Page 71 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

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 downthe 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.

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