Christmas Vows with the Devil

26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dante

The message was slid under the penthouse door like an unwelcome invitation. It’s just a single sheet of thick, white paper with my father’s unmistakable handwriting on it scrawled in dark ink.

He’s not one for dramatics; there’s no sentiment, no preamble. Just an ultimatum.

Work with me or lose everything. Starting with her.

I read the words, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache. I can feel my pulse spike, the words burning into my mind. This isn’t some random ploy; it’s a declaration.

It’s my father’s way of clawing back into my life, pulling me in under the guise of giving me a choice. But it’s not a choice—it’s a trap. He’s always played games like this, twisting my sense of loyalty and family to his advantage.

Now, with Matteo and Gia in the balance, he’s stabbing the blade deeper.

I drop the paper on my dining room table and glance around at the faces surrounding me. I’ve already questioned my men who were stationed at key entry and exit points—no one saw anything. The fact that he got this message into my heavily protected building without being noticed reminds me that he’s capable of anything.

Uncle Tony reads the note again, his face twisted with disdain. “This isn’t just a choice, Dante. He’s backing you into a corner, forcing your hand.”

I look around at the people who’ve become such a big part of my life over the past week. The family Gia has risked herself to draw me into. Their faces show the same determination I feel, and for a moment, I’m torn by how much this connection has come to mean to me.

Aunt Carla shakes her head, crossing her arms. “That man is nothing but a snake. Always has been. Always will be.”

“But Carla, maybe you can get through to him,” Aunt Lucia suddenly speaks up. “I mean, you were lovers once…”

Their voices mix, ideas and fiery opinions flying around the room, but my mind is elsewhere. A part of me—deep down—wants to shut it all out and charge forward, guns blazing.

The old part of me, the one trained and conditioned by my father’s ruthlessness, is ready to answer his challenge without second-guessing. But that’s exactly what he wants. My father knows me well enough to exploit my anger.

But he doesn’t know how much has changed.

When I glance back, I find Gia’s gaze, her green eyes filled with worry. She has a way of looking at me, a way that makes me want to be someone else. I never thought I’d care about proving myself to anyone.

I know what she’s thinking. After everything that’s happened between us, she thinks I’ll accept the deal, commit the ultimate sacrifice to save her and Matteo. But she doesn’t want me to. She wants to get our son back, leave this life behind, and grow old together surrounded by a white picket fence.

And Lord knows, there’s nothing I want more than that.

I want to be a good father—the kind that plays baseball with his son and teaches him to ride a bike. I want to be the perfect husband for Gia, the kind that always comes home in time for dinner, whose clothes aren’t always splattered with blood.

I will be , I decide firmly. But first, I need to be Il Diavolo one last time.

“We’ll find a way to outsmart him,” I finally say, all eyes landing on me. “He put himself in the open for once. That gives us leverage. But this can’t be about anger. It has to be about strategy.”

Gia’s lip quivers, her gaze flickering between me and her family. “Whatever it takes, I’m with you.”

Her words fill me with equal parts warmth and dread. She’s looking at me like I’m her whole world. Suddenly, I realize she’s too close to this. If my father catches even a hint that she means this much to me, he’ll use her as another pawn.

No, I have to do this myself.

We spend hours throwing around ideas, debating every possible option. The uncles and Gia’s father argue with each other, tossing out half-formed plans and strategies.

But none of it is enough.

Nothing we come up with feels like enough. No matter how many scenarios we work through, each path leads back to Matteo’s vulnerability and my father’s unpredictable cruelty. It’s maddening, and I can feel frustration and helplessness building in the room.

When the conversation finally drags to a close, most of the family members file out, exhausted and tense. We’ve put together a rough plan to infiltrate his headquarters with a few select men. I readily agreed, knowing it wouldn’t come to that.

I was going to see my father alone. I was going to finish this alone.

Gia stays a little longer, her presence making the situation easier to bear. She doesn’t say anything; she just stands there, her eyes soft and questioning. I can feel her expectation, her hope that I’ll somehow beat my father without losing anything important.

But that’s not reality.

I’ve been playing this game long enough to know that my father doesn’t make threats he can’t keep. This isn’t a passing dispute—this is war. The Vitales don’t fully understand what he’s capable of, what he’ll do to prove his point.

“You look like you’re overthinking something,” she says, coming up to wrap herself in my arms. “I hope you’re not planning on something impulsive.”

I shake my head, forcing myself to chuckle. “You can’t plan impulsivity.”

She smiles, pressing her cheek against my chest. “You know what I mean…just don’t make any moves without us, okay?”

I nod into her hair, smoothing it down, rubbing circles on her lower back. Sometimes, you need to lie to protect the ones you love.

“We should head to bed as well,” I finally say, pushing her gently toward the door. She gazes at me, smiling softly and holding out her hand.

“Join me?”

“I’m just going to jump in the shower and I’ll be right there,” I tell her. I have an unconscious desire to cross my fingers behind my back. Lying to Gia isn’t ideal—and I know she’s going to be pissed tomorrow—but it’s better this way.

If she knows I’m lying, she doesn’t say anything, but the hurt in her expression catches me off guard. I kiss her, deep and slow, trying to show her how much I love her. She staggers down the hallway to my bedroom, exhausted, her world falling apart around her.

I let out a long breath when I hear the bedroom door click shut. The tension unwinds slightly, but the weight of the decision remains. I know what I have to do.

The plan forms slowly in my mind. I’ll play his game—I’ll tell him exactly what he wants to hear. I’ll let him believe he’s won, that I’m ready to choose his side, to walk away from Gia. I’ll let him think I’m ready to do his bidding once again.

It’s the only way he’ll let his guard down.

And when he does, I’ll strike like a viper.

I sit down at my desk in the darkened office, hazy moonlight illuminating the space. I move in a slow, leisurely way, to calm my nerves as I pour myself a glass of whisky. Satisfied with the hefty glass, I lean back and light a cigarette.

The New York City skyline glows and sparkles like a beauty queen against the clear, dark sky. The whisky burns my throat, mingling with the smoke to knock me back like a punch to the face. It gives me the courage to pull out a heavy piece of stationary and write my own message.

Each word feels heavy, deliberate. I keep the message straightforward, clear, arranging the details carefully to make my intent seem genuine. I don’t write a single word I don’t mean.

As I fold the letter, my chest tightens. It’s a twisted comfort—knowing Gia’s safe because of my silence. Matteo, too.

I think about the brief moments we’ve had together. He’s such a bright, happy kid—full of Gia’s sassiness and boldness. But I see bits of myself in him too. The serious way he approaches the things he’s passionate about, the way he listens more than he speaks, always observing and learning.

I don’t want this life for him. I don’t want him to know the coldness of the world, the brutality of it. I want him to be the kind of person I never got to be. It’s strange, this desire to protect him, to shield him from everything that once shaped me.

I stub out my cigarette and grab the letter. It feels heavy in my hand, burning through my skin. I stroll casually to the front door and spot the man of the hour. Josh, a scrawny kid I hired last month, slouches against the door, his gun jutting out from his holster.

He’s been on door duty for the past few days and it didn’t take me long to realize he’s the rat. His shifty eyes, his demeanor—he’s uncomfortable—scared to be up here spying on me for my father.

“Hey kid,” I say, my voice casual. He jumps to attention, puffing out his chest, trying to impress me.

“Boss.”

“Here,” I thrust the letter into his hand. “Get this to John Manzo. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding him.”

His face morphs into something like a shocked goldfish—eyes bugging out, mouth open. “Sir, I have no idea…isn’t he…I mean…”

I put the kid out of his misery, spinning him out the door, patting his shoulder in mock friendliness. He moves to take a step and I wrap my fingers around his neck, leaning in close.

“Give this to my father,” I whisper, my voice laced with venom. “I hope he promised to protect you because if I see your sorry ass again, you’re dead.”

I turn away, heading for the elevator with a sense of finality. This is the last hand I have to play.

Either it works, or we all lose. There’s no middle ground.