Christmas Vows with the Devil

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Dante

Dim light spills across the polished mahogany desk where Giancarlo and Tony sit, their faces drawn and serious. There’s an air of tension in the room, the kind that tightens your chest and makes every breath feel difficult.

I take a seat opposite them, meeting their eyes. I know what this is about—the attacks. The escalating danger. The way things are spiraling out of control faster than any of us expected.

"Thank you for coming, Dante," Gia’s father starts, his voice gruff. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “We need to talk about these attacks. Your men, our estate—it’s clear someone’s trying to send us a message."

I nod, my jaw tight. "It’s more than just a message. They’re moving in, making their presence known. It’s got to be the new family in town—the Russos.”

“The Russos?” Tony muses, tapping his chin. “Never heard of them before.”

“They’re kids,” I explain. “At least, his men are. Never met Russo myself, but I’ve killed a few of his guys.”

“He crossed a line?”

“He stole an entire cargo ship’s worth of goods and thought I wouldn’t find them,” I answer, a bitter laugh escaping me.

“Who would be brave enough to steal from Il Diavolo ?” Giancarlo asks, laughing in wonder. I smile politely.

“So, they’re a couple of new kids making noise,” Tony says lightly. “What the hell do they want from the Vitales? We’ve had no dealings with them, no history with them. What’s their angle?"

I exhale slowly, trying to keep my frustration in check. I’ve been asking myself the same question for days.

"I don’t know, that’s the problem. But they’re coming at both our families, and I don’t like what that implies."

Gia’s father frowns, his gaze hard. "You think they’re trying to stir up trouble between our families?"

"Maybe," I say. "But it feels bigger than that. This isn’t just about territory or power. There’s something else driving this, something we’re not seeing yet."

Uncle Tony leans back in his chair, fingers tapping on the armrest. "So, what do we do? How do we stop this before it escalates even further?"

I glance between the two men, my mind already running through the possibilities. "We need to find out what the Russos want, what their real endgame is. We start by investigating the attacks—both here and in New York.”

Both men nod in agreement, and it encourages me to continue. Maybe together, we can put these kids in their place—show them who really runs New York.

“So, we follow the money, track down their contacts?” Giancarlo says, leaning back in his leather chair. “And we do it together—the Manzos and the Vitales."

There’s a long pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. This is what Gia wanted, for us to join forces. I can tell her father knows it’s the best option to keep everyone safe, but he’s not exactly thrilled about it.

Old grudges die hard. I know.

I question my own sanity. Joining forces with the Vitales would make my father spin in his cold, hard grave. But what choice do I really have? Not much now that both of our families are involved.

Finally, he nods. "All right. We’ll work together. But understand this, Dante—if you lead us into a trap, if this backfires, it’ll be on you. You’ll answer for it."

I hold his gaze, unflinching. "I’m not leading anyone into a trap. I want to protect my family—just like you."

The tension eases slightly, and we spend the next hour discussing logistics and setting up a plan for the investigation. My men will start combing through our contacts in New York, while the Vitales reach out to their allies across the country. We agree to share information and coordinate efforts.

By the time we finish, there’s a sense of uneasy cooperation. But it’s a start.

Over the next few hours, we get bits and pieces of information from all our sources. Pietro Russo has recently moved to New York. He was formerly based in Europe. He’s young, in his early thirties, and bold.

“Apparently, he killed his own brother in a turf war back home in Spain,” Tony tells me the next day.

We’re cooped up in Giancarlo’s office, all of Gia’s uncles gathered around the room as backup. My men are on the line, digitally joining the meeting.

“Let him have Spain then!” a disembodied voice says on the conference call. I sigh and pour myself a glass of whiskey. We’re no closer than we were last night. So far, Russo seems to have had no motivation to target us—except for the whole cargo ship fiasco.

I need air. I need to think without all these old-world mafia men throwing their theories around.

As I leave the office, my mind is spinning with the details of the investigation. There’s something off about the timing of these attacks and the way they’re targeting both families without a clear motive. I need to dig deeper, to figure out what the Russos are really after.

But as I walk through the hallway, my focus shifts. I hear voices—familiar ones. Gia’s aunts. They’re in the kitchen, chattering away like they always do. Normally, I’d walk right past, but something they say stops me in my tracks.

“I’m just saying, it’s hard to keep a secret like that for so long,” Aunt Carla’s voice carries through the hall. “Especially with the boy growing up and looking more and more like him.”

I freeze, every muscle tensing.

“Matteo’s a smart kid,” Aunt Lucia agrees. “You know he’s bound to ask questions eventually. He’s already starting to wonder why his father isn’t around.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. Matteo.

A nagging suspicious gnaws at the back of my mind, pushing me to eavesdrop more. I listen as they keep talking, piecing together bits of the conversation.

"Do you think Gia will ever tell him?" Carla asks.

"I don’t know," Lucia sighs. "But if Dante ever finds out the truth...well, that’ll be a whole different story."

My heart slams into my ribs as everything clicks into place. The way Gia’s been acting, the way she’s avoided talking about the boy’s father.

The strange looks she’s given me whenever Matteo is around. The resemblance I hadn’t really noticed before, or maybe hadn’t wanted to see.

Matteo isn’t just any boy. He’s my son .

I turn on my heel, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I march down the hall, my thoughts racing, my blood boiling. I need answers. Now .

I find Gia in the living room where she’s been moping since she got shut out of the investigation. She’s sullenly helping her mother string dried orange slices.

Like she hasn’t been keeping the biggest secret of our lives from me.

"Gia," I say, my voice low and hard.

She looks up, startled. "Dante?"

I step closer, my eyes locked on hers. "I need you to tell me the truth. Right now."

She frowns, confused. "What are you talking about?"

I take a breath, my fists clenching at my sides. "Matteo."

Her face pales, and that’s all the confirmation I need. Elizabeth stands up quickly, making excuses and practically running out of her own living room.

Then we’re alone. Gia and I. It’s just us and her secrets.

My chest tightens, a mix of anger and betrayal swirling inside me. She’s been hiding this from me. For years.

"Gia, tell me the goddamn truth." My voice is raw. "Is he my son?"