Gianfranco Franciosi spent six years helping the Italian police catch international drug traffickers. Now he's broke and scared for his life.
Organized crime in the city is getting younger, more fragmented, more chaotic—and, authorities say, harder to control.
Most crooks eventually get caught, but some members of Italian organized crime syndicates remain on the lam for decades. How do they do it?
Campania Felix has become the "Land of Fires," as it is popularly known. When people travel here, they see continual columns of smoke and flames, signs of the garbage that is torched in the countryside.
Being involved in the Mafia is not a glamorous profession. Starting salaries are low, and even if you become a boss you'll someday be murdered by your enemies or thrown in prison.
For almost eight years I've lived under police protection because of Gomorrah, a book I wrote when I was 26 that exposed the activities of the Camorra, a criminal organization operating out of Naples.
In the notorious district of Scampia in northern Naples, drug and arms wars rage wildly and clan bosses reign supreme. One day per year, however, the children take center stage for a colorful and lavish Christian celebration that comes just before Lent.
Over the last 30 years, the Camorra has grown into an all-pervasive, seemingly undefeatable network of vicious killers, loons, and businessmen.