The Rossi girl kept herself together well. He could see some tension at her seams, and it made him curious. She wasn't some boy who whispered to the cops, or a whore out for another bill to put in her pantie line. He couldn't very well beat or fuck her secrets out of her, at least, not on their first date. He was grateful that she chose to be civil. She was not impressed by the warm welcome, and he suspected it was because of some misguided inclination toward a more genuine atmosphere. Ah, a princess, then, but not the kind to be pampered, but the kind who wanted to rule a little, and impose her morals onto others. Marco Rossi had spoiled his daughter.<br/><br/>He listened to her answer about her journey before setting the menu down flat. They'd bring him the best they had, anyway. "You know, they're doing their best." he pointed out, elbow on the table and palm under his chin as he clearly studied her. The wilting color on the dangerous hand was clear to see, quite a contrast to his pretty face as it held it up. A violent demon, and The Cavelini angel. "They're just trying to live, Bella, like you and I." It was a popular point among the people who led lives close to the Cavelini group, she'd surely heard similar philosophies orbiting close to her father's business. And thin excuse, but it should be the same breadth as her judgement. Perhaps the real pique had been that she had not hidden her emotions well enough to obscure them from him.<br/><br/>"Castillo doesn't travel much, but I do go with him when he does." he offered, if she wanted to leave the subject. "I suppose you'll come too, next time, since we'll be man and wife then." It was a casual way to talk about the rest of their lives, or at least til whatever storm would tear them from their current parade. His eyes were like an old engagement ring, beautiful and gossamer, but without sensational value because he didn't infuse them with it, right at that moment. A shrug as he straightened from the support of his war-hand. She didn't like the look of those deep bruises over the pebble bones, so he saw to that they were the subject of a lot of focus.<br/><br/>He stared quietly at her for a moment, and reached inside his jacket to retrieve the etui with his cigarillos, like she was an ornament for his viewing pleasure. Two bodies shifted further off. The smoking policy at the Ritanella was lax for anyone who could afford its better services, and especially for the prince of the city, so Lazzaro suspected the spring in the men was not to object to his bad habits. It was a simple trick to weed out the goons. He kept his weapons elsewhere.<br/><br/>"Vigilant, aren't they?" he said without looking at them directly, and waved the etui so they could see its gleam underline their failure at stealth. The motion of the lithe container had been beckoning, so the burly men stood and were on their way. Lazzaro had a black roll between his fingers by the time they came to stand by her side. "Your shadows are large. It must be late in the day." he said to her. He held out the opened, silver envelope for her to have her pick of the identical, remaining sticks. His air said it would be rude to refuse, but his expression remained cavalier.<br/><br/>"Listen. I keep her safe." he started, cylinder between his lips as he looked the muscle bound guards up and down. "If we can't agree on that you're insulting her father's intelligence and my abilities." Like quiet, well-pressed vermin the waiters were setting up the table with all manner of culinary treasures. Best wine, of course, Lazzaro didn't even need to taste it. He had favorites, and they were usually expensive. One of the men looked at Aria for guidance and that seemed to upset Lazzaro.<br/><br/>"Ah-ah." he warned and pinched the unlit stick from his mouth. "You're leaving. But you can take a stick of garlic bread, eh?" She could see the murder in his eyes then, when the gold was stained with black oil. The two seemed to lull over the offer but turned when Laze made to stand. He settled, but carried some of the upset energy in his shoulders still. Temperamental like an accident, as people said about him. It would seem the grotesques decided Marco would rather the prince be appeased than his daughter be looked after. It was in the spirit of why they'd all come here in the first place, after all. Right choice. "Wait." he bit, and they turned, surprised. He tapped the edge of bread bowl. One of them hurried back to grab a stick before they left.<br/><br/>The Cavelini brat discarded his cigarillo somewhere to side as he picked up a fork and skewered a piece of meat. "You know, I should work on that." he admitted, eyes still following the large men until their were gone out the door. He looked at her again, and his expression softened, even if it was just because she didn't invoke that kind of testosterone. "What ticks you off, Bella?" he asked as he stuffed the meat into his mouth. He grinned when he swallowed and stole a glass for himself. "What makes you red with anger?"