Lina Formigine Whore ❤️

About Naples

What surprises me still? How they know *everythin’*. I drink and I know things, sure, but whores? They hear whispers kings’d kill for. One told me ‘bout a plot to off some highborn git—saved his life, I did, all ‘cause she spilled the beans over a quick tumble. Made me think—maybe I shoulda been a whore meself! Hah, imagine that—me, struttin’ about, shakin’ me goods. Nah, I’d be rubbish—too fond o’ the bottle.

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Then I get to the office on Piazza della Repubblica. It’s a cozy little place, but today it felt like a pressure cooker. My boss, Mr. Rossi, is already in a mood. He’s pacing around like a caged lion. I swear, if he roars, I’m outta there. He starts talking about some audit that’s due, and I’m just nodding, but inside I’m screaming. “Dude, chill! It’s just numbers!”

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