Page 75 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

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 thefuckis 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 youweren’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.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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