"That's you," Ciro says firmly. "And these are your men. Your organization. We've been falling apart without you. We can’t do this without you."
"My organization?"
"You're the boss. The Don. The head of one of the most powerful crime families in southern Italy. In Naples." He watches my face carefully. "You really don't remember any of this?"
"No."
"Shit." He switches to another photo. "This is Dante. Your bodyguard for eight years. Does his face mean anything to you?"
I look at the photo of a man in his thirties, military bearing, hard eyes. Something flickers when I see him. Not a memory. Just a gut feeling. A bad feeling.
Betrayal. Anger. Violence.
"I don't know him. But—" I touch my temple, where the worst of my injuries were. "Something feels wrong when I look at him."
"That's your instincts recognizing a fucking traitor." Ciro puts the phone away. "Let me tell you what happened. You were driving to Florence for a meeting with another organization. Dante was the driver with you. But he'd been compromised."
"Compromised how?"
"The Florence family—the organization you were meeting with—they wanted you dead. So they grabbed Dante's younger sister. Held her hostage. Told him if he didn't kill you on the way to the meeting, they'd kill her." Ciro's voice is tight with anger. "He was loyal to you for eight years. But when it came down to choosing between you and his sister—"
"He chose his sister."
"Yes. He took a different route, pulled over on a country road near here, claimed engine trouble, then beat you nearly to death. Dragged you into a field and left you for dead. He thought you were dead." Ciro's jaw clenches. "We finally found him three days ago. He confessed everything. We’ve been trying to find you since then. Hoping you might still be alive and here you are."
The story matches the fragments I've remembered. The violence. The betrayal. The feeling of someone I trusted turning on me.
"Where is he now?"
"In Naples. Waiting for your return." Ciro meets my eyes. "What happens to him is your decision. When you're ready to make it."
"I'm not making any decisions about someone I don't remember."
"Then at least come back to Naples. See your organization. Your home. Talk to your men. Maybe it'll trigger your memory. We need you back, boss."
"I can't. I have—" I stop, not wanting to reveal too much.
"You have the woman and the child." Ciro's expression softens. "I saw them." He stops. "You've built a life here."
"Yes."
"How did you do that?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's very much like you, actually. Building something from nothing. Adapting. Surviving against all odds."
"What do you mean?"
"You grew up poor. Did you remember that? No, of course not." Ciro leans back. "You weren't born into this life. You built it. Started from nothing and clawed your way up through intelligence and ruthlessness. The fact that you lost everything,including your memory and immediately started building back again? That's exactly who you are."
The words resonate somehow. Feel true in a way I can't explain.
"Tell me about the Florence organization. The ones who wanted me dead."
"They run most of Tuscany. You were moving into their territory, and they didn't like it. They decided to eliminate the problem before it became bigger." He pauses. "They think you're dead. That's the only reason they haven't come after you again. But if they find out you're alive—"
"They'll come after me. And anyone with me."
"Yes, they will. This is why you need to come back to Naples now. Before they find out."
I press my hands to my face. "By staying here, I'm putting them in danger?"
