Christmas Vows with the Devil

29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gia

I pace the living room of Dante’s penthouse, the clock seeming to tick more loudly with every step. My mind is overflowing with information, everything that’s happened since I came back to New York swirling in a chaotic jumble inside of me.

My stomach contorts in knots, twisting tighter and tighter.

Finally, the elevator dings. I turn sharply, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Dante steps into the room, looking worn and tired. I’m glad I’m alone in the apartment because this isn’t going to be pretty.

My family has gone out to eat dinner, scattering themselves around New York’s hot spots—making sure they’re seen by John Manzo’s people. It’s the first step of our plan with the Russos. But I’ve been here, waiting for Dante, ready to fly off the handle.

He enters the living room slowly, yet that damn untouchable edge clings to him, like he owns the world and couldn’t care less who knows it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The words come out sharp and angry, but I don’t care. “You disappeared in the middle of the night without telling me.”

He stops, his gaze hardening slightly. He lets out a long, tired sigh as a response, loosening his tie and shrugging off his coat. His silence only fuels my anger.

“Answer me, Dante! Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

“Because I didn’t want to argue with you,” he says evenly, his voice low and infuriatingly calm. “I had to see him, to figure out what he’s planning. I couldn’t sit here doing nothing.”

“And what if he’d done something to you? What if you didn’t come back?” My voice shakes, fear draining the anger out of me. “You can’t just walk into danger alone and expect everything to turn out fine. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

He turns, his expression hardening. “I know what I’m doing, Gia. I don’t need you to lecture me about the risk I took.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, crossing my arms. “Because it sure seems like you’re taking extreme risks without consulting anyone, sneaking out and walking into his trap without any backup, any protection. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dante steps closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t know if you know this…but I have quite the reputation in New York now.”

I stare back, refusing to answer.

“ Il Diavolo ,” he says, laughing bitterly. “The most dangerous man in New York. No one can touch me.”

“Except your father.”

“My father is supposed to be dead!”

We stare at each other, silence stretching thickly between us. He’s breathing hard, anger and fear swirling inside his eyes. I know it’s not directed at me. He’s frustrated, backed into a corner but unwilling to admit it.

For a second though, he scares me. I want to shrink away, to slink out of the living room and hide in my bed under the covers. But then I remind myself that this is Dante—and despite his bravado and reputation, he’s still the boy I’ve always loved.

“He’s not dead though,” I try more gently, placing my hand softly on his arm. “And you can’t go running around the city like you’re untouchable. I mean…he has our son; we need to act more…carefully.”

Whether it’s my gentle tone or the reminder of Matteo, all the fight goes out of him and he sinks to the couch. I perch gingerly beside him, gently stroking his back. With his head in his hands, he delivers one last blow.

“You don’t understand,” he says, hopelessness creeping in. “He’s given me an ultimatum. If I don’t choose him, he’ll go after every single one of us…me, Matteo, you, your entire family.”

His words punch me in the gut, propelling me to my feet and lighting the fire that fuels my anger once more.

“So, you think going alone, without telling anyone, was the best plan? He could’ve killed you and Matteo, right then and there!”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, all I see is frustration in his eyes. Frustration aimed at me and me alone.

“You don’t think I know that? You think I don’t understand the risks?”

“Then why? Why did you go alone?”

“Because I’m trying to fucking protect you from all of this!” His booming voice echoes off the empty walls of the penthouse, ringing in my ears. His face, contorted with anger and grief, is inches away from mine. He’s a tower of solid marble, terrifying, threatening—but I refuse to let it get to me.

If Dante wants to fight, I’ll fight.

I shove him away from me—hard. He looks shocked for a second but throws himself in my face again.

“Don’t you dare, Dante!” I scream, pounding his chest with my fist. “Don’t you dare risk your goddamn life and say it’s for me. You’re not a fucking martyr. We’re supposed to be handling this mess together.”

My face is on fire, the anger coursing through my veins, threatening to turn into tears. I spin away from him, trying to compose myself. I will not fucking cry right now.

Dante grabs my arm a little too hard, pulling me back to face him. His finger stabs into my chest, his face dark and threatening.

“I would die for you, Gia. Don’t you understand that?”

“And I, for you,” I slap his hand away, staring him down—even though technically, I’m glaring up at him. Why is he so damn tall? I rise on my tippy toes, hoping to close the gap and make myself a little more threatening.

There’s silence between us for a moment, the tension stretching taut. We’re both panting, shaking with rage and irritation. In a split second, the atmosphere shifts and the pull ignites—like someone struck a match and set the room on fire.

I don’t even process what’s happening when he grabs me and hoists me up, but my legs wrap willingly around him. His eyes, dark and wanton, burn into mine as he walks forward and pins me against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.

I gasp in shock as the cool glass hits my bare shoulders, a chill creeping through my flimsy tank top. Dante takes my surprise as an opportunity to capture my lips with his, slipping his tongue inside my mouth. For a second, I’m lost in a heady paradise of sensation.

His warm hands move from my waist to cup my ass, pulling me closer to him. I wrap my arms around his neck, gripping tight, willing him to stay here with me forever. Then I remember how angry I am at him and pull away.

I slap him hard and we both freeze. I’ve never slapped anyone before and I stare at my palm in wonder as it starts to burn from the force of the contact. Dante chuckles, low and dangerous, and with the devil in his eyes, he licks my palm slowly, seductively.

I’m frozen in the moment, holding my breath, waiting for what comes next. He slips one hand out from under me and uses it to grab both of my wrists, pining them above my head.

“Gia, Gia, Gia,” he whispers, nuzzling into my neck. “You don’t want to hurt me. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

I gasp for air as he nips my neck, sucking and kissing his way across my collarbone. He’s hard already, pressing into me through my shorts. I grind on him involuntarily, savoring the cold at my back and the heat at my front.

“That’s better,” he laughs darkly, moving to the other side of my neck. My arms are starting to tingle from being pinned up and I squirm, which just makes him laugh again. He faces me again, placing a gentle kiss on my lower lip.

“Want me to put you down?”

I nod, then shake my head. I want the freedom to move, to tackle him to the ground and rip his clothes off, but I’m also enjoying the lack of control. He laughs for real now, throwing his head back, the rich sound bouncing off the walls around us.

With the sun setting behind me, he’s illuminated in shades of orange and red, looking very much like his namesake, Il Diavolo . A shiver runs through me, lust spiraling into fear and back into lust again.

Suddenly, my feet hit the floor and my tank top is ripped off my body. I watch it float to the floor and he nudges me forward, my bare breasts hitting the cool, smooth glass. My nipples instantly harden and I moan as he traces my curves from behind me.

Sex with Dante is always fantastic. But it’s also usually emotional, gentle.

This. This is something else entirely.

“Spread your legs,” he purrs behind me, slipping my shorts off in a smooth motion.

“Dante,” I try to protest. “The window! People can…”

“No one can see us up here,” he brushes me off. He grabs my chin roughly, twisting my face towards him, and skims a kiss against my temple. “And if they can, good…I want them to see this.”

A hard smack lands on my ass and I jump. “Now spread your legs like a good girl.”

A shiver runs up my back and I comply, bracing myself against the glass. I have a clear view of Manhattan below me. Shops, restaurants, and cafes line the street below, and it's flooded with people making their way home after work. The setting sun, like a crown, rests along the skyline.

If I can see them, they can see me.

Suddenly, Dante’s soft tongue glides up my thigh, his strong hands gripping my hips. All thoughts of an audience go out the window and I melt into his touch, moaning and begging for more. I hear a dark chuckle behind me as he traces my other thigh with his tongue.

“Still worried about the windows? Want me to stop?” he asks, sliding his thumb along my pussy, landing right on my clit.

“Don’t you dare.”

His tongue joins in, lapping at my wetness. Rough, strong fingers dig into my hips, pulling me closer and I grind against his face, chasing my orgasm. My nipples brush against the frosty glass, sending shivers through me that reach my core.

Dante is moaning behind me, enjoying every second of this and I’m so close to exploding that I cry out. He pulls back, depriving me of my orgasm and I huff, trying to spin around to face him. That earns me another stinging slap on the ass.

I hear a belt unbuckle, the metal teeth of his zipper sliding down. And suddenly, his hot, hard cock is pushing into me. I groan, slumping against the window, but he pulls me against him.

“Brace yourself, baby,” his whisper ghosts my temple and he shoves me forward, my arms flying out to stop myself. I’ve never watched the sunset while getting fucked and I have to say, I’m quickly becoming a fan of this.

I pull myself back into the present, focusing on Dante’s moans and whispers of love as he slides in and out. The smoky scent of his cologne floats around me, an added sensory factor to a moment that feels too overwhelming to be real.

This angle is allowing him to drive deeper and deeper into me and I’m moaning with abandon. Goosebumps cover my skin where the panes of glass brush against me with every thrust.

I let go, reaching my orgasm, and tightening around him. My body feels like a loaded spring that’s finally been let loose and I’m slumping against him, all of the anger and frustration seeping out. But he’s not done yet.

He lets me slide to my knees as he towers over me, stroking my hair gently with one hand and himself roughly with the other. My vision is hazy, the orgasm hitting me hard, but I want to make him feel this good.

I take over for him, wrapping my fingers around his length, and pulling him toward me. He groans, letting his head tip backward.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, his breath coming in short pants. “That’s my good girl.”

I throw myself into making him feel good, hollowing out my cheeks, moaning for him. I tighten my grip on the base of him and slide my tongue up and down his length, swirling it around the head. He repeats my name over and over again and I feel him jerk forward, spilling into my mouth.

He slumps forward, slipping to the floor beside me, and pulls me against his chest. We lay on the cool marble floor as the sun disappears behind the skyscrapers of Manhattan and the room grows dark and cold.

I break the pleasant silence first, needing to say it. “We’ll figure it out, Dante. Together.”

I reach up, my hand cupping his face, my thumb brushing against his cheek. He nods, his gaze unfocused, but I can feel the weight pressing down on him—the responsibility that’s always been his burden.

This is more than just a fight for us. It’s a fight for him, for the life he’s always wanted, but never thought he could have.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “tomorrow, we end this.”