"Shocked," Cesare echoes dully. "If the impression flatters you, by all means, go ahead. Be deluded." He grips Alex harder again, almost yanking him up and half onto his lap. "There are so many minor devils around, Sandro." His voice has dropped to an irritated, scratchy purr. "They don't bother me. And you? Are just a too-smug-for-his-own-good, gay little Russian-American jew boy. Those pants. Off," he orders.