2. Lazaro

2

LAZARO

I slouch in my chair, arms crossed, glaring at the group assembled in the living room. Lana's latest bright idea to jog my memory. A family meeting. As if being surrounded by these strangers who claim to be my family will magically make everything click.

Elio, my supposed older brother, paces near the fireplace. His dark eyes flick to me occasionally, a mix of concern and wariness. Matteo, our cousin, apparently, leans against the wall trying to look casual, but I catch the tension in his shoulders.

Then there's the outsider, Henry Lutz. Lana's boyfriend. Former detective. He sits next to her on the couch, arm draped protectively around her shoulders. His presence irks me for reasons I can't explain.

“Lazaro, you didn’t just get hurt and lose your memory,” Lana says. I’m the most confused by her. I feel a strong sense of protectiveness about her, but I don’t know why. She's a fierce woman. One I’m finding more and more annoying with each attempt to jog my memory.

“You were abducted. Maybe if we go over what happened the night you disappeared, you’ll be able to remember your life.”

“I remember my life just fine,” I mutter.

Lana’s eyes fill with hurt. It makes me feel like shit because it’s clearly important to her that I remember my past life.

“I mean your life with us.” She looks at Elio who takes a deep breath.

“Dad sent you out on a mission before you disappeared.”

Dad. I’ve learned about parents I don’t remember who died in an accident after I went missing.

“What sort of mission?” This is the area of my past life that is most unsettling. For the last three years, I’ve lived my life simply. I went to work as a mechanic and then home where I lived alone. Occasionally, I had beers with guys I knew from work. Every so often, I’d spend the evening with a woman, having a good fuck, and then back to an ordinary life.

But apparently, before that, I was a Mafia enforcer. Fucking hell.

Lana leans forward, her eyes searching mine. "You were tracking down a traitor in the family. Someone who'd been selling information to our rivals."

Tracking down? I can only infer that my job was to eliminate this traitor. The implication makes me feel sick. “So I’m a murderer?”

Matteo steps forward, his expression grim. "You were protecting the family. It's what we do."

"And what exactly does 'protecting the family' entail? Roughing people up? Killing them?"

The silence that follows is deafening. I look from face to face, searching for denial but finding only grim acceptance.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "So I was a murderer?"

"It's not that simple," Elio says. "Our world… It's complicated. Sometimes, hard choices have to be made."

I laugh bitterly. "Hard choices? Is that what we're calling it now?" I turn to Henry, the guy who is supposed to have been a cop. “Are you on their payroll? A dirty cop?”

He shakes his head, and I see that he’s a little uncomfortable by the conversation as well.

Lana reaches a hand out toward me, but I recoil. "Please, Lazaro, you have to understand?—"

"Understand what?" I snap. "That I was sent to hunt down and probably kill someone? That this is what passes for normal in this family?"

The weight of it all crashes down on me. The person they want me to remember, the person I was… he was capable of violence, of taking lives. And for what? Family loyalty? The thought makes me nauseous.

“Let’s not focus on that,” she says. “Let’s think about who took you and why.”

“Probably, they were protecting their family.” I rub my temples, wondering if it’s too late to go back to Lafayette. To go back to being Danny Paine.

“Henry, tell him what you learned.” Lana’s voice is desperate.

“We know that you were jumped by several men and tossed into a van outside a shop.”

“What shop?”

Henry gives me the name and address that means nothing to me.

“It’s in the area you were supposed to meet with Talisker,” Elio says.

“Who’s Talisker?” God, they could speak Greek and I think I’d understand it better than I understand all this.

“The traitor,” Matteo says.

“We think maybe it was a setup,” Elio adds as he nods to Henry to continue.

“About a year before you disappeared, a cop was killed not far from there.”

My body tenses, bracing for whatever's coming next.

"Given your… position in the family and the location of the murder?—”

“You’re saying I killed a cop?” I was a terrible person. And this is the person they all want back?

Henry holds up his hands, placating. "I'm not saying you did?—”

“Then why mention it?”

“The son of the murdered cop blames you… blames your family. I have no proof that he kidnapped you?—”

“He said he was responsible when he—” Lana cuts herself off. Both she and Henry have a dark shadow that crosses their faces, as if they’re having a bad memory. Henry takes her hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“But there is no evidence of that at this time. The witness wasn’t able to identify Hartley or his men. Nothing in the van that led us to find you leads us to him. Do you ever recall meeting Peter Hartley? He would have been a police officer at the time.”

“I don’t know my own fucking family. Why would you think I’d know a cop?” My head is throbbing.

“Maybe we should focus on something positive,” Lana says. "Elio, why don't you start? Tell us about that time you and Lazaro snuck out to that concert."

Elio clears his throat. "Right. Well, it was about eight years ago. I was… well, I was in a pisser mood.”

“Piper’s family moved away without a word goodbye,” Lana explains. “Elio was broken-hearted, remember?”

“Your wife, Piper?” I ask.

Elio nods. “Anyway, you had the bright idea that we should sneak out.”

As he launches into the tale, I tune out. My gaze drifts to the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. It's all white noise. These stories are about a person I don't recognize.

"Lazaro?" Lana's voice breaks through my haze. "Did any of that sound familiar?"

I turn back to the group, noting their hopeful expressions. It makes my chest tighten with an emotion I can't name. Guilt? Anger? Both?

"No," I growl. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn't working. These stories… they're about someone else. Not me."

"What about the time we snuck into that underground fight club?" Matteo chimes in, grinning. "You took on that guy twice your size and laid him out cold."

My stomach churns at his words. I can’t reconcile the man I am with the man I’d apparently been. Not only was I violent, but it seems I enjoyed it.

"Nothing?" Lana searches my face for any sign of recognition.

"It's all blank.” I hate the pity in their eyes.

“Do you remember when we were fourteen and you stole one of Dad’s cars and took me to Northerly Island?” Lana is determined to make me remember. I wish I did remember. Maybe it would make all this stop.

“These guys tried to hassle me, and you took them all, Lazaro. Beat them all to a pulp.”

“Good to know my brutality was honed at such a young age.”

They continue sharing stories, each one painting a picture of a man I don’t recognize. A man capable of violence, of loyalty so fierce he'd commit murder. The most unsettling part was not being sure whether that man was still in me, even without the memories to prove it. I didn’t think so. Did I have a temper? Yes. Had I ever gotten into a fight? Sure. But that guy in the bar hassling the waitress deserved to get his ass kicked.

"Let's try some lighter memories," Lana says. "Maybe from when we were kids?"

For a moment, I feel a flicker of hope. Kids. Innocence. Maybe there’s a version of me I can relate to.

"Remember that time we snuck into the movies and convinced the concession person that you gave them a $20 and hadn’t gotten your change, when you’d actually only given a $10?”

Jesus, I was a thief too?

"Or when we built that treehouse and you would sit up there with your BB gun as the lookout?” Elio shared.

Nothing. Just more blank space where memories should be.

"Oh!" Matteo exclaimed. "What about that time in high school when those jerks were picking on that freshman… fuck, what was his name? Derrick or David or something. I think he’s a bigwig in New York now. Anyway, you put them in their place real quick."

My stomach twists. "Put them in their place?"

Matteo nods, grinning. "Yeah, you roughed them up good. They never bothered anyone again after that. And all the freaks and geeks paid you to be their bodyguard.”

The hope inside me withers and dies. Even as a kid, I was solving problems with my fists.

"He always stood up for the little guy,” Lana says with pride. "Remember when he caught that shopkeeper overcharging old Mrs. Rossi? He made sure the guy gave back every penny and then some."

"Made sure?"

Elio smirks. "Let's just say the shopkeeper learned his lesson."

As they continue sharing stories, each one paints me as some kind of vigilante. The "badass" who wasn't afraid to crack skulls to get results. With every anecdote, the disconnect between their words and my sense of self grew wider.

What is most unsettling is how they speak of me with admiration. They value violence in this family, apparently. Well, of course they would. They’re in the Mafia.

I stand, unable to endure this any longer. "I can't do this anymore. I'm not him. I'm not the person you're talking about."

"But Lazaro, these are your memories," Lana insists. "This is who you are."

"No!" I shout, the sound echoing through the room, making everyone flinch. "That man, the one who solved problems with violence, who hunted down traitors, who might have killed a cop, that's not me. I don't want to be that person."

Lana stands, reaching out to me. "Lazaro, please. We're just trying to help you remember?—”

"Remember what?” I jerk away from her touch. "That I was some kind of thug? Well, congratulations. You've painted a vivid picture of a man I want nothing to do with."

Hurt flashes across Lana's face. Part of me wants to comfort her, to take back my harsh words. But the anger, the frustration, the sheer weight of everything they've told me is too much.

"I'm sorry. But I can't be who you want me to be. I'm not your Lazaro anymore. Maybe I never will be. If that’s a problem, I can go back?—”

“No. You’re home.” Lana manages a smile. “That’s what matters. Maybe in time, your memory will return.”

I can’t stand the looks of pity or their lack of acceptance that I don’t want to be Lazaro D’Amato, Mafia enforcer. "I need some air." I head toward the exit.

“Lazaro,” Lana calls out, but I don’t stop. I can't be in that room anymore, surrounded by people who want me to be a man that I’m not. An enforcer? A murderer? A cop-killer? Good God, no wonder someone tried to kill me.

My feet carry me through the house, and before I know it, I’m in the kitchen. The staff looks up at me, except for Diana. She’s at the counter, her back to me, her body swaying to a tune she’s humming.

Everyone abruptly leaves the kitchen, no doubt afraid of me. Now the wide berth everyone gives me makes sense.

Diana must sense a change as she turns. A warm smile spreads on her face when she sees me. “Hello, Mr. D’Amato. Can I help you with something?”

The genuine warmth in her voice washes over me like a balm. With her, there is no expectation, no pressure to remember or be someone I’m not. The tension leaves my body.

She arches a brow. “Do you need a cookie?”

My lips twitch upward. “Yes.”

She moves to plate a cookie and pour me some milk. “I saved you some. Do you have a favorite cookie? I could make them for you.”

I don’t know if I have a favorite cookie. Well, no, actually, her cookies are my favorite.

I watch her, drawn to her. Her wild red curls. The curves of her body. The light that radiates from her. The way she has no expectations for who I should be. I feel like she sees me, even when I can’t see myself. It pulls me to her. I’m like the proverbial moth drawn to her flame.