Giorgio: living his best life, wearing a dead philosopher's blazer, planning a shrine, feeling legendary.
Ellis: sniff sniff "Is that... eleven years of unbroken integrity... mixed with... McDonald's grease? On MY philosopher's coat? Some two-bit hustler in Milan just one-upped ME at the crossroads?"
Giorgio is about to learn that there are fates worse than being a junk-bond soul salesman behind a McDonald's. He's going to wish he'd stuck to selling metaphysical pennies.
Ellis doesn't just want the blazer back. He wants to make an example. The kind of example that demons whisper about for centuries. The kind that involves very slow, very creative, very eternal suffering.
On the scale of 1 to Eternally Screwed, Giorgio is currently sitting at "Oh look, a nice man in a suit wants to talk to me about my blazer. How nice—" and the needle is about to peg into "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" for the rest of time.
Poor Giorgio. He just wanted a little clout.