Fiorella de Marco, too, was preparing to take her leave from the brief meeting, listening intently as Chenzo finished. The moment he fell silent, it was plain she had already begun composing her reply.
“Signor Chenzo, as I have said more than once: I am a diplomat. That obliges me to respect and protect my sources when information is given in strict confidence. Much as I would prefer these beings were incapable of stealing our bodies and souls, the opposite is true. Biologically, we are not so distant from humanity; many Outcasts have attempted, and even managed, to found families with Sirians, as you are very well aware.”
She paused to smooth her suit jacket -- a surgical, almost pathological fussing that erased the slightest imperfection.
“There is little cause to threaten me with inflamed crowds on Malta, per favore. My loyalty to Malta was never in question. You may label me as overly ambitious, which is fair, but a traitor?”
Fiorella did not answer her rhetorical question. Instead, she shook her head and moved toward the door and offered a polite farewell.
“Thank you for the invitation. Despite a few shortcomings, the exchange was beneficial. Buona giornata.”
