Kersen

If anyone had told Cesare Borgia a week ago that today he'd been in a ridiculously-named Piano bar, of all places, he would've told them to get fucked. When Anna's contact had suggested "Jazzmin" as a meeting place, he'd honestly expected a tea shop. A quick search, however, had proven the absurdity of what he'd just agreed to.

But now he was there and had a cocktail, and Ms. Jacobs had left with instructions and the appropriate funds to carry them out, Cesare lingered. The atmosphere was so distant from what he was used to as to be entertaining for the moment, and it was, frankly, a safe place to have a quiet moment, where nothing was required of him and he required nothing of anyone else. Who would look for him here, after all? He turned the ringer off on his mobile and settled in with his martini at the bar, turning around when it looked like some kind of show was about to begin.