The Mr. Cavelini of the hour also had his mind on their meeting. But he was preparing in a different way.<br/><br/>Lazzaro cut a dapper silhouette, coal-black and long, standing on a concrete edge by the sick, dark, green color of the harbor waves. The water was behaving today, since the wind was kind. It was enough to upset some of his usually brown, now black hair with all its expensive oils in, to keep it back over his head. Youthful depths in his cheeks and a sharp chin, but his skin was soft over the famous cheekbones. The sunlight that landed on the liquid that held ships reached his eyes, and made them gold as he held his lids at half their width.<br/><br/>His knuckles were an erratic gradient of purple, black and red. For normal interviews like today, he'd have the butt of a gun, or a pipe, or his trusted brass, but Mr. Talacio had been a family friend for decades. The business man was by Lazzaro's side, legs dangling off the cinder block border and soles reflecting in the climbing sea underneath. The older person had bruises over his wrinkles and a swollen brow bleeding into a grey eye. He was supporting himself with his hands behind his back, on the rough surface of the docks. They were both enjoying the view.<br/><br/>"I am sorry, Mr. Cavelini. He's a regular. I never would have thought..." Giovanni Talacio pleaded. The owner of the exclusive Ritanella Ristorante was not a formidable figure in the underworld, despite the way point his luxe eatery had become for the undercurrents of New York's criminal calypso. He wasn't defending the would-be murderer with the lethal pea-shooter waiting by his bar, but rather himself, and his innocence in the plot to kill the prince of the city.<br/><br/>"I know, Papa Talacio." Lazzaro said and turned to the man, squatting down to touch the face he'd reduced to a similar palette as his fist. They matched, his fingers and the older man's filling bruises and cuts. "That's why he's dead and you'll be fine with some rest. But be watchful next time." he said with sadness in his throat. In many ways, Gio had been more of a father figure than Castillo Cavelini had ever managed. "And call me Lazy. You always call me Lazy." he reminded. There was a tear off one corner of the boy's eyes when he leaned in and kissed Gio by his ear. "Go to work tonight. Make me some beautiful food. Let them see you."<br/><br/>"You should have killed him." Rafael said, holding the door when Lazzaro came back to the black car. Rafe was a dear friend and they'd lived through many skirmishes together. He was also very levelheaded and loyal. Lazzaro backhanded him violently and it made the shorter, thinner male fall back four paces. Rafe sighed, face red, and went back to the door.<br/><br/>"He's Papa Talacio!" Lazzaro shouted and then waved at the man still seated by the sea. "Go get him! Go clean him up and... fucking, I don't know, put a few grands in his daughter's account. Make him smile again." He said. It hurt to hurt Rafe, but Lazzaro didn't want to hear what was right for the famigila, he wanted to take care of a man who'd served him lemon gelato, growing up. Rafe coughed and strode away, leaving the door open.<br/><br/>"You think I like saying it? But what's it going to look like, Laze?" Rafe asked as he pulled out a napkin from his inner pocket and handed it to Gio before helping him up.<br/><br/>Laze shrugged and went into the vehicle. The door shut with an angry slam. He'd gotten most of his frustrations out on the hit-man already. He'd been sent back in three jagged pieces to the family that had hired him. He was quiet when the car left the secluded section of the docks, usually used for receiving over-sea's product. He put the hair back behind his ear and looked as pristine as before. The Cavelini Angel, as they'd call him, pretty as a day, mirrored in the black glass.<br/><br/>It was that persona he relied on when he arrived at Ritanella just as her car did. Lazzaro didn't wait for his driver to stop completely before he grabbed the bouquet off the seat next to his and darted out onto the sidewalk. He was quick to reach the side of her recently parked car, and pulled the door open. His suit was black, like her dress, and the midnight shirt underlined the crisp of his white tie. Everything was close to his body - Cavelini-owned tailors enjoyed a leisurely life as long as their work was immaculate - and he wore it well with his lengthy frame.<br/><br/>"Bella." he started and held his arm out for her to hold on her way out. She was beautiful, a distraction even, and he'd been known to like a pretty thing in a dress. "Aria. Grazie." he said, for coming. "Ah, look at you. You're making this easy for me." it was a compliment on her beauty, and he meant it, but the stiffness in his body suggested the charm was superficial. She was still a necessary set of shackles binding him to the fate of his family. He'd kiss her cheeks and let her have the flowers.<br/><br/>He had the best private table, of course, and the staff showered the couple with compliments on their way in. Out of reflex he held her chair for her, and insisted on handing her the menu himself. She'd see the battered knuckles, then, to break the facade of a perfectly serene man in an expensive suit. Golden eyes would look at her from across the table. "Your trip here was okay, I take it? And your family, are they settling in well?" he asked as soon as their waiters had gone. It was less formal, and a little cold.