“Thank you,” I said. “Now, if I may ask you something different about Ischia?” What the hell, I thought. Give it a shot.

“Of course.” He nodded gravely. “This is my job.”

“I have heard that Ischia is a place where some Camorra people are from. Is that true?”

The concierge drew his head back and looked around swiftly. He looked back at me, his eyebrows pushed together, a stern expression on his face. “Why do you ask about the Camorra?”

I shrugged, giving my best impression of the Italian version. “I just wondered.”

He shook his head. “No, no. Please. You don’t ask about the Camorra.”

“Why not?”

He sighed deeply. “The Camorra has done nothing but bring ruin to this city. Did you see the garbage outside?” He gestured with an arm toward the front door.

“Yes. I saw it.” I thought of the children kicking balls and playing next to that garbage.

“That is all because of the Camorra. They take over the garbage, the recycling, so they say, but they cannot handle it. It was so bad, the Italian military had to step in.” He made a disgusted face. “And did you see down at the docks? Did you see all the big ships?”

I nodded.

“The Camorra, they ship goods from China.” He shook his head, made a sad expression. “But they dump the waste into the waters. Everyone becomes sick.” He shook his head again. “My mother, my family, ah! So many of my family have died because of the terrible waste that the Camorra puts into our water. Miss, you do not want to ask about the Camorra. No one around here wants to talk about them. This is not something for turistas.”

I sat back and nodded. “I’m sorry,” I said simply. Then, “I know it’s not a matter for tourists, but my father died, and I think it was because of the Camorra.”

The concierge swallowed, his mouth twisted a bit. He looked over his shoulder at the front desk. The few people behind it were on the phone, talking to guests. “What do you mean when you say this?”

“I believe my father was working on a case having to do with the Camorra. He died many years ago. I am trying to find out what happened.”

The man’s face softened. “What is your name?”

I held out my hand. “Isabel.”

He shook it. “And I am Carlo.” He gathered the brochures and pamphlets in his hands. “Come. Let’s go somewhere where we can discuss this.”

He led me past the side of the front desk and up a double staircase trimmed in silver and gold. Upstairs was a set of meeting rooms. But it was as if we were inside a grand palazzo, the walls decorated with art from all different periods-sketches, paintings, sculptures. Carlo took me into a meeting room where staff was cleaning up from a previous event. Coffee, tea and other refreshments still sat on a buffet table.

Carlo pointed at the table. “Please have something to drink.”

I helped myself to a sparkling water with lemon. He said something in Italian to the cleaning staff, who left the room. Carlo poured himself a cup of coffee and we sat at one side of a table designed to seat ten people.

“Now,” Carlo said. “This is unpleasant, but…okay. What do you want to know about the Camorra?”

I told him I just wanted the basics. What did the Camorra do or specialize in? Were they also in the United States? I really didn’t understand much of anything about the group.

He took a sip of his coffee, then crossed his hands in front of him, lacing his fingers tight. He nodded. “The Camorra is not a group. Here in Naples, we do not even call it Camorra. We call it the System, and the System is not a group, either. It is made up of many clans. But for our discussion, let us call it the Camorra, okay?”

I nodded.

“The Camorra does many things. One is drug running. They take the drugs in at the port, then they take them around the country. They go to Roma, Milano. They have teenagers who take them to these big cities, and they reward the teenagers with a motorcycle when they are done. They do not tell these teenagers that if the carabinieri stop them, they will be arrested and they will spend ten years in prison. So that is one thing, the drugs. But really that is something little. They also try to do the garbage, which I tell you about already. The big thing for the Camorra right now is in fashion.”

“Fashion?” I was definitely confused now.

“Yes, the Camorra deals in fashion. You see-” he spread his hands across the table “-this is how it works. The designers, the italiano designers will come to Camorristi brokers here in Napoli. They will say to these brokers, ‘Okay, here is this fabric and from this fabric we want to make these dresses.’ He gestured again at my dress. “They will tell the brokers, ‘Please, find us the cheapest but best seamstresses.’ The Camorristi then take the fabric, they go to different teams of seamstresses around Napoli, around the country, sometimes even in China, and they pick the groups they like. Those seamstresses then work all day, all night, around the clock, Saturdays, Sundays, every day.

“They work around the clock until they finish. Whoever finishes first, and also has the best product, the Camorristi broker will award them the contract. The designer then pays the broker, who pays that seamstress.”

“What about the other seamstresses? The ones who have been making the dresses and still have the fabric?”

“A very good question. They get to keep that fabric, and the dresses they have made. The fabric is cheap. The designers do not care about it. So the Camorristi brokers pay those seamstresses, but less, for the dresses, and they sell them on…what do you call it? The black market?”

“Yes, the black market. Underground.”

“Sí, but it is not always so underground. Sometimes they sell right to stores, and you americani will never know the difference. Very few people can tell the difference. Sometimes they sell to discount stores. Sometimes to africani who sell on the streets.”

“Like in New York?”

“Esattamente. Exactly.” He gestured at my yellow sundress. “For example, what designer has made your dress?”

“It’s Parker Casey, an American designer.” I twisted around and tried to see the tag on the dress.

“If that had been an Italian designer,” Carlo said, “it could have been a Camorra dress. The problem with the Camorra is that they don’t care about people. They use these people who work for nothing. The people don’t stand up for themselves, because they live in an area where there’s no other industry. There is nothing else for them to do to make money to feed their families. So they work for the Camorra. Many times, they give their earnings back to the Camorra, hoping that the Camorra, like a bank, might be able to provide interest. But often it doesn’t. Many people lose everything. My mother was one of those people. My grandfather also gets sick from the garbage and the water. My whole family…” He waved his hand, disgusted. For a second, he looked on the verge of tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Be glad you don’t know about the Camorra.”

“Do they have a presence in the United States?”

“As to the clothing, sí. As to everything else?” A shrug. “For your sake, I hope they are not there. I hope that you will never, never have to deal with the Camorra in your life.” He gazed at me miserably. “Miss,” he said. “If you do not have to ask about the Camorra any further, if you do not have to deal with them, then please, per favore, do not.”