Christmas Vows with the Devil

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Dante

Soft morning light filters through the cracks in the old barn’s ceiling. My body aches not just from the cold, but from the tension of everything that’s happened. I glance down at Gia wrapped around me, her breathing soft and steady.

For a moment, the world outside fades, and all that exists is her warmth beside me. Her dark hair spills over the hay, her face peaceful in sleep. I can’t help but brush a strand away from her cheek. She stirs but doesn’t wake.

Last night changed everything for me. Not just because of what happened between us—although I can’t stop thinking about it—but because of what we said. She’s right, I can be different. I can be a better father than my own was to me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a soft buzz that snaps me back to reality. The signal dropped last night, and I haven’t been able to contact anyone, but I guess the storm finally let up.

I slip out of the barn quietly, stepping into the crisp morning air. The sky is still overcast, angry and gray, and there’s a chill that settles deep in my bones.

I glance at the missed call on the screen. Rocco. Maybe they found something. I quickly hit the call back button.

“Boss, we’ve got something.” Rocco’s voice crackles through the line, which is filled with static. “The kid was spotted in New York a couple of hours ago. We’re trying to track down the source, but it’s solid. The kid is definitely in the city.”

My grip tightens on the phone, a wave of relief and panic hitting me at the same time. “Where exactly?”

“We don’t have an exact location yet. Somewhere near Little Italy. But the sighting, it came from a credible source. We’ve got eyes on the streets now.”

I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair. This isn’t enough. We need more. But it’s the first real lead we’ve had since Matteo was taken. And now, every second counts.

“Keep me updated,” I say, ending the call.

I stand there for a moment, staring out at the snow-covered trees, my mind racing. Matteo is in New York. Someone in that city has him, and they’re using him to get to me. But why?

This whole thing feels off. The attacks, the kidnapping—it doesn’t fit. The rival family I suspected earlier wouldn’t pull moves like this. They’re brutal, sure, but they don’t play games with kids.

There’s more going on here. I can feel it in my gut.

I quickly call Giancarlo to update the family. I learn the snowstorm forced them all back to the Vitale lodge last night. So many precious hours lost to this fucking snow.

He assures me the family and his men are on standby, ready for my instructions. As much as I want the Vitales backing me here, the entire clan showing up in New York would be too noticeable. I promise updates as soon as I have them and head back inside the barn, where Gia is already awake.

She’s sitting up on the pile of hay, rubbing her wrist. Her eyes meet mine, and the unspoken tension from last night is still there, lingering between us.

“We need to go,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Matteo was spotted in New York.”

Her face goes pale, and she jumps to her feet. “What? How? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’re about to find out.”

Gia grabs her coat, her movements sharp and focused, but I can see the fear in her eyes. I can feel it too. Matteo is more than just a piece in a chess game between rival families. He’s our son.

We climb over snow drifts and ice until we’re back on the road. I spot my car, buried under a thick layer of snow, the headlights still on. Fuck.

Confirming that the car is pretty much totaled, we stand on the snow-covered road, light flurries of snow circling us. Gia looks at me helplessly. It’ll take hours for my men to send another car.

The Vitales are so snowed in that they’ll likely need to call in helicopters to get them to the city.

“Dante!” Gia points excitedly behind me. “Someone’s coming!”

My heart starts up a nervous drumbeat, imagining the SUV from last night coming back to finish the job. I spin around to find a snow plow up ahead, slowly crawling toward us. I flag down the driver, and he agrees to drop us off at the next nearest town.

“Moose Lake should be dug out,” he says, his face jolly and red. “You should be able to rent a car there to get to the city.”

I note his fluffy white hair and thick beard. Not another St. Nick moment. I can’t handle any more of this Christmas shit.

We drive along for thirty minutes in silence. The tension between Gia and me is thick, weighed down by the uncertainty of what’s to come. She doesn’t ask any questions because she knows that neither of us has any answers.

***

By the time we are heading toward New York in our shitty little rental car, the city is already buzzing with life. The late morning traffic is snarled with people trying to get to work. It feels like hours before we finally reach my men at the small café on the edge of Little Italy.

It’s an unassuming place, perfect for blending in while we figure out our next move.

As soon as we step inside, I spot Rocco, surrounded by my guys, sitting in the corner with a cup of coffee. He stands as we approach, his face grim.

“Any updates?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

Rocco shakes his head. “Nothing concrete yet. But we’ve been tracking some movements in the area. There’s been unusual activity near one of the warehouses on the docks. Could be connected.”

I nod, my mind already working through the possibilities. If they’ve got Matteo, they’ll want to keep him somewhere quiet, out of sight. The docks would be a good spot. They are isolated, and it is easy to hide someone there.

“Let’s check it out,” I say, turning to Gia. “Stay close.”

She nods, her eyes wide but determined. I can see the fear in her, but she’s holding it together. She’s strong. Stronger than I ever gave her credit for.

We head to the docks, moving quietly through the narrow streets. My men fan out, keeping a low profile, while Gia and I stick close to the shadows. The warehouse Rocco pointed out looms ahead. It’s a massive, dark structure that looks abandoned, but I know better.

It’s the perfect place to hide someone.

I signal to Rocco, and he moves ahead, checking the perimeter. A few minutes later, he returns, shaking his head.

“Nothing. Place is completely empty.”

My frustration boils over. I slam my fist against the side of the building, the sound echoing through the alley. Fuck!

Gia flinches beside me, her face pale. “Can I look inside?”

Everyone stares at her, confused. I start shaking my head, already pulling her away, but she escapes my hold.

“I just want to see if I can…” she stops, taking a deep breath, “if I can feel him there.”

I nod, instructing my crew to search the place from top to bottom while Gia walks through. My guys are overturning crates, tearing pallets apart, and still finding nothing.

We were so close. I thought for sure this would be it. And now, we’re back to square one—no leads, no more clues, nothing. I turn, searching for Gia, who most likely needs extra comfort right now, but she’s gone.

Panicked, I spin around, shouting for her. I find her standing in front of a wall where a group of chairs has been set up. She’s staring intently at the baseboards.

She’s finally cracked. The stress is too much for her.

Slowly, I approach her, sliding my arms around her waist. She’s breathing strangely, almost gasping for air.

“Gia?” I ask, moving to stand beside her so I can get a better look. “What is it?”

She points at the baseboard, a strangled cry escaping her throat, and I finally see it. A handful of children’s crayons lay scattered against the wall. Just above them, the word Matteo , etched into the dingy wall glows like a neon sign.

Gia drops to her knees, tracing her finger over the letters. She glances up at me, tears streaming down her face.

“It’s his writing, Dante,” she says, pulling at my hand. I crouch down beside her, my eyes scanning the wall. “He wants to be an artist. His pockets are always stuffed with crayons.”

I’m just about to comment on what a smart kid our son is when I see another name scratched in red crayon closer to the floor. Jon Manso.

The spelling is wrong, but a little kid wouldn’t necessarily know how to spell it correctly. But it’s impossible. He’s dead.

John Manzo. My father.

The idea makes my mind reel and I get dizzy, leaning against the wall. Gia notices and follows my gaze to the red letters.

“Does Matteo know my father’s name?” I breathe. Gia’s silent, and I look up to see her staring at me, dread pooling in her eyes. She shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “No. How could he know that name?”

“Unless he heard someone say it.”

“But…your father is dead,” she looks around, dazed. “Isn’t he?”

I can’t breathe. Can’t think straight. I call Rocco to gather up the crew and we get into the cars, heading back to the office. Gia and I sit shell-shocked in the back seat, staring at the picture I snapped off the wall.

Matteo’s name. My father’s name. Written in jumbled little kid writing in crayon.

Something about this feels wrong. We’ve been chasing shadows, following leads that keep going nowhere. And now, Matteo has pointed us to a literal dead end.

What the hell does my father have to do with this?