"I finally had to get one when I realized letter writing was becoming a dying art," Antonio replied. "That, and it was just faster to communicate by e-mail or telephone. The Americano had to teach me a few things, but it wasn't too difficult."
He ducked his head. "It's not much, but we-all of us-cook when we need something to do with our hands. The Americano makes a better shrimp ravioli than you'll find in any restaurant. But you sit tight, I'll heat you up a plate."
He went into the kitchen and spooned spaghetti onto a plate, adding two slices of garlic bread. He poured some of the sauce into a cup, then put everything in the microwave while he got out the Parmesan. (He refused to buy the stuff in the jar on principle.)
The timer dinged and he pulled out the dishes, retrieving a fork and coming back into the room. "Well, shady dealings or no, no sense in going on an empty stomach. Consumare, then you can shower or try and nap, if you'd like."