[Truthfully, her answer to the question doesn't mean much. Or at least the answer in words doesn't. It's a physical response Giorno was angling after, and he certainly gets one. Elena's made of tells, so much so that it would almost be suspicious if she weren't so clearly trying to hold it together.]

[No, she's telling the truth. Feeling for the rhythms of her breath, the pulse of her veins, doesn't help, but her expression says it all, and the directness with which she speaks, not to answer yes or no but to provide a thorough response--she means it.]

[Giorno looks at her steadily. Then he looks at the book, takes it in his hands and pulls it into his lap. He studies the picture and the text around it for a moment, intent in a way that's less looking for truth or lies and more just scientifically curious. Then he rests his open hand on the page and, with his other hand, pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to her.]

I can make as much of this as you need. You'll have to tell me precisely and in exact detail how much and how often. No point doing this and then leaving a lapse in coverage, so to speak.

If at any point the system doesn't work and you hurt someone, we'll renegotiate, find something that works better. If at any point you hurt Fugo, the deal is through and I'm passing you off to someone capable but significantly less efficient than I am.

[Which is honestly insanely generous, considering. It also depends how badly Fugo is hurt, but she doesn't need to know that. No one really needs to know how angry Giorno gets when he's angry.]

[He looks down at the page again, traces the outline of the illustrated leaves.]

Why is it you've chosen to trust me with this instead of someone else?