A phone that opened at nine in the morning and closed at midnight. It still rings today.Lausanne. Geneva. Paris. London. Monaco. Milan...It all began with a single line in a newspaper, back when there was no Google, no websites, no photos. Just a name, a phone number and a promise: absolute discretion.No one could have imagined how far it would go.For almost two decades, Luigi ran International Escorts, an agency that crossed borders and won over one city after another, moving through the suites of Europe's grand hotels and through worlds where money never asks questions. Clients who wanted everything. Women who knew that, at the other end of the line, someone was waiting for their call. And a code that was never broken: protect the women, protect the name, never let anyone down.This is neither a novel nor a guide. This is what happened.Inside you will find:A prince with a mansion on the Avenue Montaigne in Paris, a yacht, and the certainty that money placed him above every rule.A silver Dupont lighter, ten thousand Swiss francs and a stranger who had CIA written all over him. Days before a summit with Iran, with Iranian clients in Gruyères, Lausanne and Geneva, Luigi had to choose. His answer, calm and quiet: "This is not my war."A drive through the night, a pale woman who smelled of fear, and a knife hidden under a client's bed.An eighty-six-year-old man held together with metal, and a moment on a Geneva lakeside promenade the author never forgot.A joke over lunch that left six businessmen speechless.Ten identical messages at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.The question every client asked at the other end of the line: "Luigi, what's new?"Told in the first person, in the direct voice of a man who was there, this memoir blends humour, tension and rare honesty about a world almost no one has described from the inside.It closes with a True Facts section, featuring web-archive screenshots that prove the agency really existed.True stories. Real people. Some names have been changed.Based on true events.
