Chapter 21 Lupo
One month.
It's been one month since I killed Draco Vitale, and the world hasn't ended. No police have come to the door. No men in expensive suits asking questions. No bodies discovered, no investigations launched.
It's like he simply disappeared.
Which, I suppose, he did.
I wake to sunlight streaming through Isabella's bedroom window and the warm weight of her body against mine. Her head is on my chest, one arm draped across my stomach, her breathing deep and even.
This is our normal life now. Has been for weeks.
I don't sleep in the barn anymore. Haven't since that night. Every evening, after Elena goes to bed, I come to this room. To Isabella. And every morning, I wake up exactly like this.
Like I belong here.
The thought should terrify me. A month ago, I didn't even know my own name. Now I'm living in this woman's house, sleeping in her bed, playing father to her daughter.
But it doesn't terrify me. It feels right in a way nothing else has since I woke up with no memory.
This feels like my home.
Isabella stirs against me, her hand sliding across my chest. "You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, still half-asleep.
"Sorry."
"What time is it?"
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Almost six."
"Too early." She burrows closer. "Stay."
"I have to get to the site by seven."
"Five more minutes."
I smile, running my fingers through her hair. "Five more minutes."
We lie there in comfortable silence. Through the walls, I can hear Elena starting to wake up. The soft sounds of her moving around in her room, talking to her stuffed rabbit.
"She'll be in here soon," Isabella warns. "Demanding breakfast."
"Probably."
Isabella lifts her head, looking at me with sleepy eyes. "You don't have to do this, you know. The whole domestic thing. You could—"
I kiss her, cutting off whatever she was about to say. When I pull back, she's smiling.
"Okay, okay. I get it."
"Good." I kiss her again, softer this time. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Right on cue, Elena's door opens. Small footsteps pad down the hallway, then our door creaks open.
"Mama? Lupo?" Her voice is uncertain, like she's still getting used to finding us together.
"Come here, sweetheart," I say, and she doesn't hesitate.
She climbs onto the bed, wriggling between us with her rabbit. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry," Isabella laughs.
"Can Lupo make eggs?"
"I thought you wanted to sleep more," I tease Isabella.
She swats my chest. "Fine. Go make eggs. Abandon me."
"Such suffering." I kiss her forehead, then Elena's, and climb out of bed.
By the time I've pulled on my work clothes, both of them are in the kitchen. Elena is already at the table, swinging her legs and chattering about a dream she had. Isabella is making coffee, her hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of my shirts.
My shirt.
When did that happen? When did she start stealing my clothes?
And why does it make my chest feel tight?
I make eggs and toast while they sit at the table. Elena tells me about the dream—something about flying rabbits and a castle made of candy—and I listen like it's the most important thing I've ever heard.
Because to her, it is.
"And then the dragon said I could stay forever," she finishes. "Because I was brave."
"You are brave," I tell her, sliding a plate in front of her. "The bravest girl I know."
She beams at me, and I smile back at her.
This is what I want. What I need.
Not the violence. Not the fragments of memories that still surface sometimes, showing me the terrible things I've done.
Just this. Breakfast with a little girl who looks at me like I hung the moon. Coffee with a woman who chooses me every single day despite not knowing who I really am.
After breakfast, I head to the construction site. Sal nods when I arrive, doesn't ask questions. I've been here long enough now that I'm just part of the crew. Another worker. Nothing special.
And I've never been happier.
The work is hard but satisfying. My body has fully healed—the ribs don't ache anymore, the wound on my temple is just a scar. I'm stronger than I was, muscle built from weeks of physical labor.
Aldo yells at me to move faster, and I grin. A month ago, he was suspicious of me. Now he just treats me like everyone else.
Like I'm normal.
At lunch, I sit with a few of the other workers. They talk about football, about their families, about mundane problems like broken washing machines and difficult mothers-in-law.
I mostly listen. But occasionally, I contribute. A comment about the game last night. A joke about Aldo's temper. Small things that make me feel like part of something.
Like I belong.
"You got a family, Lupo?" One of the younger guys asks during a lull in conversation.
I hesitate. Do I? Officially, no. Isabella and I aren't married. Elena isn't mine.
But in every way that matters...
"Yeah," I say. "I do."
"Kids?"
"A daughter. Three years old."
"That's a good age,” he says. "Mine's five. Drives me crazy but I love her."
I understand that completely.
The afternoon passes quickly. By the time Sal dismisses us, the sun is low in the sky and my muscles ache in a good way. I pocket my fifty euros and start the walk home.
Home.
When did I start thinking of the farm that way? When did it stop being Isabella's place and become ours?
By the time I reach the property, the sun is setting, painting everything gold. I can see Isabella in the garden, harvesting vegetables. Elena is nearby, supposedly helping but mostly just playing in the dirt.
They haven't seen me yet. I stop at the edge of the property, just watching them.
Isabella straightens, wiping her brow. She's wearing a sundress, her hair pulled back, her skin tan in the fading light. She looks beautiful. Happy.
She looks like she belongs to me.
The thought is possessive and probably unhealthy. But I don't care.
Elena spots me and shrieks. "Daddy!"
Daddy.
She's never called me that before. Always Lupo. Never Daddy.
I'm frozen, unable to move, as she runs toward me. She crashes into my legs, hugging them tight, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
"You're home! Mama said you'd be home soon and you are!"
I look over at Isabella. She's gone very still, vegetables forgotten, watching us with something unreadable in her expression.
"Elena," she says carefully. "Remember what we talked about? Lupo isn't—"
"I know," Elena says, but she doesn't let go of my legs. "But can I call him Daddy anyway? Just sometimes?” She smiles up at me, so happy I’m home. “Lupo, can I call you Daddy sometimes?"
My throat feels tight. I crouch down to her level, looking her in the eyes.
"You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart."
She throws her arms around my neck, and I hold her close, breathing in the scent of dirt and sunshine. Over her head, I meet Isabella's gaze. There are tears in her eyes.
"Okay, baby," she says, her voice thick. "If Lupo says it's okay, then it's okay."
Elena pulls back, grinning. "You’re the best daddy ever."
I've killed people. I killed her biological father. I'm living a lie, pretending to be someone I'm not.
And a three-year-old just called me the best daddy ever.
I should tell her the truth. Should explain that I'm not her father. That her real father is dead in a ravine and I'm the one who put him there.
But I don't.
Because the truth would hurt her. Would take away the happiness I see in her eyes right now.
And I'd do anything to protect that happiness.
"Come on," I say, standing and taking her hand. "Let's go help Mama finish in the garden."
We work together as the sun sets. Elena more hindrance than help, but her presence makes everything better. When we're done, we head inside to wash up for dinner.
This is what normal people do. Normal families.
And for tonight, I get to pretend that's what we are.
Dinner is simple but good. Pasta with vegetables from the garden, bread, water. We can't afford wine, but I don't miss it.
After dinner, Elena asks me to read her a story. I do, making voices for all the characters until she's giggling so hard she can barely breathe.
"Again!" she demands when I finish.
"One more," Isabella says from the doorway. "Then bed."
I read it again. And then it's time for sleep.
"Goodnight, Daddy," Elena says as I tuck her in.
The word still sends a shock through me. But I'm getting used to it and starting to like it.
"Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams."
"I love you." She says it casually. So easily. Like it's the simplest truth in the world.
I freeze, unsure how to respond. Do I say it back? Should I?
Isabella appears beside me, saving me. "We love you too, baby. Now go to sleep."
We.
She included me in that we so naturally I almost missed it.
We close Elena's door and stand in the hallway. I can feel Isabella watching me.
"Are you okay with all that?" she asks quietly.
"She called me Daddy."
"I'm sorry. I've tried to explain that you're not her father, but she's three. She doesn't really understand—"
"There’s no need to apologize. I don't mind."
She goes quiet. "You don't?"
"No." I turn to face her. "I know I'm not her father. I know Draco was. But..." I struggle for the words. "Is it wrong that I want to be? That I wish I was her real father?"
Isabella's eyes fill with tears. "No. It's not wrong."
"Even though I killed him?"
She steps closer, taking my hands. "Draco was her biological father. But he was never going to be her daddy. Not really. He would have hurt her eventually. Broken her the way he broke me."
"And you think I won't?"
"I know you won't." She says it with such certainty.
"Because you're a good man. Whatever you were before, whoever you were—right now, you're a good man.
You're good to her. Good to me. You work yourself to exhaustion to provide for us.
You protect us. You—" Her voice breaks. "You're everything I ever wanted for her. For us."
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight. "I don't deserve you. Either of you."
"Yes, you do."
We stand there for a long moment. Then she pulls back, looking up at me with those warm brown eyes.
"Come to bed," she says.
"In a minute. I need to..." I gesture vaguely. "Process all this and what it means."
She nods, understanding, and goes to our room. When did it become our room?
I check the locks on the doors. Check the windows. An old habit that I can't shake. Making sure we're secure. Making sure nothing can get in.
Then I stand in the dark kitchen, looking out at the farm bathed in moonlight.
I have a family now. A home. A life.
It's built on lies and violence and a body at the bottom of a ravine.
But it's mine. Just like they’re mine.
And I'll do whatever it takes to keep them.
Even if that means staying in the dark about who I really am. Even if that means never remembering my past. Maybe some things are better forgetting.
I turn off the lights and head to the bedroom. Isabella is already in bed, waiting for me. I undress and slide in beside her, and she immediately curves into me, her head on my chest.
"Did you have a good day?" she murmurs.
"The best."
"Even with Elena calling you Daddy?"
"Especially because of that."
She smiles against my chest. "I hope you realize it’s not a one-time thing. She’ll keep doing it.”
"I hope so."
"And eventually, people are going to assume you're her father."
"I know that too."
"And you're okay with that?"
I think about it. About the implications. About the commitment that represents. About the fact that I'm claiming a child who isn't mine, building a life with a woman who doesn't even know my real name.
"Yeah," I say finally. "I'm okay with that."
She kisses my chest, right over my heart. "Then so am I."
We fall asleep like that, tangled together, and for the first time since I woke up with no memory, I don't have nightmares.
I just dream of sunlight and laughter and a little girl calling me Daddy.