Aceto was shock-struck.
He buried his face in his palms, thinking hard, pondering rapidly. The clock was ticking.
The disadvantages would overload the advantages if he were to decide otherwise. And sticking with the Stolovs would benefit him nothing. What even would be the point?
He gritted his teeth.
This was business, not some friendly team-up match. The Stolovs and anyone who was put in this situation would have to understand.
Slamming his hands on the table, he hollered. "Fine. I agree. But 60-40."
"No, no." Nikolas chuckled. "50-50."
"60-40, Mr. Bastiani." Aceto looked displeased.
Nikolas held his hand up, cocking a brow. "I said 50-50, Aceto. And I'm being this generous merely because I wish to compensate you for whatever backlash you may suffer from withdrawing. Other than that, it would have been 70-30."
"Mr. Bastiani!–"
