Christmas Vows with the Devil

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Gia

I stare at my reflection, the faint cuts on my face standing out against my pale skin. A few bandages, a little bruising. It could’ve been worse. My wrist aches with the dull throb of a sprain, but it’s nothing compared to the confusion swirling in my mind.

I can’t stop thinking about Dante—his arms around me, the way he saved me. It’s becoming a pattern, one I’m not sure I like.

He protected my family when the estate was attacked. He pulled me from the wreck and carried me to safety. Then there was...the other night. I press my fingers to my lips, remembering the heat, the way his hands had moved over me, how right it all had felt, and yet how terrifying this all was for me.

Dante Manzo. The boy I once loved. The man I shouldn’t. The father of my son.

I’ve been trying to push the thought away, to ignore the truth sitting heavy on my chest. It’s only getting harder to keep Matteo’s identity a secret. The way Dante looks at Matteo sometimes, like he senses something, it breaks my heart. And I’ve noticed how Matteo gravitates toward him, as if they both know, deep down, that they belong together.

It’s absolutely unbearable.

They both deserve to know, my brain screams at me. But I push the thought away and slip on my dress instead. I walk out of my bathroom to find Matteo badgering Vitto, who’s slumped in a chair, studiously ignoring him.

“Mom! Can I go play with Vinny and the cousins?” he blurts out as soon as he sees me. He’s so young, so excited to know his family, excited to learn that he has kids his own age to play with.

I nod softly and Vitto unfolds his giant body with an exaggerated groan, trudging after a bouncing Matteo. I take one last look in the mirror, fluffing up my hair and fixing a lipstick smudge. I know I’m procrastinating, but I don’t want everyone’s worried stares fixated on me again.

Why did you do it, Gia?

Why did you take the Mustang?

Is everything all right?

I had no answers for these questions that didn’t involve Dante, so I kept my mouth shut.

Downstairs, the chaos of another family dinner drowns out my thoughts, and I sit next to Aunt Lucia at the table. My mother shoots me a soft, pitiful smile from the head of the table. It’s highly likely that she’s figured everything out but is choosing to stay silent. That’s the kind of woman she is.

Matteo sits at the children’s table with the cousins, happily eating his dinner and chatting with Vinny. I feel Dante’s intense gaze before I know he’s there. I look up and he’s studying me. He’s looking at Matteo and back to me.

When our eyes meet, I can see the question in them, but I drop my gaze. What if I tell him? What will it mean for Matteo? He’s been safe so far, kept far from the mafia world. But if Dante knows...everything could change.

His life could be turned upside down. He could be dragged into the dangerous world his father lives in.

I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

But hiding it forever? That doesn’t feel right either. Not now, after all that’s happened, after everything Dante’s done to protect us.

I tear my attention away from questions I don’t have answers to and try to tune into the celebration. The table is set with platters of food. Wine glasses are clinking and laughter is filling the space. Aunt Carla and Aunt Rosa are already bickering over some family recipe, and my father is talking business with one of his cousins.

But Dante—he looks off.

Not that he’s the biggest fan of a Vitale family dinner, but he’d become more open over the past few days. Tonight, he sits woodenly across from me, picking at his chicken. His brows are furrowed in thought. Barely concealed anger emanates from him like a pungent cologne.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper across the table, praying everyone around is too busy with their own conversations to hear.

“Nothing.”

“You seem distant,” I push. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nods and goes back to dragging his chicken across his plate. Weird.

Is it because I snuck out of his room this morning? But he saved me from the accident. He held me so tightly at the bottom of that cliff, like he never wanted to let go.

I stare at Dante all throughout dinner, noting every muscle twitch, every small action. I must look like an insane stalker, but he doesn’t say a word. He checks his phone every few minutes, tapping out quick messages every now and then. Business not going well? I wonder.

When everyone’s had their share of my mother’s perfectly cooked cranberry chicken, the family begins drifting to the living room for party games. I move to join them, but Dante quietly slips away.

Indecision makes me draw to a halt, frozen in the empty dining room. To my left, the bright family room beckons me, Aunt Carla’s laugh like a warm hand drawing me closer. To my right, a cold dark kitchen awaits complete with a cold, angry Dante.

God, why am I always trapped in indecision? Why can’t I just do something already? Make a move, say the right thing, act in some way.

I feel like I’m always hovering between should I or shouldn’t I—and frankly, I’m sick of it. I spin on my heel and walk into the silent kitchen, flipping on the lights. It’s empty as I walk toward the back door, but I spot a flicker of light on the porch.

It’s freezing when I step outside, the air biting at my skin. But I spot him instantly, leaning against the porch railing, a cigarette between his fingers.

“Since when do you smoke?” I ask, stepping closer.

He doesn’t turn around, just takes another drag, exhaling a plume of smoke into the cold night air. “Since tonight, apparently.”

I fold my arms, watching him closely. “What’s going on, Dante?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” I move closer, the tension between us thicker than the fog of smoke surrounding us.

“Something’s wrong. I can tell.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring out at the snow-covered lawn. Then he sighs, stubbing the cigarette out on the railing. “It’s New York. There’s been an attack.”’

“An attack?”

“Three of my men,” he says, his voice rough. “They were killed. Ambushed.”

I feel the ground shift beneath me. Someone’s targeting the Manzos, and things are escalating.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He finally looks at me, his eyes dark and stormy. “Because it’s not your problem, Gia. It’s mine.”

“But it is my problem,” I say, my heart pounding. “My entire family is already involved. The attack on the estate, the letter, the brakes on the Mustang, and now this? It can’t be a coincidence.”

“These things just happen,” he says, shaking his head. “I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t,” I snap, frustration boiling over. “Not alone. This is bigger than you, bigger than the feud between our families.”

I know I’m pushing him, but I don’t care. We’re in danger. All of us.

“I need to talk to my father,” I say, already turning toward the house. “We need to do something.”

“Gia…” Dante grabs my arm, slamming me against him, his grip tight. “This isn’t your fight.”

I freeze for a second, savoring the comfort, the feel of him against my back. Now isn’t the time, Gia, I chide myself.

I spin around and stare up at him, my pulse racing. “Maybe not. But I’m not going to sit around and wait for someone to take another shot at my family…or yours.”

His hand drops from my arm, and for a moment, we just stand there, the tension between us sizzling. I can feel it in every fiber of my being, the way his presence pulls me in. Even now, even with all this danger surrounding us.

Without another word, I leave him on the porch and head inside. My heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping. I burst into the living room, searching for that familiar shock of silver hair. I find him in deep conversation with Uncle Tony, cigars in hand.

“Dad,” I say, cutting in, my voice sharp. “We need to talk.”

He looks up, frowning. “Gia, what is it?”

I glance around, making sure no one else is listening. Aunt Carla’s ears are already perked, and Lucia suddenly seems fascinated by the carpet.

I take a deep breath and force myself to calm down. “Can we move to your office?”

My father gives me a questioning stare and finally stands, motioning for Uncle Tony to follow. I troop behind them through the festive hallway, dread etched on my face. As soon as the door clicks shut, I get to the point.

“Dante’s men. They’ve been attacked. Three of them are dead.”

The men fall silent. My father’s face darkens, his jaw clenching. “When did this happen?”

“Tonight,” I say. “I think it could be connected to the attack on our estate and the sabotaged Mustang. Whoever’s behind this, they’re not stopping.”

My father exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damn it.”

“We need to join forces with the Manzos,” I say, my voice firm. “If we don’t, we’re sitting ducks and you know it.”

He stares at me for a long moment, the weight of my words sinking in. I can see the conflict in his eyes, the years of bad blood between our families clouding his judgment. But this isn’t about the feud anymore.

Now It’s about survival.

“Gia...” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I’m not asking, Dad, I’m telling you. We need to work together, or we’ll all end up dead.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Get Dante in here.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. I’ll take it.

I leave the room, my mind racing, and crash right into Dante. His eyes are blazing underneath the twinkling lights in the hallway. It’s almost a comical sight, to see so much anger on his face in such a festive setting.

“Gia, please tell me you didn’t …”

“I did,” I say firmly, standing my ground. “Dante, you know these aren’t one-off coincidences. This all has to be connected. Don’t you want to know who’s behind it?”

He sighs, rubbing his face. “I know who’s behind it. I just don’t know why they’re targeting your family too.”

“You know?” I’m stunned. He knew this whole time and volunteered none of this information.

The door creaks open, and Uncle Tony pokes his head into the hall. Dante just nods, understanding that he’s being summoned, and slips into the office.

With the door unceremoniously closed in my face, I’m left alone in the hallway, surrounded by Christmas cheer with a heart that feels like it's cracking in two.