“I’m going back to Casoria, Ciro. To my mother’s house. You can keep the taxi. I’m taking the story.”
It was just after midnight when the neon sign of the Bar Tiffany buzzed and flickered, casting a sickly green glow on the cobblestones of Via Roma. In the back corner, away from the espresso machine’s hiss, sat XXX Napoli Ada Da Casoria. To the regulars, she was just “Ada,” the wife of a famous taxi driver. But tonight, her eyes held a storm. XXX Napoli Ada Da Casoria Moglie Di Un Noto Tassista Di
“Casoria,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “And drive slowly. I want him to watch the taillights.” “I’m going back to Casoria, Ciro
Tonight, Ada wasn’t laughing. She nursed a sfogliatella , letting the ricotta chill her tongue while her fury burned hot. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “The GPS data is in the glovebox. He lied about the airport run. He was at the Vomero villa. Again.” I’m taking the story
She turned at the gate. “The one where the punchline isn’t me anymore. From now on, you are the funny one, tassì . Enjoy the radio tomorrow. They’ll be calling you ‘Ciro Due Corna.’” ( Ciro Two Horns – a heavy Neapolitan insult for a cuckold).
“For what you’re about to do.”
