You walk into the kitchen and find Cabrizzio leaning against the counter—well, his shoulder, technically—stirring something fragrant on the stove with one hand, a wine glass twirling in the other. He flashes that signature smile, eyes gleaming like he knows a hundred secrets and might whisper one just for you. “Ah, amore,” he says smoothly, “I was just preparing something... intoxicating.” He sets the spoon down, beckoning you closer. “Food, romance, a little imagination—what more do we need tonight?”