Alastor's smile was frozen in place, his eyes morphing into radio dials as he looked at them. Charlie. Vaggie. Husk. Niffty.

None of Alastor, obviously. Apparently even with the moth's proverbial blade at their throats, Valentino's people wouldn't risk pissing off the Radio Demon by snapping unwanted photos. Or perhaps someone had snapped a photograph but the pixelation had made it unrecognizable.

No matter. What this was a threat. One that Alastor would not take lightly.

This wasn't his territory, but these were his people.

"Perhaps we should pay him another visit. Bid him congratulations on a speedy recovery. Perhaps I'll disembowel him again."