Chapter 33 Lupo
Finally, it’s time.
I've been preparing for this moment for days. Days of planning every detail, memorizing faces, positioning men, running through contingencies.
Tonight, it ends. We eliminate the Florence threat. And tomorrow I can go home. Can bring them here. Can start building the life Ciro promised is possible.
I just have to survive the next few hours.
"Ready, boss?" Ciro asks from the driver's seat.
We're in an unmarked van three blocks from the restaurant. Two more vans with our men are positioned at different points around the block. Everyone knows their role. Everyone knows the timing.
Nine PM. The Don arrives. His lieutenants follow within minutes. We wait until they're all inside, all seated, all comfortable.
Then we move.
"Ready," I say.
I'm wearing an expensive tailored suit. It feels strange after weeks in work clothes. But Ciro insisted. Said I need to look the part when this is over. When word spreads that I'm back.
The gun at my waist feels natural though. The Beretta Ciro gave me. The one that triggered my memories. The one I've carried into dozens of operations I can't quite remember.
My memory still hasn't fully returned. Just fragments. Flashes. Muscle memory and instincts.
But it's enough. It has to be enough.
"Boss." Elio's voice crackles over the radio. "Target one arriving. Don Vittorio's car just pulled up."
I watch through the tinted windows. A black Mercedes parks in front of the restaurant. Three men get out first. His security team. They scan the street, check the entrance, then one of them opens the back door.
An older man emerges. Silver hair, expensive suit, the appearance of someone who's been in power a long time.
Don Vittorio Mancini. Head of the Florence organization. The man who ordered my death.
He walks into the restaurant like he owns it. Confident. Comfortable.
He has no idea what's coming.
"Target one inside," Elio reports.
"Copy," I say quietly.
We wait.
Nine-oh-seven. A second car arrives. One of the lieutenants: Carlo Benedetti. I studied his photo. Mid-forties, handles their drug operations.
"Target two inside."
Nine-eleven. The third lieutenant.
"Target three inside."
Nine-fifteen. The last one. Giovanni Russo. He runs their enforcement. The one who probably gave the order to Dante.
"Target four inside," Elio says. "All targets present. All security in position."
I look at Ciro. He nods back.
This is it.
"All units, this is a go," I say into the radio. "Move on my signal. Wait for confirmation that they're seated."
"Copy."
"Copy."
We wait five more minutes. Long enough for them to order drinks, to settle in, to feel safe.
Elio's voice comes through: "They're at the table. Back corner. All four targets together."
Perfect.
"Execute," I say.
The vans move simultaneously. We pull up near the restaurant. The other teams position at the side and rear entrances. Six men total. All of us armed. All of us knowing exactly what we're here to do.
Ciro and I get out first. We're going in the front, the bold approach. The one that sends a message.
Two of Vittorio's guards are outside. They see us approaching and tense, hands moving toward their weapons.
They don't get the chance to draw.
Elio and Paolo come from behind. Silenced shots. Both guards drop. We step over them and push through the front door.
The restaurant is upscale. Low lighting. White tablecloths. Maybe twenty tables, half of them occupied. Couples eating dinner, completely unaware that anything is wrong.
And there, in the back corner booth, are our targets.
Four men. Drinks in hand. But they're not eating. Not talking. Not relaxed.
They're waiting. Looking right at us.
Smiling.
Something is wrong.
I slow my approach, my hand moving toward my weapon. Ciro tenses beside me.
"Don Rossi," Vittorio calls out, his voice carrying across the restaurant. "Right on time. Please, come join us."
The other diners are starting to notice. Starting to sense something wrong. A few are standing, preparing to leave.
"Nobody moves!" one of Vittorio's men shouts, pulling a gun. "Everyone stays seated. Hands on tables."
The restaurant freezes. Civilians gasping, frightened.
This isn't our operation anymore.
It's theirs.
We walked straight into a trap.
I keep walking toward the table, my mind racing. Calculating. Looking for exits, for angles, for how many men they have hidden.
And then I see it.
In the center of the table. Between the water glasses and the wine bottle.
A stuffed rabbit.
Worn. Loved. One ear slightly torn.
Elena's rabbit.
"Recognize it?" Vittorio asks pleasantly. "Cute toy. The little girl wouldn't stop crying for it. We thought we'd bring it along. You know as proof."
Fuck.
"Where are they?" My voice comes out different. Tight. Dangerous.
"Somewhere safe. For now." Vittorio leans back, completely relaxed. "Did you really think we wouldn't figure it out, Rossi? That we wouldn't investigate? That we wouldn't find out you survived?" He gestures around the restaurant. "Did you really think you were setting a trap?"
"Where are they?" I ask again.
"Who? Your whore and her child? Let's just say they're being well looked after. As long as you cooperate."
Ciro's hand is on my arm, holding me back. "Boss. Stay calm. Think."
But I can't think. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stare at that rabbit.
Elena never goes anywhere without it. She sleeps with it. Carries it everywhere.
They took it from her.
They took her.
"Here's how this works," Vittorio continues.
"You and your men put down your weapons.
You walk out of here. You disappear. Go back to your little farm, go to Brazil, go anywhere.
I don't give a fuck. But you're done. Finished.
Out of the business." He picks up the rabbit, examining it.
"Do that, and in a few days, we let the woman and child go.
Unharmed. They get to go home. You get to know they're safe. "
"And if I don't?"
Vittorio's smile disappears. "Then I make a phone call. And the people holding them do what they've been instructed to do." He pauses. "It won't be quick. And the child will watch her mother die first."
Elena.
Watching Isabella die. The only parent she’s ever known.
My Elena. My Isabella.
In that single, shattering instant everything changes.
Not gradually. Not in fragments.
Everything comes rushing back at once.
My name. Alessandro Rossi. Born in Forcella, thirty-eight years ago. Mother died when I was eight. No father. Raised myself on the streets.
Started running errands for the local crew at fifteen. Worked my way up. Became Carmine's second at twenty-five. Took over when he died at thirty.
Built my organization from a small neighborhood operation into one of the most powerful families in southern Italy.
I've killed dozens of men. Ordered the deaths of dozens more. I've been ruthless and brutal and everything I needed to be to survive in this world.
I remember every deal. Every betrayal. Every alliance. Every enemy.
I remember who the fuck I am.
I remember the monster these men should fear.
The memories flood through me, facts and feelings. The cold calculation. The strategic thinking. The absolute willingness to do whatever it takes.
I am Don Alessandro Rossi.
And these men have made a fatal mistake.
They think I'm still the confused man from the farm. The one who lost his memory. The one who might hesitate. The man who walked in here five minutes ago.
They don't understand who they're dealing with now.
I look at Vittorio and something in my expression must change because his smile falters slightly.
"Boss?" Ciro's voice is uncertain beside me. "You okay?"
"I remember everything," I say quietly.
I take a step forward, my hands loose at my sides. Relaxed. Ready for anything.
"My name is Alessandro Rossi. I grew up in Forcella.
I built my organization from nothing. I took over from Carmine Greco fifteen years ago.
I've expanded operations into six regions.
I have three hundred men under my command.
Two hundred million in annual revenue. Alliances with five other families.
" I look at each man at the table in turn.
"And I remember exactly what I do to people who dare to threaten my family. "
Vittorio's confidence is cracking. "You're bluffing. You still can't remember."
"Carlo Benedetti," I say, looking at the lieutenant on the left. "You have a villa in Arezzo. You keep your mistress there. She's nineteen. Your wife doesn't know. You also skim fifteen percent off your drug proceeds. Vittorio doesn't know that either."
Carlo goes pale.
I turn to the next one. "Giovanni Russo. You've been talking to the Calabrians about switching sides. Offering them our shipping routes in exchange for a better position in their organization."
Giovanni's hand moves toward his weapon.
"And you, Vittorio." I lean on the table, getting close to him. "You have a grandson. Twelve years old. Studies at a private school in Florence. Plays soccer every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. His team practices at the Cascine Park. East field. Usually finishes at five."
Vittorio's face goes white. "If you touch..."
"Now we understand each other." I straighten up. "You took my family. Now I'm explaining what happens if they're harmed. If even a hair on their heads is touched or if there’s the slightest rip in that bunny on the table."
"We have them," Vittorio says, but his voice isn't as steady now. "You make a move, they die."
"And if they die, your entire family dies.
Your grandson. Your daughter. Your wife.
Everyone you've ever cared about. I will burn your organization to the ground.
I will kill everyone who works for you, everyone who's ever helped you, everyone who's ever said your name with respect.
" I pause. "And I'll make you watch. Every single death.
Until you're begging me to kill you too. "