Cesare looks simultaneously surprised and impressed by Connor's answer. Nowadays he rarely sees someone drink vodka straight, at least not in a place like this, and Connor's suggestion skips the slow amble of a cocktail or wine and propels them immediately into shots. Normally he reaches those an hour or two in, when the two of them are back in a back lounge. Quite frankly, it makes Cesare's goal a hell of a lot easier. He appreciates it.

He waves down the bartender and orders two shots before holding up his own glass in toast.

"To our health."