Nikolas settled into his office chair, one knee thrown over the other.
He watched with a tranquil expression as the door opened, York stepping aside to let two men in. Elio and another whose brown hair was streaked with touches of gray.
"In here," Elio said.
York closed the door.
The man glanced at Elio, questioning, "What is this, Mr. Bastiani?"
"Have a seat." Elio gestured, pulling out a chair at the table to settle down. Now they were seated opposite Nikolas.
Nikolas peered at them interestingly before fixing his full attention on the other man. "Carlos Aceto, hm…" he said.
The man, Mr. Carlos Aceto, furrowed his brows. "Who are you?"
Elio smiled at him. "Aceto, this is my boss."
Aceto's brows zipped in confusion. "Your… boss? I'm a bit lost here. Wait, why are you being called Elio?"
Wasn't he Nikolas Bastiani?
Elio cleared his throat. "You see–"
"Leave us, Elio," Nikolas interrupted.
