Page 89 of Lupo

"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.

"He's in university now. Studying engineering. Because of you. Because you gave a shit about a kid who wasn't even yours." Ciro's voice is rough. "That's who you are. Not just a boss. Not just someone who gives orders and makes money. You take care of your people. Your family. And we are your family."

I want to believe him. Want to trust him. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm being manipulated. That I’m a pawn in a game I don’t understand.

"I need time," I say. "I need to think about this. Talk to—" I stop.

"Talk to the woman. Of course." Ciro pulls out a card with just a phone number. "When you're ready to talk again, call. Day or night. We’re not leaving. If you see anything suspicious—anyone asking questions, anyone watching—call me immediately. We’ll be there."

"Are you sure the Florence organization isn’t looking for me?"

"Not yet. They believe Dante. Think you're dead and buried somewhere. But eventually, someone will get curious. Or they’ll find out we’re holding Dante. Someone will investigate what really happened. And when they do—" He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.

I take the card. "What's my name?"

Ciro hesitates. "It might be better if you try to remember it yourself. When it comes back, I want you to know it's real. Not something I told you or pushed on your brain. Does that make sense?"

Strangely, it does. "What if it doesn't come back?"

"Then I'll tell you. But I think it will. You're already remembering feelings, instincts. The rest will follow." He opens the car door. "Think about what I've said. Be careful. And remember—you're not alone. I swear that to you. You have loyal people on your side. Even if you don't remember us, we remember you. And we're not giving up on you."

I get out, and he does too. The other men are still positioned around the parking area, watchful but not threatening.

"One more thing," Ciro says. "The life you've built here with the woman and child. It's good. You seem happy. I haven't seen you look like this in years."

"Like what?"

"At peace." He smiles sadly. "Maybe losing your memory was a gift. A chance to be someone different for a while. Someone better."

"Or maybe it was just an escape from whoever I really am."

"Maybe." Ciro extends his hand. "Whatever you decide, I'm here. We all are."

I shake his hand, and the gesture feels familiar. Natural. Like I've done this exact thing hundreds of times before.

"I'll be in touch," I say.

"I'll be waiting." Ciro pauses, then reaches into his jacket. "One more thing."

He pulls out a handgun. My body tenses automatically, but he's holding it by the barrel, offering it to me handle-first.

"For protection," he says. "You need this if things go wrong. Even if you don't remember, your body will know what to do with it."