The flight had been as decent as any commercial flight could be , which was to say terrible; the organization had said, and after he had gotten over his own blind hatred at the act, a private jet would have been too flashy and expensive. It was right about the time the flight was underway that Cesare had come to the realization that his uncle hadn't specified what he had to trek across the Atlantic for. In the general excitement around the moment, he had neglected to ask, though he did have little choice in the matter. If they wanted him in Italy, they wanted him in Italy and better it be on their good books before he found himself working in the shit. Of course Cesare had tried to fathom through why he would be called in on the turn of a moment before finally giving up as sleep took him.
Sleep that, of course, lasted near only two hours, leaving him wide awake and with nothing to preoccupy himself with on the long voyage over. When at last the plane made contact with the ground, the next hour was a frantic dash to procure what little luggage he had brought (the organization offered what he needed), passing through crowds, and finally arriving in the lobby, glancing around for the driver. There he was, standing in the middle of the crowds of other drivers, holding a sign with yet another false name for Cesare to go by: something his uncle had, at least, not forgotten to mention. The driver offered Cesare a curt nod before shoving the sign in the nearest trash bin and escorting the criminal to the parking lot.
"Won't be too far a drive." He commented as the pair arrived at his car - a standard model, again, nothing flashy.
"That's the hope." Cesare stated dryly, taking a seat next to the driver's seat while he waited for the driver to finish with the luggage.
After a brief pause, the driver stepped into the car and slammed the door shut behind him, placing the key into the ignition at the same time. With a click and a roar, the engine sprang into life and they were off through the crowded streets of Venice. As they drove past narrow alleyways and through crowded streets, Cesare turned around and looked behind him, taking in the sights of the city. It had not been his first time to the organization's base of operations, not even his first time on this route (purposefully avoiding back roads and the like), but the city always filled him with the same sense of purpose and belonging that New York simply couldn't Perhaps it was the organization's presence or speakers of his native language, but whatever it was, Cesare enjoyed it.
And looks like I'm here to stay.
