Christmas Vows with the Devil

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Dante

Brunch with the Vitales. My personal hell.

I lounge at the long oak table, surrounded by people I despise. The room smells of bacon, espresso, and old grudges. Across from me, Gia avoids my gaze, pretending to be fascinated by her breakfast.

She’s acting like I’m not here.

But I can’t ignore her.

Not with that tight, red sweater hugging her curves.

Not with the way her raven hair falls over her shoulder like a damn invitation.

“Nice of you to join us, Dante,” Giancarlo Vitale says as he strolls into the room like a peacock.

His voice is smooth and practiced, but I hear the venom reserved just for me. He pours me a cup of coffee like we’re not perpetually at each other’s throats behind the scenes.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “Family time is precious.”

Gia’s jaw tightens, but she keeps her focus on her food. She’s talking softly to Matteo, her son.

I feel my jaw tighten.

A kid I didn’t know about.

The past six years have brought more changes than I expected.

She avoids looking at me. Good. If her eyes meet mine, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop the words that are boiling inside me.

Her father sits at the head of the table, laughing, acting like nothing has happened between them. The audacity of this man. It’s enough to make me sick.

Matteo, though, that kid looks so innocent. Gia’s father dotes on him, feeding him fruit, and acting like the perfect grandfather.

It’s a farce.

This is the same man who plotted against my family, and he’s sitting there, playing happy Grandpa. I clench my fist under the table.

I need to focus. There’s a reason I’m here, and it’s not for Christmas cheer.

“More eggs, Dante?” Aunt Carla’s voice pierces through the tension. Her smile is awkward, her attempt at breaking the ice unnecessary. I shake my head.

The food is tasteless, despite how luxe everything looks. The decorations, the expensive table settings, the glittering Christmas tree in the corner—they mean nothing to me.

I’m here for business. That’s all.

Later, I find Gia alone, standing near the balcony, staring out at the snow-covered mountains. The tension from brunch still lingers in the air.

I’m not sure why I followed her out here. The moment I see her standing alone, something in me snaps.

“Gia,” I say, my voice low, deliberate.

She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge me at first.

That pisses me off even more.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” I take a step closer, my chest tightening with every breath.

Finally, she spins around, eyes flashing with anger. “What do you want, Dante?”

“What do I want?” My voice sharpens. “I want answers.”

“Answers?” she scoffs, folding her arms. “I don’t owe you anything.”

I step closer, my body closing in on hers. “You don’t owe me anything? You and your family…”

“Don’t.” Her voice is cold, but there’s something else beneath her frigid words. “Don’t you dare bring my family into this.”

“Oh, no.” My voice drops, low and dangerous. “Your family destroyed mine. Your father…”

“My father? You think my father…”

“He’s the reason mine is dead!” The words explode out of me, my fists clenching at my sides. “You think I’m just going to forget that?”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t back down. “You don’t know what happened.”

“I know enough.” My breath is coming harder now, the anger barely contained.

I should walk away.

But I can’t.

Even fighting with her is better than silence.

“I know your family betrayed mine.”

“You think I had anything to do with that?”

“I think you’re one of them, Gia. That’s enough.”

Her lips tremble, but her voice is steady when she speaks. “I didn’t betray you.”

The silence stretches between us again, thick with everything unsaid.

I want to believe her. Hell, I want to do more than that.

But I can’t. Not when my father’s blood is on her family’s hands.

We’re standing too close now. My mind is screaming at me to walk away, to keep the distance between us.

But my body—my body has other ideas.

My hand itches to touch her, to pull her closer. Despite everything, I still want her. The realization only fuels my anger.

“I can’t trust you.”

“Then why are you still standing here, Dante?”

Her question hits hard, cutting deeper than I want to admit.

I’m about to say something—anything—but then Matteo’s voice calls from inside. Gia’s eyes flicker, and she steps back.

The moment between us is shattered.

I watch as she walks away, disappearing back into the house. My heart pounds, but I shove the pain down. This trip isn’t about feelings. This visit is about power. I need to stay focused.

The day passes in a blur of virtual meetings and calls with my uncle. My mind is only half on what needs to be done.

The rest of me is stuck on Gia. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, her fiery expression, the way her body moved so close to mine.

Uncle Tony’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “You need to focus, Dante. These new families moving into the city, they’re not playing by the old rules.”

“I know,” I mutter, glancing at the information Enzo emailed me earlier. Normally, I’d be handling Russo with cold efficiency, but Gia—she’s getting under my skin.

“You’re thinking about her.”

“I’m not.”

He chuckles. “Sure, kid. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment. The Vitales may act like they’re playing nice now, but they’re not very good actors.”

That night, I can’t sleep. The house is too quiet, too full of ghosts. I sneak out of my room, needing something to take the edge off.

Time to test-drive Giancarlo’s whiskey selection.

When I can’t find the bar, I end up in the kitchen, praying for a cold beer at the very least. I steal into the darkened room and the energy shifts almost instantly.

I don’t need to turn on the lights to find out why. I can feel her presence. My soul has always called to hers.

Gia’s sitting on the counter, sipping a glass of water. She’s in a silk robe, her hair cascading down her back. The soft moonlight pouring into the kitchen casts a glow around her.

She looks fucking ethereal, like a dream. But I know better.

She’s no dream.

She freezes as soon as she spots me, a pale delicate hand clutching her robe tighter.

“What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The tension from earlier crackles between us again, thick and undeniable.

I should walk away, but my feet stay rooted to the spot. Instead, I open the behemoth refrigerator and grab a bottle of water.

She hops down from her seat and moves past me to the sink. The slightest brush of her hand against my side sends makes a jolt of pleasure shoot through me.

Just one touch. That’s all it takes.

I clench my jaw, trying to stay in control, but I’m slipping. She stacks her glass in the sink, the silence thick between us.

“I don’t want to fight,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “Not tonight.”

Before she can finish, I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.

Her breath hitches, and I see her fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. She’s trying to keep her composure, but I know her better than that.

“Nervous, Gia?” My voice is low, my words a challenge.

She glares at me over her shoulder, but I can see the flush creeping up her neck. “Not in the least.”

“Sure,” I say, taking another step forward. “You always were a good liar.”

Her eyes flare with anger, but there’s something else there too.

Something darker. Something that mirrors the darkness inside me.

She hates me.

But I also see the way her gaze keeps dropping to my mouth, and the way her breath quickens as I get closer.

I take another step, placing my hand on the counter beside hers. She’s locked in between the sink and my body.

Jasmine and vanilla cloud my senses. My mind has zeroed in on the delicious curve of her neck, drawing me closer.

I hear a slight exhale that could be mistaken for a moan. I know she doesn’t hate me as much as she thinks she does.

My other hand brushes the side of her arm, drawing her sleeve up. We’re skin-to-skin, for the first time in six years.

She shivers at the contact, and that’s all the encouragement I need.

“Dante,” she whispers, but it’s not a protest. It’s something else.

A warning. Or maybe an invitation.

I lean in, my lips hovering just above her creamy neck. For a second, I think she’s going to push me away. But she doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her head back, arching her neck for me.

Just when I’m about to close the distance, she slips out between my arms and slams her body against the island on the other side.

Her ragged breath and flushed cheeks tell me everything I need to know.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

She swallows hard, stepping back, creating a gap between us. “Because I hate you.”

I should be angry, but her words only make me want her more. “No, you don’t.”

She glares at me, but I can see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to hate me. Maybe she even thinks she does.

But I know better.

“Go to hell, Dante,” she says, turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen.

I stand there, watching her disappear again, my heart pounding.

This isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.