Listening to Shay speak, so full of passion, but yet, full of a grim reality, one that made her heart still, she knew. She had witnessed what Sam went through after coming home. Was that why he fought so hard to convey that steely disposition? To make it appear to those around him, that he was indeed, okay? He never spoke about the horrors he experienced, but she knew those memories haunted him, just like that night in the alley haunted her. Every word that Shay uttered, struck a strange chord in her, from the cruel behavior of the citizens that were exempt from the war, to the simple statement of how he would do it all over again, just to save her life. Her mouth went dry, and the warmth left her fingers. Were it not for Shay that night, she would have pulled the trigger without hesitation, but the likelihood of her dying was a greater possibility than were Shay there, lurking above on the rooftop. With a shaking hand, she reached for her wine glass, and swirled the maroon liquid inside. She gave it a tentative sniff, before taking a long sip. Setting the glass aside, Vera propped her chin in the palm of her hand, and smiled at Shay.

“Some say, that it was Fate that brought us together. Others, of the religious aspect, would call it God’s doing. I am happy that I have met you, and what I mean by that is, actually having the time to spend in your company, and not simply serving you a tumbler full of whiskey at the pub. There is something about you Shay, like I have said before... I can't place, and I won't try understanding it, at least not tonight." She gave a contemplative sigh before carrying on, "As for me, I know that our paths crossed for a reason. I never believed in God, or in anything of that sort really. My mother took us to church when we lived with my aunt, but once we moved to the city, we never set foot inside a holy place again. But… I'm sorry to hear about your battle with God, losing faith is something that you never quite get over. You don't need religion to lose faith.” She sat upright, and looked past Shay; Frank had returned with a notepad in hand. 

“Perdonami, are we ready to order?” 

“Ah...yes. I’ll have the chicken tortellini florentine soup.”

“Eccellente! That is one of the chef’s favorites. And for you, Signore?” Now that Frank’s attention turned to Shay, she hid a smile behind her hand, desperately trying to withhold a chuckle at their obviously non-Italian waiter. She had to give him points however, for the fact that he tried his best to maintain and uphold the visage of the restaurant.