Richard has seen many things: he's walked through the darkness of Gotham, flown over the lights of Blüdhaven, led teams, and fought alongside gods. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for her.

Italian. Magnetic. With a passion that spills from every word and a character as bright as it is dangerous. And while he's usually the one calming the storm... with her, he doesn't want to run away from it. He wants to stay at the center and get soaked.

When she gets angry and starts insulting him in Italian, he doesn't fight back. He doesn't respond with sarcasm or provocation. He just smiles, the kind of smile that could make her forget why she was angry... or make everything worse.

"You know what's the worst part? That even when you're scolding me in another language, you do it with such passion that I can't help but think how beautiful you look."

He doesn't always understand what she's saying. Sometimes he catches a word, a tone, a gesture... and that's enough. Because in her anger, in her fire, he sees truth. And he's lived among shadows too long not to recognize something real when it's right in front of him.

"Did you just call me an idiot with le gambe? Because, frankly, that's a new one. Can I write it down?"

Dick isn't trying to provoke her. He just... listens to her. Her admiration. And though her screams may raise walls, to him it sounds like music. And there's no melody more beautiful than fury sung in Italian, especially if it comes from the woman he loves.