Marco didn't bother knocking.
The door to Piatelli's office flung open with a soft thud against the stopper, the older man's pen pausing mid-signature, and then sighing a bit.
"Marco," Piatelli said, exhaling heavily through his nose.
"You barge in here like you just found out someone murdered the Pope. What is it now?"
Marco stood in the doorway, a little breathless, still in his training gear, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.
"Did you see him?" he blurted out, his words tumbling over each other.
Piatelli squinted, already knowing where this was going but deciding to play dumb.
"See who?"
"Leo!" Marco said, stepping fully into the office, his hands moving animatedly.
"Leo Calderon or Ravanielli or whatever! That boy, that kid!" He stopped for a second, gesturing vaguely toward the window behind Piatelli's desk, the one overlooking the training pitches.
"You saw what he did out there, right? Please tell me you were watching."
