Juan: May I make a speech, Mother?
Vanozza: You may.
Juan: We were outsiders when we came here. Spaniards, Catalans. And we endured the insults. The taunts of Murrano. The…Bile? The poison? The insidious invective of the Roman nobility. And you, dear mother, endured it most of all. But if we managed to triumph, and triumph we did, we did because of the warmth that we discovered around this table. The warmth of the Spanish sun, of our Catalan blood, that you recreated in your hearth, in your home, at this table. The huge, unstoppable beating heart of La Madre.
Cesare: La Madre!
Lucrezia: Mother.
Juan: Let us drink then..
Vanozza: To family.
Juan: To family!