Lifting his hand, he pushed through the doors with slightly more violence than was strictly necessary, entering the massive space that was his father’s corner office.
Cesare de Santis, patriarch of the de Santis family and head of De Santis Corp, was seated behind his monolithic desk, which stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered prime views of the New York skyline, making him look like the master of all he surveyed. Which wasn’t an accident, naturally.
He certainly acted like it, a massive figure even in his seventies. Still hawk-eyed and craggily handsome with salt-and-pepper hair and an unsmiling mouth. There was a power to him, a charisma that his sons had all inherited, though Xavier never used his for anything much beyond charming women into bed.
He started to smile, then realized his father wasn’t alone.
Sitting in a chair in front of the desk was his middle brother, Rafael. He was their father’s PR guy and no fan of Xavier’s, though to be fair, he had reason to be pissed since he was the one constantly cleaning up after Xavier’s various escapades.
Still. What the hell was he doing here?
Rafael gazed blandly at him, his blue-gray eyes expressionless, giving absolutely nothing away.
And of course no meeting of his brothers would ever be complete without Lorenzo, the oldest douchebag, looking like he still had that stick directly up his butt. He was standing next to the desk, arms folded, gray eyes utterly cold. “Glad you could take some time out of your busy party schedule to join us,” he said icily. “Don’t worry, though. You should be back to your regular drinking and fucking routine shortly.”
“Ouch.” Xavier bared his teeth at his oldest brother. “That nearly hurt.”
“Be quiet, Lorenzo,” Cesare growled. “I didn’t get you and Rafael in here to listen to your opinions on your brother’s lifestyle choices.”
Lorenzo glanced at his father. “Why did you get us in here then?”
Cesare paused, giving them each a cold, level look. “Because I’m sick of listening to the three of you endlessly harping on about your mother’s fucking ranch. Just about the only person who isn’t giving me a pain in the butt about it is your sister.”
“My concern is for the ranch,” Lorenzo said, in no way cowed by Cesare’s tone. “It’s in debt up to its eyeballs. Any more and it’s—”
“Hey, funnily enough, I know what debt is,” Xavier interrupted, before his brother could really get on his high horse. “Something to do with money, right?” Probably a mistake to wind the asshole up, but too bad. He shouldn’t have come into Xavier’s apartment earlier without announcing himself and scaring Mia like that. And yes, he was still mad about it.
Lorenzo didn’t deign to reply, but the glitter in his eyes suddenly got about ten thousand degrees colder.
“Xavier,” Rafael warned quietly. “Not a good idea right now.”
“And you can go to hell too.” Xavier gave his middle brother a hostile look. “I don’t give a crap whether it’s a good idea or not. What I do give a crap about is the ranch.” He lifted his gaze to Lorenzo’s, so he’d get the picture as well. “It’s mine. Dad signed it over to me, and I’m keeping it. You guys can keep all this New York–business shit, I don’t want it. But Wyoming? That’s all mine, understand?”
There was a silence.
Lorenzo opened his mouth.
“Hold your tongue,” Cesare ordered flatly.
Lorenzo closed it again, giving their father a look that would have frozen fire.
He was a difficult bastard, Lorenzo, but at least he knew which side his bread was buttered on.
Cesare ignored his oldest son, pulling open a drawer in his desk, getting something out, and placing it on the desktop. A piece of paper. The title deed to Blue Skies.
“This here’s Xavier’s,” Cesare said, his accent suddenly showing through despite the years of hard-earned New York polish. “I promised it to him if he secured that damn government contract, and he did. So it’s his.” He gave his two older sons a penetrating look. “Any questions?”
“I have one,” Rafael said mildly.
“Too goddamn bad.” Cesare sat back in his chair. “Xavier gave up his stake in De Santis Corp for the sake of the ranch, so if it’s your inheritance you’re worried about, think again.”
“It’s not the inheritance.” Lorenzo began. “It’s about the right person to be handling—”
Cesare cut him off. “I don’t give a shit whether he’s the right person or not. Rest assured, Lorenzo, you’re going to have your own problems to worry about pretty soon, especially if you want what I know you want. You too, Rafael. I’ve got plans for the pair of you.” He pushed the piece of paper across the desk toward Xavier. “In the meantime, here. Take it. And good riddance to it.”