Christmas Vows with the Devil

21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Gia

We spend the day in New York, chasing dead ends, coming up with nothing. There’s been no more sightings of Matteo. It’s like he completely vanished, and it’s tearing my heart into pieces.

I look around Dante’s office, his closest men piled inside, sitting on every possible surface. Heavy silence hangs over us, the hopelessness of it all suffocating me. I make eye contact with Rocco, and even he, forever grim and steadfast, flashes me a look of pity.

“Nothing,” I hear Dante say. “We have absolutely nothing.”

My family is on the conference line, listening to Dante’s retelling of our day. They’ve heard nothing as well.

But we don’t have nothing , I think. Why isn’t Dante telling them about the names on the wall?

“Well…” My father’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “We’ll get over to the city as soon as we can and double down on the search.”

Dante agrees. The call is about to end, and he still hasn’t told them.

“Wait,” I cut in, flashing him a questioning look. “We did find something.”

He stares at me, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Why is he hiding this? I don’t know what’s going through his head, and I don’t care. It’s our only real lead.

“We found something in the warehouse,” I say defiantly, and he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. I tell the story of the crayons and the names scratched into the wall as my family listens in silence, no one daring to speak.

Suddenly, Aunt Carla’s voice breaks the tension. “That’s an…interesting development.”

Her voice is strange, thin and reedy, like she’s about to cry. Secret rumors about Carla and Dante’s father have always floated around. People often thought they were lovers, but neither ever confirmed nor denied it.

“I think you two should come back here,” she continues, clearing her throat. “Let’s have a nice belated Christmas dinner and…brainstorm together.”

Dante looks at me like he thinks she’s crazy. Why would we leave New York when Matteo is here somewhere? But something in Carla’s voice plants a seed of suspicion in my mind.

Aunt Carla was the last to see John Manzo, so the rumor mill says anyhow. She was always close to him, despite the family feud in the years leading up to his death.

She knows something.

“We’ll be there,” I say firmly, hanging up the call. Dante is staring at me like I’m insane now. I interrupt him before he can speak.

“Dante, she knows something. I know she knows something.”

“It’s all rumors,” he brushes me off, but his voice is unsure—maybe even hopeful.

An hour later, Dante, Rocco, and I are out on the helipad on top of Dante’s office building. I don’t know why Aunt Carla couldn’t tell us what she knows over the phone, but I think she’s got something dangerous to tell us. I’m so convinced that she’s the missing link that I’m almost excited, my mood surging.

My mood quickly nosedives when we arrive at the lodge, however. The house feels like a prison when we arrive, the weight of the last few days sitting heavily in the air. The family is gathered around the table, all the right dishes laid out in some attempt to keep up the Christmas spirit, but there’s a hollowness to it.

The laughter and chatter between us all feels forced. Dante’s face is set in a grim line, his focus entirely elsewhere. For him, Matteo’s kidnapping and the writing on the warehouse wall have opened doors best left closed.

Dante’s father, long dead, is suddenly everywhere, a specter lurking in every shadow. The words he’s alive ring through my mind like a sinister echo.

Matteo’s empty seat is a silent reminder of what’s at stake, haunting every single one of us.

Dinner drags on, a haze of small talk and forced cheer. Aunt Carla has been sipping wine steadily, her cheeks flushed, her eyes darting over to me every few minutes.

She’s always been the eccentric one—the lively, kooky aunt with her penchant for saying too much at the wrong times. But tonight, her mood has shifted, growing quieter as the evening drags on.

Dante stares into his glass, lost in thought. His jaw clenches every now and then, his gaze flicking to me as if he’s trying to make sense of something.

I want to reach for his hand, to tell him it’s okay, that I’m here, that we’ll figure this out. But even that feels hollow in the face of what we’re up against.

Aunt Carla suddenly clears her throat. Her voice, usually light and teasing, holds an unfamiliar weight. “I can’t stand this anymore,” she announces, her words slurring slightly. “All these secrets, the lies…it’s all going to catch up with us.”

The room falls silent, everyone’s attention snapping to her. Uncle Tony’s brow furrows in confusion, and my father’s expression darkens.

“Carla,” he says, his tone warning, but she waves him off, swaying slightly as she rises from the table.

“No, I’ve held my tongue for long enough.” She glances around the table, her glassy eyes settling on Dante. “You deserve to know.”

I exchange a glance with Dante, a ripple of apprehension passing between us.

“I loved him once, you know,” she begins, a faraway look on her face.

“Sit down, Carla,” my father snaps, rising to tower over her. “We don’t talk about him in this household.”

“A long time ago. Before he changed,” she continues, ignoring my father. “He...he became someone I didn’t recognize. And now, he’s even worse.”

Dante tenses beside me, his fists clenching on the table. “What are you talking about, Carla? He’s dead. I saw the body.”

Carla lets out a hollow laugh, bitterness coating every word. “No, you saw what he wanted you to see.”

The entire family stares at her. Even my father sits down, his shaking hands reaching for a wine glass.

“Your father was a master of deception, Dante,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s not dead. He staged his own death. Yes, he did. Left everyone thinking he was gone. But he’s out there.”

The shock of her words hangs heavy in the air. My breath catches, the weight of her confession settling over me like a dark cloud. Dante’s expression shifts, disbelief mingling with a raw, simmering anger.

“That’s not possible,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Aunt Carla doesn’t flinch. “I know it’s hard to believe but it’s the truth. Your father was always five steps ahead, always plotting. He fooled everyone, made you all believe he was dead. I kept his secret because...because I loved him once.”

Dante rises abruptly, pacing the length of the room, his movements sharp and agitated. I can feel the hurt radiating off him, the sense of betrayal cutting deep.

“And you just...let us think he was gone?” he spits out, the anger in his voice barely restrained.

Carla’s face crumples, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Dante. Your father…he loved me, but he’s also a dangerous man. And I know better than to cross a dangerous man. But now…with Matteo missing, I can’t be selfish.”

The pieces begin to fall into place, each revelation adding to the twisted tapestry of deceit. The attacks, the mysterious messages, and Matteo’s kidnapping were all orchestrated by the one person Dante thought was dead.

The one person capable of tearing our lives apart—again.

But why?

The question hangs heavily over everyone’s heads. No one dares to ask it.

Carla’s shoulders sag, the weight of her secrets finally catching up with her. “I’m so sorry, Dante. I never meant for it to come to this. I thought he was gone for good. I didn’t realize he’d come back—not like this.”

Dante’s face hardens, his jaw clenched, and he looks away. He doesn’t say another word, but I can see the turmoil churning within him, the betrayal slicing through him like a knife. He walks over to the window, his back to us, staring out into the snow-covered landscape.

“If he’s alive…and he has my son, I’ll kill him myself.”