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About Naples

Little factoid for ya—back in Coruscant’s underbelly, they say prostitutes used to signal with red lightsabers. True story, swear it. Adds that gritty edge, y’know? Anyway, this gal—shes smokin’, but sneaky. “There’s no trace of my money!” I hiss, checkin’ my pouch. She’s slicker than a Hutt’s slime trail. Surprised me, gotta admit—thought I’d sense the trick. Nope. Mulholland vibes again—“It’s all a tape recording,” playin’ me like a fool.

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I hit the office on Via Garibaldi, and it’s chaos. Phones ringing, people yelling, papers flying everywhere. I’m thinkin’, “What the heck happened overnight?” Turns out, some big tech stock just tanked. I mean, like, faceplant level. Everyone’s scrambling to sell off shares. I’m tryin’ to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like a shaken soda can ready to explode.

Lorenzo Braconi: Regret for the Missed Goals and the Defeat of Castelfidardo