families in southern Italy. In Naples." He watches my face carefully. "You really don't remember any of this?"
"No."
"Shit." He switches to another photo. "This is Dante. Your bodyguard for eight years. Does his face mean anything to you?"
I look at the photo of a man in his thirties, military bearing, hard eyes. Something flickers when I see him. Not a memory. Just a gut feeling. A bad feeling.
Betrayal. Anger. Violence.
"I don't know him. But—" I touch my temple, where the worst of my injuries were. "Something feels wrong when I look at him."
"That's your instincts recognizing a fucking traitor." Ciro puts the phone away. "Let me tell you what happened. You were driving to Florence for a meeting with another organization. Dante was the driver with you. But he'd been compromised."
"Compromised how?"
"The Florence family—the organization you were meeting with—they wanted you dead.
So they grabbed Dante's younger sister. Held her hostage.
Told him if he didn't kill you on the way to the meeting, they'd kill her.
" Ciro's voice is tight with anger. "He was loyal to you for eight years.
But when it came down to choosing between you and his sister—"
"He chose his sister."
"Yes. He took a different route, pulled over on a country road near here, claimed engine trouble, then beat you nearly to death.
Dragged you into a field and left you for dead.
He thought you were dead." Ciro's jaw clenches.
"We finally found him three days ago. He confessed everything. We’ve been trying to find you since then.
Hoping you might still be alive and here you are. "
The story matches the fragments I've remembered. The violence. The betrayal. The feeling of someone I trusted turning on me.
"Where is he now?"
"In Naples. Waiting for your return." Ciro meets my eyes. "What happens to him is your decision. When you're ready to make it."
"I'm not making any decisions about someone I don't remember."
"Then at least come back to Naples. See your organization. Your home. Talk to your men. Maybe it'll trigger your memory. We need you back, boss."
"I can't. I have—" I stop, not wanting to reveal too much.
"You have the woman and the child." Ciro's expression softens. "I saw them." He stops. "You've built a life here."
"Yes."
"How did you do that?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's very much like you, actually. Building something from nothing. Adapting. Surviving against all odds."
"What do you mean?"
"You grew up poor. Did you remember that?
No, of course not." Ciro leans back. "You weren't born into this life.
You built it. Started from nothing and clawed your way up through intelligence and ruthlessness.
The fact that you lost everything, including your memory and immediately started building back again? That's exactly who you are."
The words resonate somehow. Feel true in a way I can't explain.
"Tell me about the Florence organization. The ones who wanted me dead."
"They run most of Tuscany. You were moving into their territory, and they didn't like it. They decided to eliminate the problem before it became bigger." He pauses. "They think you're dead. That's the only reason they haven't come after you again. But if they find out you're alive—"
"They'll come after me. And anyone with me."
"Yes, they will. This is why you need to come back to Naples now. Before they find out."
I press my hands to my face. "By staying here, I'm putting them in danger?"
"Potentially. If the Florence family learns you survived, if they track you here—yes.
The woman and child would be collateral damage.
" Ciro's voice is gentle. "But if you come back to Naples, remember who you are, take your place again—you have the power to protect them.
Resources. Men. Security. You can keep them safe. "
"Or I could take them and run. Disappear somewhere no one would find us."
"You could try. But these people have long reach. And you'd be running forever." He leans forward. "Listen, I understand this is overwhelming. You don't remember me, don't remember your life, don't want to believe what I'm telling you. But I need you to understand the stakes."
"Tell me."
"Without you, our organization is vulnerable. Your enemies are circling. Your allies are nervous. I've been holding things together, but barely. I’m doing what I can, but I’m not you.
Not even close. We need you back. Not just for us—for you.
Because the longer you stay missing, the more people will start asking questions.
Investigating. And eventually, someone will find you.
Someone who doesn't have your best interests at heart. "
"How do I know you have my best interests at heart? How do I know this isn't all lies?"
Ciro is quiet for a moment. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a wallet. Opens it and shows me a photo. A younger version of him with his arm around a teenage boy. They're both smiling.
"This is my son. Twenty years old now." He looks at me.
"Four years ago, he got involved with the wrong people.
Drugs. Gang activity. He was heading down a path that would have ended with him dead or in prison.
You pulled him out. Kicked his ass. Set him straight. Sent him to school. Saved his life."
He switches to another photo. The same boy, older now, in a school uniform.