Christmas Vows with the Devil

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Gia

Back in Dante's penthouse, the silence feels suffocating. My body is tense, every nerve stretched to its breaking point.

We were so close. So fucking close.

Matteo was right there. I imagine his small figure slipping out of sight, helpless, frightened. The sight replays in my mind, a loop that fuels a simmering, helpless rage I can't ignore.

I sit cross-legged on Dante’s bed, my head in my hands, trying to block out the image. But it’s impossible. The realization of how close we were hits me like a punch to the chest. Before I know it, my face is buried in my hands, and I’m sobbing so hard I can barely breathe.

The anger and frustration tear through me, clouding my judgment. I hurl my phone across the room, watching with satisfaction as it shatters into pieces. More, my mind screams. I grab the water glass on Dante’s nightstand and throw it against the wall as well.

Suddenly, I’m in a rage, sobbing, throwing items around, completely destroying my surroundings, but it’s not enough. The door rips open and I collapse on the plush carpet, curling into a ball. I must sound like a feral animal because Dante’s face is a cocktail of confusion, concern, and fear.

I screw my eyes shut, trying to regulate my breathing. The sound of footsteps reaches me, and then Dante settles beside me. He doesn’t say anything, just sits close, his hand warm on my back.

I lean into his touch and grab at his hands, trying to hold onto something solid.

“It’s not your fault, Gia,” he says, voice low, steady as he rubs my back in soothing circles. “But it is mine. I should have been quicker, smarter. I should have known he’d have a backup plan.”

“We couldn’t have known,” I whisper between sobs, but my voice cracks, and I’m not sure if I believe my own words.

Dante’s arm pulls me closer, onto his lap. I feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against my cheek. I cling to it, using it to ground myself, to remind myself that we’re not done.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” Dante mutters, more to himself than to me. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hard, dark. “Not after this.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the intensity in his voice. This isn’t just about Matteo; it’s about all the years of betrayal, the lies, the manipulation. I can see the storm building in his eyes, a rage so raw it feels like it could tear the world apart.

I nod against his chest, my fingers running up and down the buttons on his shirt. If we got so close this time, next time, we’ll be more prepared. We’ll strategize. We’ll use all of our resources. I clear my throat to tell Dante so, but he gently stands and carries me to the bed.

“You need to rest,” he says, brushing away my tear-soaked hair and tucking me in.

“You need to rest, too,” I sniffle back, lifting the blanket for him to join me.

His eyes dart around the room. He’s agitated, I can feel the tension rippling through him. He’s going to do something stupid.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice light. “I’m going to go talk to your dad—see what we can come up with.”

Instinctively, I grab his wrist as he pulls away. “Please don’t do something rash.”

“Gia,” he laughs, a fake sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I never do anything rash. I’m always planning.”

I watch him walk out the door, the soft light making him look like a ghost, a figment of my imagination. A heavy pit settles in my stomach and I feel sick. He’s lying.

I struggle with indecision for a few minutes, but my gut feeling tells me to follow him. I spring out of bed, shoving my sneakers on and grabbing a jacket. Quietly, I open the door and sneak down the hallway to the living room.

Inside, my uncles are seated around the table, talking in low voices. My father stands at the head, sorting through papers and photographs. My aunts and my mother are passed out on the low sofas and in arm chairs. No Dante.

I keep walking toward his office. The door is cracked open and I peer inside. It’s dark and empty. The pit inside my stomach grows, forcing me to pick up the pace. I race to the front door where one of his men stands guard.

“Did Dante go out?”

He glances at me, shaking his head slightly but I see right through him.

“Did he tell you not to tell me?”

The guy fidgets with his knife, uncomfortable.

“Fine,” I say, throwing my shoulders back. “I’ll show out myself.”

He presses his hand against the large wooden door, stopping me in my tracks.

“No one goes in, no one goes out,” he says in a clipped accent. “Boss’ orders.”

“Do you know who I am?”

He nods, unimpressed. This kid thinks he’s going to stop me? I don’t even feel bad for what I do next. I huff, spinning around like I’m going back to my room and he relaxes, leaning against the door. With one quick move, I whip around and knee him in the crotch, sending him down to the floor in agony.

I slip out the door and run for the elevator, but he doesn’t follow. It feels like an eternity before I reach the parking level of Dante’s building. I hope I’m not too late.

I burst out of the lobby and into the garage, my eyes wildly scanning for Dante or his car. Suddenly, the rich, heavy scent of tobacco wafts over me and I follow it. Dante’s leaning against a dark SUV, smoking a cigarette—all nonchalance and manliness.

He glances up and does a double-take, dropping the cigarette. “Gia, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Where are you going?” I ask, my voice low, angry, as I march up to him.

“To finish this. He doesn’t get to walk away from this one, Gia. He’s taken too much.”

Frustration rips through me and I growl, pushing him against the car. I get in his face, trying to be as threatening as possible with my puffy eyes and crazy hair.

“Dante, you can’t just confront him head-on. Not now, not like this. It’s what he wants,” I say. “You’re acting on emotion, irrationally. What if this ruins our chances of saving Matteo? We have to be smart!”

He pushes forward, his eyes blazing. “And I’m supposed to just let him go, let him take my son?” His voice is raw, thick with a desperation that makes my heart twist. “I can’t do that, Gia. I won’t.”

“I’m not asking you to let this go. But running out there now, with nothing but anger? That’s exactly what he expects.” I take his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “We’ll get Matteo back, Dante. But you can’t do this alone.”

“I’m Il Diavolo ,” he spits, his rage simmering. “I can do anything I fucking want to.”

“You’re Dante,” I try again. “Matteo’s father. The love of my life. A good man. Please.”

His gaze softens slightly, the anger still there but tempered. His jaw unclenches as he looks down at me, taking in my words. He reaches up, covering my hands with his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The tension eases a little, replaced by something heavier, deeper.

“A good man would tear the world apart to save his son,” he says quietly and nudges me away, slipping into the SUV. I stomp my foot and let out a scream of frustration. This man is impossible.

Quickly, I dart around to the passenger’s side and climb in beside him. “Fine, then I’m coming too.”

His eyes shut as he leans back against the headrest, rubbing his temples.

“Get out of the car.”

“No. If you’re going to act like a fool, I’m going to be there to back you up.”

“Get the hell out of the car, Gia!” His voice is rough, angry, but I don’t care.

A long time ago, when I was a teenager, Aunt Carla gave me some very questionable advice. She told me that if I’m ever in a fight with my husband, all I need to do is walk into the room topless and he’ll forget everything. Dante might not be my husband, but I’m out of ideas.

I swing over the middle console and straddle him, whipping off my hoodie. Dante’s eyes lose focus immediately and he stares at me, open-mouthed and confused. Then I kiss him with everything I’ve got in me. It’s aggressive, hard, and he matches my anger.

His fingers slide up to cup my breasts immediately, his hands rough against my sensitive skin. He pulls and twists at my nipples, massaging my tits, biting my neck. I grind into him, the thin fabric of my sleep shorts twisting aside.

His breath is ragged as I fumbled with his zipper, unleashing him and sliding onto him without a second thought. For a second, we both freeze, breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes. All the anger, frustration, and fight has twisted into a beautiful frenzy.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he says as he moves my hips and bites down on my lower lip. I smile, despite everything.

I start rolling my hips, making him moan my name. Using the seat as leverage, I slide up and down, fast, hard. I’m working all the negative emotions out of me and tears stream down my face. Dante notices and starts kissing them away.

The windows have fogged up, secluding us in our own private world. The SUV squeaks from our movements, but I don’t care. I push my body harder, faster, and Dante’s gasping for air.

“You’re fucking crazy, but I love you,” he breathes, biting down on my nipple. I scream in pleasure, feeling my release building up. My hips are burning, my knees locking from the weird position I’m in, but I don’t care. I grind and swirl my hips up and down his length, watching his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Fuck.” He breathes out one last groan as he finishes, and I’m not far behind. I fall forward onto his chest, panting, sweat dripping off of me. We’re both gasping for air like we just ran a marathon.

“This is your plan?” he asks, kissing my jaw tenderly. “To use sex to control me?”

I laugh, arching up to kiss him again. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right? I must remember to thank Aunt Carla for her very inappropriate advice. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to mention to a teenager, but as an adult—I can confirm it works wonders.

We both jump as a single, hard knock against the glass pulls us out of our afterglow. Our eyes meet guiltily as Dante cracks the window open enough to reveal Rocco’s uncomfortable gaze peering at us.

He clears his throat, quickly moving away from the car. “Sorry Boss…to uh, interrupt but…we got a message a few minutes ago.”

We stare at him through the tiny crack, our indecency forgotten. His cheeks are flaming red and he’s staring at the floor, hands awkwardly resting on his hips.

“It’s from your father.”