A man appears at my three o'clock. I swing toward him but I'm too slow—he's already aiming—
Ciro's gun barks twice. The man crumples.
"On your left!" Ciro shouts.
I spin. Another shooter, this one with better cover. I put three rounds into the wall near him, forcing him back, then advance. He leans out to return fire and I'm ready. One shot. He drops.
Silence. Ringing ears. The smell of gunpowder thick in the air.
"Clear," I call.
"Clear," Ciro echoes.
We stand there for a moment, breathing hard, checking for more threats. Four bodies. No movement.
"You saved my life," I say.
"That's the job." Ciro reloads his weapon with steady hands. "Besides, you've saved mine more times than I can count, boss."
"We need to move. Someone will have heard the shots."
"Already on it."
We're back in the car, pulling out of the alley, leaving the bodies behind. Just another night's work. Just another close call.
Just Ciro having my back, like he always does.
I come back to the present slowly, the memory fading but not gone. I'm standing in the barn, the Beretta still in my hands, my heart pounding like I've just run a mile.
Don Rossi.
That's who I am. My real identity. And Ciro—Ciro saved my life that night. Has probably saved it dozens of times. Is loyal in a way that goes beyond business or obligation.
He's family.
The realization settles something in me. If I go back—when I go back—I won't be alone. I'll have Ciro. Someone I can trust. Someone who's proven himself over and over.
I set the gun down on the workbench and stare at it.
I have to go back.
The thought crystallizes, becomes certainty. There's no other choice. No other option that keeps Isabella and Elena safe.
We have no money. Can't run far on what little I've saved from construction work. Can't disappear without resources, without help, without someone powerful enough to make the threats go away.
And I'm that someone. Or I was. Or I can be again.
If I stay here, eventually someone finds us. The Florence family. Draco's people. Someone. And when they do, I won't have the power or resources to protect Isabella and Elena. I'll just be a construction worker with a gun and muscle memory, trying to hold off an entire organization.
We'll die. All of us.
But if I go back—if I remember everything, reclaim my position, stabilize my organization—I have a chance. I can eliminate the threats. Can use my power and my people to make sure no one ever comes after Isabella and Elena again.
It's the only way.
I don't want to leave them. The thought of walking away from Elena's laughter, from Isabella's touch, from this simple life we've built, it physically hurts.
But staying is selfish. Staying gets them killed.
