Far from a heart of ice, Ben Frenchitti was the son of a very powerful man. His emotions had no place in view of those who were either looking to him for leadership, or looking to rip that leadership from his hands.<br/><br/>The corners of his eyes tighten slightly as the older italian woman spits out the words of disdain. Her words find hardened ears as Ben rises, his muscular form moving sleekly as he made a slow path across the room. Here and there he lays a hand on a shoulder in comfort or reassurance, though his dark eyes never leave the form of Adele and her mother.<br/><br/>He knew Adele. He knew her mother, and he knew of the distant cousin whom Carmela's words had been directed. When he reached the older woman, he bent low and his face did not change expression, "Signora Cangelosi, perhaps the strain of the wake has taken it's toll upon you. Perhaps you and your daughter would like to accompany me to get some air, perhaps a bit of wine to help ease our nerves?" His voice was pleasant, his tones even, yet the hardness in his eyes left no room for most to realize that he did not mean it to be a choice.