He is not thinking Giustinian he is not thinking Giustinian he is not thinking Giustinian, no. Venice sitting in his study, letting Astorre Manfredi fall, throwing away the boy's life with a piece of paper.
Cesare's smile is uncertain, and not without a little strain. He's looking at grown-up Iago after all, and he - he's still sixteen and most of the time doesn't know left from right. "Grazie," he manages, "molto gentile. A little red, if you can recommend anything?" The capitano isn't going to give him crap about being too young, is he?
Watching the exchange between Xellos and the wandless wandwaver for a second (what a commedia!) then turning back to Iago, he lifts his eyebrows in query. "I'm glad he's better. But shouldn't he rest that leg?"