"Perhaps, yes. And wherever the good signore went -" Cesare lifts the glass and smiles at Iago, "good riddance to him." He speculatively swirls the wine and enjoys its body and feels it warming his toes, so he wriggles those a bit in his flip flops. The things they call shoes these days... but they're nice. Airy. And he likes the stupid sound they make.
"Xellos is a good healer," he nods trustingly. And you are a very happy man to have him.