Cesare's jaw drops a bit at her free manner of speech. For some reason, it reminds him of a torturer showing his tools to a trembling prisoner. Like Miquel flipping out a small knife, one inch underneath Ramiro de Llorca's eye, before happily proceeding to clean his fingernails with it.

"Anything you say, bella mia." He claps a friendly hand on Jonathan's shoulder and leans over to whisper in his ear, warmly, conspiratorially. "She has a way about her, I swear... Hard to say no to her." His spine burns with a pleasant tingle as he watches the boy squirm - before he can relax and laugh with Cesare over their shared mock-confidentiality.

"Just... no Starbucks, please?" Cesare whines a bit. "I am sure I can cook up something better than that."