The giant forkful of spaghetti paused in mid-air with the admittance. It was the closest thing to friendly openness that the man had had since they'd first met, and Andrei allowed for the moment to be cherished. "Then I will pray that she does," he said kindly, oblivious to the fact that it would probably be taken wrongly. He simply wanted to say that he would be thinking of the man and hoping that all went well. And how better to do that then to pray to the One True God about it?
He finally brought the pasta to his lips and chewed, though he noticed the stiffening. Andrei was blissfully unaware of most of the crime networks (though he did attempt to go to prisons and whatnot). He therefore had no idea that Mr. DeLuca was a well-known drug dealer, nor that he went around in bad circles. He simply knew that he and Bryte had not gotten on. At all.
"I'm afraid I don't know your name," he said after swallowing. "I was conversing with a colleague about the feeling of nostalgia that I got upon our meeting, and he eavesdropped and seemed quite interested." He reached for a piece of garlic bread.