Gianni, with Aurora tucked under one arm and looking entirely serene about it, makes the executive decision that some situations simply require a witness. Flavio has reached the chancel step. He plants his feet with the gravity of a man who has somewhere very important to be and lifts the boutonnière skyward. The organist plays on. The groom turns first — a small confused rotation — then the bride, then the officiant, who stops mid-sentence with his mouth politely open. The entire front third of the church has now noticed the two-year-old standing at the altar, wand aloft, cowlick bristling like an antenna receiving instructions from another dimension. Flavio surveys the assembled adults with magnificent composure, points the boutonnière directly at the couple, and announces, with enormous conviction: "Boom." Then, after a considered pause, he holds the flower out toward the groom. A gift. An offering. A very formal transfer of botanical authority.