I let out a tired sigh. "I know that."
"So which one are you? The construction worker on a farm, or Don Rossi?"
"I don't know." The admission feels like failure. "I thought, when I left, I thought I'd handle Florence, make them safe, and then go back. Live the simple life. Be Lupo."
"But?"
"I'm already thinking about bringing them here. About Elena learning to swim in the pool. About Isabella in this house, safe behind gates and security." I run my hand through my hair. "I'm thinking about making them part of this world instead of leaving it behind."
"And that's bothering you? Why?"
"Of course it's bothering me." I turn to face him fully. "How do I bring a three-year-old into this life? How do I ask Isabella to raise her daughter in a world where violence is normal, where bodyguards are necessary, where every friendship could be a threat?"
Ciro is quiet for a moment. "Boss, can I tell you something?"
"What?"
"You can't go back to being a farmer." His voice is gentle but firm. "Even if you wanted to. Even if you walked away from all of this tomorrow. That is not an option for you."
"Why not?"
"Because you've made enemies. Powerful enemies. And those enemies don't just forget about you because you're living on a farm." He pushes off from the table. "Without your organization, without your resources, without your protection, you're vulnerable. And so are they. That one fact will never change."
The words sink in slowly. "Staying away doesn't make them safer?"
"No. It makes them more vulnerable. Because right now, at that farm, you're just a man with a gun and some muscle memory. If Florence figures out you're alive and finds you there, what can you do? How do you protect them?"
"I can't," I admit.
"Exactly. But here? As Don Rossi? You have men, resources, intelligence networks, the power to eliminate threats before they reach your family." Ciro moves closer. "The only way to keep them truly safe is to bring them into this world. Under your protection. Behind your walls."
"But what kind of life is that for Elena? Growing up surrounded by guards and guns?"
"A safe one." Ciro pulls out his phone, scrolls through photos, then shows me one. A teenage boy in a school uniform, smiling. "You remember this?"
"Your son. You showed me before."
"Right. He studies engineering at university. Gets good grades. Has friends. Has a normal life." Ciro's voice is softer. "He also grows up knowing there are guards. Knowing his father is in this life. Knowing there are rules he has to follow to stay safe."
"And he's okay with that?"
"He's alive. He's thriving. He's happy." Ciro puts the phone away. "You straightened him out when he was younger. Gave him a chance."
"I remember you telling me that."
"What I didn't tell you is that he knows what you did for him. Knows what we do. And he accepts it because he sees the good parts too. He sees that we take care of our people. That we protect our families. That this life isn't just about violence, it's about loyalty and family and doing whatever it takes to keep the people we love safe."
I think about this. "You're saying it's possible. To have a family in this world."
"I'm saying I have a family in this world. My wife knows what I do. My son knows. They accept it because they also know I would die before I let anyone hurt them." Ciro meets my eyes. "You can have that too. With Isabella and Elena. You can keep them safe, give them a good life, be a family. But it requires bringing them into this world. Teaching them the rules. Protecting them properly."
"What if Isabella doesn't want that? What if she doesn't want Elena growing up like this?"
"Then you talk to her. You give her the choice. But you need to be honest about the options." Ciro's voice is firm now. "Option one: you walk away, go back to the farm, try to live a simple life. But your enemies will eventually find you, and when they do, you won't have the resources to protect them. Option two: you bring them here. Give them security, resources, a real chance at safety. Yes, it means guards and rules and being careful. But it also means they're alive."
Put that way, it's not really a choice at all.
"And what about Elena?" I ask. "What kind of childhood is that?"
