A guy at the airport lounge leans over. “Oh, moving to Italy? Must be for your wife’s job, huh?” I paused my chart watching. Took a sip of espresso. Counted to tre. Then smiled. And said: “No. I’m moving to Italy to drink millions of Negronis with the DeFi Mafia. We build derivatives, cover calls, swap rates, and loop yields. Real builders. Real degen. Zero suits.” His face? Looked like he just saw Vitalik chain-smoking in a Roman alleyway. Benvenuto a Milano.