This isn’t a traditional Italian dish, but it borrows from enough of them to get away with it. Think spicy Calabrian heat, garlicky tomato cream sauce, and skin-on chicken thighs roasted until they crackle. Then we throw in crispy prosciutto just to rub a little salt in the wound. It’s rich, loud, and unapologetic—sort of like if Chicken alla Diavola ran off to join the mob and came back wearing velvet. Don’t overthink it. Just cook it, eat it, and maybe don’t tell your Nonna what it’s called because at the end of the day, it’s just fucking chicken.