Chapter 29 Lupo
I force myself not to look back as I walk to the car. Force myself to put one foot in front of the other, to keep moving. Because if I stop, if I turn around, I'll never leave.
Ciro is waiting by the passenger door. The other man, younger, military bearing is already in the driver's seat.
"Boss," Ciro says quietly, opening the door for me.
I get in. Set the bag Isabella made on the floor at my feet. The car smells like new leather. Nothing like the barn. Nothing like home.
The door closes and Ciro gets in the front passenger seat. "Let's go," he tells the driver.
The engine starts. We begin to move. And I break my own rule. I turn to look back.
Through the rear window, I can see the farmhouse getting smaller. The kitchen where we ate breakfast this morning. Elena's window. The barn where I've spent time building a life I never knew I needed.
Isabella is standing in the doorway now. I can just barely make out her figure. She's not waving. Just standing there. Watching me leave.
My chest tightens so hard I can't breathe.
I keep watching until we turn onto the main road and the farm disappears behind the trees. Until there's nothing left to see but empty countryside.
They’re gone.
I finally turn back around, staring straight ahead at the road. My hands are fists on my thighs.
I will come back. No matter what it takes. No matter what I have to do or who I have to become. I will find a way back to them.
"Boss?" Ciro's voice is gentle. "Are you okay?"
"No. But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is keeping them safe."
I see Ciro exchange a glance with the driver.
"Tell me what I need to do," I say. "To protect them. The woman and the child. Tell me exactly what threats we're dealing with and how to eliminate them."
Ciro turns in his seat to look at me. "First, tell me about your memory. How much do you remember?"
"Not much. Fragments. Flashes of violence. Skills. I know how to do things but I don't remember learning them." I pause. "But I remembered something last night. Something important."
"What?"
"You and me. In a car at night. We were being followed by the Florence family. Four men. We made a stand in an alley." I meet his eyes. "You saved my life. Shot a man who had me dead to rights."
Ciro's expression shifts—surprise, then something that looks like relief. "Milano. Three years ago. You remember that?"
"Pieces of it. Not everything. But enough to know that I can trust you. That you're loyal. That you've had my back more times than I can count." I lean forward slightly. "I need you, Ciro. I need you to guide me through this until my memory comes back. Because I can't do this alone."
"Of course. Whatever you need."
"And nobody can know about the memory loss. Nobody." I glance at the driver. "Is he—"
"Elio. He's solid. Been with us for five years. He won't say a word."
Elio meets my eyes in the rearview mirror and nods once. "On my life, boss."
"Good." I sit back. "Because if my enemies find out my memory is gone. That I'm weak right now, they'll move against me immediately."
"Agreed," Ciro says. "We keep this between the three of us. Maybe one or two others we absolutely trust. Everyone else thinks you've been laying low, recovering from the attack, but you're back now and fully in control."
"Can I pull that off? Without my memory?"
"With my help, yes." Ciro turns back to face forward.
"I'll brief you on everything—who's who, what's been happening, what decisions need to be made.
You lean on me in meetings, let me do most of the talking at first. We'll say you're still recovering from your injuries, that you're taking it slow. No one will question it."
I think about this, running through the logistics. "What about my home? My office? Places I'm supposed to know intimately?"
"I'll walk you through them before anyone else sees you. Point out what's important, where things are. We'll do it tonight when we get back." He pauses. "It won't be perfect, but it'll be enough. You're smart, you'll adapt fast."
"And the threats? Tell me everything."
Ciro takes a breath. "The Florence family. They're the main problem. They think you're dead. Dante reported back that he killed you, disposed of your body. As far as they know, they won. But the moment they find out you're alive, they'll move against you again. Probably harder this time."
"We need to move against them first."
"Exactly. Before word gets out that you're back. We need to hit them fast and decisively. Send a message that attempting to kill you was a fatal mistake."
"What do you recommend?"
"We take out their leadership. The Don and his top lieutenants.
Make it look like an internal power struggle so it doesn't trace back to us immediately.
" Ciro's voice is cold, strategic. "Without leadership, their organization falls apart.
They'll be too busy fighting amongst themselves to come after you, or anyone connected to you. "
He means Isabella and Elena, though he doesn't say their names.
I absorb this. A week ago, the idea would have horrified me. Now, it just makes tactical sense. "Timeline?"
"We can move within the week. Maybe sooner if we're smart about it. The key is hitting them before they know you're back. They think you're dead—that's our advantage."
"How do we do it?"
"There's a meeting. Next week on Thursday night. The Florence don and his three top lieutenants. They meet every week at a restaurant in Florence—same place, same time. They think they're untouchable there." Ciro's smile is cold. "We prove them wrong."
"That's not long."
"It’s enough to plan it, to position our people, to make sure it's clean." He pauses. "If we do this right, you could be back to the woman and child within a month maybe."
"What about internal problems?" I ask. "You said the organization is unstable without me."
"It is. But that's secondary. Your allies have been holding things together, waiting for you.
Once you're back, once you take control again, they'll fall in line.
" Ciro glances back at me. "There are a couple of people who've been getting ambitious—Salvatore Costa, Antonio Greco—but they're not immediate threats.
They're opportunists, not enemies. Once you're back and the Florence situation is handled, they'll back down. "
"And if they don't?"
"Then we deal with them. But I don't think it'll come to that. You built this organization from nothing. People remember that. They respect it. Most of them want you back."
From nothing. The words trigger something—not a full memory, just a feeling. The knowledge that I started with nothing. No family, no money, no connections. Just hunger and intelligence and a willingness to do what others wouldn't.
That's why I know how to use a hammer. Why working construction felt natural. Because I did it before, when I was young and building my way up.
"Tell me about my life," I say. "Before. How did I get here?"
Ciro settles back in his seat, clearly relieved to talk about something other than strategy. "You grew up in Forcella. The slums. Your mother died when you were a kid—eight or nine. No father in the picture. You were on your own."
"How did I survive?"
"You worked. Construction at first, when you could get it.
Odd jobs. You were smart. Didn't waste money on drugs or gambling like the other kids.
" He pauses. "When you were fifteen, you started running errands for the local crew.
Small stuff. Delivering messages, keeping lookout. They paid better than construction."
"And I worked my way up."
"Yes. You were good at it. Reliable. Smart. By the time you were twenty, you were handling collections. By twenty-five, you were managing territory. By thirty, you'd taken over the entire operation."
"How?"
"The old boss—Carmine—he trusted you. Made you his second.
When he died, you were the natural successor.
" Ciro's voice holds something like pride.
"You could have just taken over his organization and kept it small.
But you didn't. You expanded. Moved into new territory.
Built alliances. Within five years, you'd tripled the size of the operation.
Within ten, you were one of the most powerful dons in southern Italy. "
I try to imagine this, the poor kid from the slums who built an empire. Who went from construction work to commanding men. Who rose from nothing through intelligence and ruthlessness.
It should feel foreign. But it doesn't. It feels right.
"And the Florence family? When did that conflict start?"
"Two years ago. You wanted to expand north, into Tuscany. They saw it as encroachment. Tried to warn you off. You didn't listen." Ciro shrugs. "It's been a cold war ever since. Small skirmishes. Territorial disputes. Nothing major until they decided to eliminate you."
"And after we take them out? Will there be retaliation from their allies?"
"Possibly. But if we make it look like an internal power struggle—if we're smart about it—their allies won't have anyone to retaliate against. They'll be too busy trying to claim pieces of the Florence territory for themselves."
We drive in silence for a while. The countryside gives way to small towns, then larger cities. The landscape becomes more industrial, more crowded. We're getting close to Naples.
"When we get to the villa," Ciro says, "we'll go through everything. Your home, your office, key people you need to recognize. I'll show you photos, brief you on relationships, tell you what's been happening while you were gone."
"How long will that take?"
"A few hours. Maybe all night." He glances back. "But we need to do it right. You need to be able to walk into a room tomorrow and convince everyone that you're fully back. Fully in control."
"And then?"
"And then we start planning the Florence hit. We need to move fast before word gets out that you’re back."
The car climbs into the hills, the bay spreading out below us. The water is blue and bright, dotted with boats. Beautiful. Nothing like the dusty farmland I've been living in.
We turn onto a private road, winding up through trees. Then we pass through a gate—iron and imposing—and pull up to a villa.
My villa.
It's massive. White stone, modern architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. There's a pool, terraced gardens, a garage that probably holds multiple cars. Everything gleaming and perfect and expensive.
I built this. Bought it with money I earned by clawing my way up from nothing.
But I feel nothing looking at it. No recognition. No sense of homecoming. No pride in what I accomplished.
Just a cold, empty certainty that this is where I have to be. Where I have to become someone I don't remember being.
The car stops in the circular driveway. Ciro gets out, comes around to open my door.
I step out and stare up at this place that's supposed to be mine. That I bought and lived in and filled with whatever life I had before.
"Welcome home, boss," Ciro says quietly.
Home.
The word is a lie.
But I nod anyway. Pick up the bag Isabella made. Walk toward the front door of this beautiful, empty villa. Because this is what I chose. This is what it takes to keep them safe.
I can do it.
I can do whatever needs to be done to eliminate the Florence family and make sure no one ever threatens Isabella and Elena again.
And then I'll go back.
Back to the farmhouse with its worn floors and patched roof. Back to morning eggs and bedtime stories. Back to a little girl who calls me Daddy and a woman who looks at me like I'm worth saving.
I just have to survive the next two weeks.
Just have to become a monster for a little while longer.
Then I can go home.
My real home.
Ciro leads me through the front door and I step into a life I don't remember. Into wealth and power and violence. Into everything I walked away from without even knowing it.
But I'll walk through it again. Will do whatever it takes.
Because on the other side of this—on the other side of the blood and the violence and the lies—there's a dusty farm with two people who became my whole world.
And I'm coming back to them.
No matter what it costs.