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“The house is yours. Now get out of my life.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“SHOULDN’T YOU BE CELEBRATING?”
Rocco grunted in response to Dante’s question.
“You got the last house, right?”
Rocco grunted again. He’d filed the paperwork a week after that last night with Maddie. A week in which he’d called her every morning and every night, texted her too, telling her he didn’t want the house. Pleading with her to see him.
Begging her to give him a chance to explain.
She hadn’t. And he supposed he should have been glad. How could he have explained, anyway? What could he have said that he hadn’t already?
“So, the project can finally break ground?”
Another grunt, but he finally followed it with some intelligible words. “Demolition is due to start in a couple of weeks.”
Dante let out a low whistle. “This is the Hamptons project, si?”
Rocco speared him with a frustrated glance. Dante simply arched a single, dark brow in response, and reached for his scotch.
“Is there another project I’m overseeing in Manhattan?”
Dante took a sip of the scotch, replaced the glass.
“The project you’ve been working on tirelessly for years? That you conceived of, worked for, fought for, and finally got off the ground?”
Rocco ground his teeth. Why had he set his sights on this? Because of the money, a voice shouted at him. Because despite the initial outlay to acquire these houses, the development they would build would earn them ten times as much, easily. Not only that, they’d also be putting their mark—and the Santoro name—on a blue chip stretch of coastline. How could he resist?
But if he’d only known about Maddie, then…
“So why exactly do you look like you’ve just been asked to amputate a limb?”
Rocco flinched, tried to focus, to cover up the emotions that were threatening to consume him.
“Where’s Georgia?” After all, Dante rarely did anything without Georgia these days. They were as inseparable as they were deliriously happy. And Rocco was delighted for them both. Dante hadn’t gotten over his late wife easily, and he’d never stop loving her, but he deserved the happiness he’d been able to find with his new family.
“With the twins,” he responded, referring to Georgia’s younger brothers, who were both on prestigious scholarships at a college in New York. “They’re having dinner, so you’re stuck with me all night.”
Rocco’s eyes swept shut.
“Cristo. That bad, huh?”
Rocco grunted, again. “It’s not you.”
“I’m aware of that,” Dante said on a laugh. “I recognize ‘personal problems’ from a mile away. So? What’s going on?”
Rocco shook his head, but Dante was not to be put off. He took the seat opposite, staring at his cousin unflinchingly. “Is it Raf and Marcia? Has something happened?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s a relief. So?”
“It’s nothing,” Rocco lied.
“I don’t believe you.”
