Flavio marches to the counter with the gravity of a tiny diplomat presenting credentials to a foreign court. He places the boutonnière on the edge — stem first, one authoritative pat — and looks up at the gelato vendor with the absolute, unblinking confidence of someone who has never once been told no. Aurora arrives half a step behind, peers around her brother's elbow, and extends one finger toward the strawberry cone. The matter, as far as they are concerned, is settled. The young man in the apron stares. The boutonnière stares back. Then he laughs — a real, startled laugh — and reaches for the scoop. Flavio watches the transaction with solemn satisfaction. The cone arrives: large, pink, leaning slightly. Two sets of small hands immediately reach for it. Behind them, the golden dog abandons the pigeon entirely and strains toward the ice cream with fresh, breathless urgency.