Christmas Vows with the Devil

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dante

Oznam Enterprises sits like a steel behemoth under the dim glow of dawn. The towering corporate front of my father’s hidden empire is cold, impenetrable, and twisted. Everything about this place reeks of him—a grandiose statement wrapped in power and shadow.

But today, on this bleak gray morning, I’m here to put an end to it.

I stroll up to the back door by the loading docks like I’m supposed to be here. Glancing around, I spot no one—no security, no snipers hidden in the shadows. A shiver runs through me. Something feels off.

I punch in the security code—my mother’s birthday—knowing it’ll work. With one last glance behind me, I slip into the loading area and press myself into the shadows.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I spot pallets, stacks of boxes, and forklifts. Nothing out of the ordinary. No one here but me and my hammering heartbeat. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves, and my hand creeps to the gun under my coat.

I came here to kill John Manzo. I came here to get my son back. I need to stay calm.

I move quickly through the shadows of the warehouse and crack open a door, sliding into a deserted lobby. The faint hum of the air conditioning is barely noticeable above the pounding in my ears. The cold opulence of the lobby stuns me for a second, but I keep moving.

As I take the elevator to the top floor, I brace myself. There might be a hundred men facing me with guns when the doors open, or there might be a dead end. Either way, I’m ready.

The doors slide open, and there he is, standing by the wall of windows like he’s been waiting for me. He turns, unperturbed, a smirk playing on his lips. It’s almost eerie, the calmness in his face.

I’ve seen him like this before—that calculating gaze, the eyes that have torn apart empires and left nothing in their wake. But this time, I’m not his protégé or his pawn. I’m his adversary.

I’m Il Diavolo.

“Dante.” He stretches my name out like an invitation. “You didn’t think you’d slip in unnoticed, did you? But I’m glad you’re here. We have a lot to discuss.”

I step forward, unable to hide the disgust in my voice. “You really thought you could hide forever, that I’d just fall in line and keep playing your game?”

The words feel like they’re burning in my throat.

He raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “It’s what I trained you for, my dear boy.”

His calm tone ignites something in me. I stride toward his desk, slamming my fists down, the force rattling his collection of pristine paperwork.

“Dear boy?” My voice shakes. I’m fighting to keep myself under control. “You ruined my life, destroyed my future, all for what—some twisted test of loyalty?”

He folds his hands calmly, looking me over as though appraising a piece of art he’s crafted. “Of course, it was a test. You’re my son, Dante, the only one who could carry on my legacy. But you were becoming weak—distracted, smitten with that Vitale girl. I couldn’t risk you aligning yourself with them.”

“So, you set me up? Set us all up, let me believe you were dead? You’re more insane than I thought.”

My fists clench, and every fiber of me screams to put an end to this. But his eyes remain glued on me, that dark glint still as sharp as it’s ever been. He gives a small, dismissive shrug, as though my reaction is nothing more than theatrics.

“Let me ask you something. Would you be the man you are today if I let you choose your own path? Would you be the king of New York City? Il Diavolo ? Feared, admired, respected?”

He pauses for dramatic effect and my fingers twitch. I feel the cold hardness of the gun tucked against my ribs. It’s a reminder of why I came.

“Or would you be driving a minivan? Taking your son to soccer practice? Pretending like you don’t miss the glory of ruling over this city?”

“You never gave me a chance to choose, did you?” I spit back, anger and resentment surging through my veins. Any normal human would shrink beneath my gaze. They would cower and beg for mercy, but he just smiles coldly, shaking his head.

“I wanted to know, Dante. Could I trust you? Would you choose them over me, just because of a pretty face? It was a test,” he laughs, winking at me. “One you almost failed, by the way.”

He shrugs in a leisurely way, straightening his jacket, and strolls to the minibar like a man without a care in the world. “Whisky?”

My body responds without my brain’s help. I grab the heavy wooden chair in front of me and hurl it in his direction. He ducks at the last second and the chair explodes against the wall, sending slivers of wood in every direction. He chuckles and clucks his tongue at me.

“A father’s work is never done, is it?” he says gallantly, pouring himself a glass. “I needed to distance you from the weakness she brought out in you. But here we are—six years later, and you’re still weak for that damn girl.”

I’ve had enough. All these years and he’s still the same—cold, robotic, with no sense of morality. I step up to him, trapping him against the minibar. I tower over him now, noticing just how much older and frailer he looks.

“Where’s my son?” I growl at him, almost animalistic in my fury. “Where the fuck is my son?”

His eyes dart nervously across my face, but he pushes his emotions away, slipping on his mask again.

“Your son,” he says, smiling coldly. “Yes, that was an interesting development. Thank you for that, by the way. An heir to carry on the Manzo name…even if he is half Vitale.”

The venom in his words snaps something inside me, and I close the distance between us again. “You used Matteo. He’s only a child, your grandson. You think he’s just another chess piece in your sick little game?”

“Don’t lecture me on morality, Dante. The world we live in doesn’t operate on sentiment. Loyalty and power, those are what matter.” He says it with such finality, as though he’s handing down a death sentence.

I clench my fists, fighting to keep control. “I’m nothing like you. I refuse to become some twisted version of the man you want me to be.”

He laughs, a cold, empty sound that echoes off the walls. “You already are, my dear boy. You wouldn’t be standing here if you weren’t.” He glares at me, sending a shiver down my back. “Your willingness to do whatever it takes to protect the people you care about—that’s me. I’ve carved you in my own image, whether you see it or not.”

But that’s where he’s wrong. That’s where he’s always been wrong. I might have his blood in my veins, his instincts, but I’m not him. I won’t be manipulated, won’t be dragged down by his endless cycle of fear and violence.

“I’m done with you,” I say, my voice firm and certain. “You’ll never own me, never.”

He tilts his head, almost intrigued. “Are you sure? There’s still time, boy. Join me, and together, we can dismantle the Vitale family, take back everything that was stolen from us. You’ll have power beyond your wildest dreams.”

For a split second, he almost looks desperate, as if this isn’t just another calculated move, but some warped plea for connection. But it doesn’t change anything.

He’s poisoned everything he’s touched. And now, finally, I see that his need for control outweighs any ounce of love he might have ever had for me.

“I don’t want your power. I want my family back,” I say, meeting his gaze steadily. “And I’ll make sure Matteo grows up far away from you. I’m with Gia. We’ll build something better, something you’ll never touch.”

His expression hardens, his eyes growing dark, predatory. “Seems like you’ve chosen the wrong path…again.”

I don’t flinch. “You took everything. You took my mother’s life, you tore apart my future with Gia, kidnapped my son, and now, you think I’m going to choose you?”

He clenches his fists, his voice laced with anger. “I made you, Dante. I know every weakness, every flaw. Walking away won’t be easy…”

I move fast, slipping the gun out of the holster and pressing it against his temple.

“If you can’t tell,” I spit out through clenched teeth, my hand shaking with rage. “I don’t give a shit about you. I just want my son back.”

His Adam’s apple bobs nervously as he swallows. Suddenly, his eyes drift over my shoulder. He’s focused on something behind me—something that causes that shrewd, cruel smile to return.

“I think you’ll want to give a little bit of a shit about me,” he says, tauntingly, “if you want to live.”

The sound of heavy footsteps and guns cocking behind me force me to turn. A crew of men—meaner than any motherfuckers I’ve ever seen—stare me down, ready to shoot.

“My darling son, Dante,” my father says, now back in his element. He moves away from me to stand in front of his little army. His chest is puffed out, that sadistic gleam in his eye making him look like a lunatic.

“I won’t shoot you…yet,” he adds, laughing. “I’ll give you a chance to think about which path you’d like to take. You have twenty-four hours to decide.”

“I’ve decided…”

He cuts me off. “No, no, no. I think you’d like to take your time because you see, if you make the wrong choice…I’ll see to it myself that the Manzo line ends with me.”