"Interesting show she put on, don't you think?" is the first thing he hears when Reborn finally reaches the upper gallery. What he finds in the shadows is the man they'd run into earlier, peering through the telescopic sight of the silenced rifle in his hand, not even bothering to turn around and face him. "I hadn't seen the Poison Scorpion in action before this. Her reputation is well-deserved."

"What is the interest of the Palmadessa Family in this matter, Marco?" He asked softly, ignoring the little sallies about Bianchi. "You know quite well what this will turn into."

"Oh yes," he says, the slightest touch of a bitter smile on his face. "We do." Reborn ducked a moment before Marco sent an expertly thrown knife spinning over his shoulder, cutting his fingers on the sharpened edges when he caught it barehanded. But he didn't fight back, and Marco didn't do anything further. The silence stretches out between them, the tension surprisingly light.

"The best of messengers," Marco continued, "can contrive to do several things at once. One message delivered to an associate, and an apology." Then he gestures to the gun, turning to look at Reborn for the first time since their run-ins down in the gallery proper. "And one more to go." The expression on his face is resigned. "I'd suggest-"

But Reborn is already gone, walking swiftly down the stairs. They needed to leave. Now.