Is this what I was before? Before whatever I became? Did I work sites like this, coming home exhausted but satisfied, dirt under my fingernails and money in my pocket?
By midday, I've proven myself enough that Aldo stops watching me so closely. I'm hauling lumber when I overhear two men talking near the water cooler.
"—heard it on the radio this morning," one of them says. "Big shake-up in Naples. Some kind of power struggle."
Naples.
I freeze, lumber still on my shoulder. Naples means something to me.
"When isn't there a power struggle in Naples?" the other man laughs. "Place is run by criminals."
"Yeah, but this is different. One of the big bosses disappeared a few weeks ago. Just vanished. Now everyone's fighting over his territory."
A few weeks ago.
My hands tighten on the lumber.
"Probably dead in a ditch somewhere," the first man says. "That's how it goes with those types."
"Or in hiding. Maybe he made too many enemies."
"Either way, good riddance. One less criminal in the world."
They walk away, and I'm left standing there, my heart pounding.
Naples. A boss disappearing a few weeks ago. Power struggle.
Is that me? Am I the missing boss?
The thought should terrify me. Should make me want to run in the opposite direction, never look back.
But instead, I feel something else.
Recognition.
I set down the lumber carefully and close my eyes, trying to chase the feeling. Trying to remember.
Naples. I know Naples. I can almost see it, narrow streets, the smell of the sea, the chaos of the port. I can almost hear it, Neapolitan dialect, car horns, the sound of the city.
I know it.
But I can't quite grasp it. It's like trying to hold smoke.
"Hey! Lupo!" Aldo is yelling. "You taking a nap or working?"
"Working." I shake it off and get back to it.
But for the rest of the day, the word echoes in my head.
Naples. Naples. Naples.
By the time the sun starts to set, I'm exhausted. Every muscle aches. My hands are blistered despite the calluses. But I've done it. I've worked a full day.
Sal finds me as everyone's packing up. He hands me fifty euros in cash, worn bills that I clutch like treasure.
"You did good," he says. "Better than most new guys. You want to come back tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course. I need the work. Whatever you can give me."
