A city that doesn't fit in one genre

I work in public accounting in Naples and I have lived here my whole life, which I mention because I'm aware that writing about Naples from outside has a specific aesthetic, which involves narrow streets at night and organised crime and women hanging laundry from windows, and while none of those things are false they are also not the majority of what living here is. The historical fiction I write is set in the eighteenth century, when Naples was the capital of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and one of the most populous cities in Europe, a position that has since been comprehensively forgotten. The Via Toledo under the Bourbon kings. The eruptions of Vesuvius in 1794 and 1822, which I'm treating as recurring weather rather than dramatic event. The city has always had too much history for any one account. I write in the evenings after work and on Sunday mornings. My current project is a novel about a woman who works as a seamstress in a noble household in 1799, the year of the Parthenopean Republic, which lasted six months and ended badly. I'm interested in what that political upheaval looked like to someone whose survival didn't depend on it in the way that the principal participants' did.