🍋🍊━━━Carmela is fascinated by a world that she gets to see through a different lens. She and her twin are artistically inclined to lead the world by the nose and wrap it around their fingers. Although now they are a bit distracted. Carmelo hides something in his perpetual melancholy, and Carmela refuses to leave her brother all alone. No one else pays attention to him like she does. She fears something terrible would happen, no matter how much Carmalo reassures her. The twin, older by merely thirty seconds, does not fight his sister because he knows, deep inside, she is an anchor that keeps him from losing his mind. The truth will come out one day, but for now, he owes her secrecy for the sake of everyone's safety. No one but Carmelo knows. Even Onofrio, a man who is worried for Carmelo's health, is far removed from the real drama that brews underneath the surface. And so, the brooding Giovino indulges in the distraction of a brief toast. He huffs something under his breath and offers dryly:
"No one here even listens to jazz." Carmelo doesn't either, but he appreciates the underlying beauty of the music he used to hear at film festivals. A distant memory. Carmela grins at Clayton as she swirls her glass.
"Don't be shy, you aren't a stranger anymore!" She avoids saying that Bubbles is part of the Family. It would be a lie, but such is a reality. Still, she holds a belief that friends of the Family, whether by a favor or otherwise, or persons who have been invited inside the Portofino residence, are more meaningful than strangers. "Onofrio likes you; that means you have my trust. Carmelo?" She looks to her brother, who prefers to watch the fire. Still, he lifts his chin to reply.
"He is a stranger I trust to be honest." Carmelo offers, and to that he drinks, despite everyone else waiting on the toast's completion. Carmela reaches over to pinch her brother's shoulder while Onofrio captures Clayton's gaze. He smiles at the unuttered plea and steps closer to throw his arm over the gunman's shoulders.
"Well! We all agree that you look good in a suit," he gestures with his champagne over to Carmela, who agrees immediately with laughter. "And you are strong in matters that I am so weak in," Onofrio raises his voice a pitch, humoring the crowd at the fireplace. Carmela waves at him dismissively, begging Tosto not to sell himself short. A consigliere historically rivals the title of the Boss, holding the kind of information and intimate knowledge that could dethrone a mafia and reinvent it. He, of course, would never dare to do such a thing, as he is entrusted to take care of any foundational issues. The Capo trusts him to keep the Family in its fortress. And yet, the man still admits to many faults. He knows he cannot hold himself like Clayton does, especially with weapons and hands-on tactics. He can plan and point, but to execute? Gallows is a place where executions are held. The underlings are instruments: the noose. And the Capo? An executioner.
"I think what Bubbles wants to say is that we all should go to bed and leave our poor guest alone." The consigliere chuckles, and Carmela joins him. Carmelo, sitting abnormally still, jerks his shoulders a little in amusement. Pietro is nowhere to be seen; he slinked away while the group collided for a conversation. "But, what a great point." Onofrio pauses, gesturing with his glass. "For good health." Tosto raises his glass, igniting a pause in bleeding jokes. Carmela lifts her glass, and Carmelo, still facing the fire, lifts his off to the side in parallel with the rest. The consigliere waits for Clayton to join them before taking the lead and inviting the glasses to join in a comfortable middle, using Carmelo's glass as the center of the apple. "And all that jazz." Onofrio adds with a grin, tipping his head to drink.
"And all that jazz!" Carmella laughs into her glass, cracking up at her twin brother's dry sigh. Once finished, Onofrio abandons his glass on a tray nearby and firmly pats Clayton's shoulder like an old friend would. "Bellissimo, Signore." The consigliere teases, quickly reaching for the pocket square tucked into his pocket. He plucks the soiled silk and tucks it into his hand, squeezing it to hide the damp blotches. A dry corner sticks out from his first, which he guides to his cheeks, overexaggerating his tone. "Oh, to tears, Bubbles. To tears!" He grins while Carmella cackles, falling back into her chair. She waves her hand at the pair, demanding they stop before her stomach bursts. Carmelo is quiet, but in the playful fire, the shadows outline a small smile on his lips.
"Alright, alright," the Italian dismissed himself, tucking the pocket square again. "I admit, I may have helped a little." He raises his hands in surrender, aiming his eyes at Clayton. "May I dismiss the life of the party to bed, signore e signori?" He peers at Carmela, who nods her head and sticks her hand for the consigliere to kiss. Onofrio obliges, pecking her knuckles with a gentle whisper of Buonasera. Then, he turns to Clayton, announcing to the gunman that it was time to depart.
"This way, I think you'd like the ocean view."
