Page 11 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

With the New York skyline I once loved silhouetted behind him, he looks like a poster for a mafia movie.

Unfortunately, this is my real life.

“The Vitales invited me to their Christmas party,” I tell him, tossing the invitation in his direction.

“Interesting,” he says, catching the heavy cream stationary and studying it. “You’re gonna go, right?”

“Why the hell would I go to that?”

“I don’t know.” He eyes me casually. “To see that girl you’ve been in love with your entire life?”

“She killed my father.”

I hadn’t even put the pieces together. Of course, Gia would be there—it’s her family after all. Just one more reason to burn that stupid invitation.

“You really think that tiny slip of a girl killed your father?” Tony laughs and looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Her name was on everything.”

“And what motivation did a nineteen-year-old girl have to kill her boyfriend’s father?”

“Not her idea, obviously,” I bite back, exasperation rising in me. “I’m sure her father had a lot to do with it.”

“I don’t know, Dante,” he says as he drains the rest of his whiskey. “Your father had a lot of enemies—still does. I think you need to look at what really went down. Ask yourself if you truly believe she did it.”

Uncle Tony’s words settle into the pit of my stomach like lead. I don’t respond, but I don’t need to. He’s been around long enough to know when I’m stuck between anger and reason.

I drum my fingers on the desk, staring down at the gaudy invitation like it might hold the answer to all the questions swirling in my mind.

Tony doesn’t push. He knows better than to try.

I get up and pour myself a drink to gather myself. The whiskey buzzes under my skin, but it’s not enough to dull the pain that is caused by thoughts of Gia. I knock it back, savoring the burn.

“She didn’t just walk away from you, Dante. She ran.” Tony’s voice cuts through the silence in the room. “Doesn’t that fact ever make you wonder why?”

“Not really,” I mutter, refilling my glass. “Not when her family is involved. The Vitales aren’t saints. You know that.”

“Neither are we, kid.”

He’s leaning back, arms crossed, watching me with a level of patience I didn’t inherit. “What’s their game?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“They didn’t invite you out of love. They want something. So, what is it?”

I hadn’t considered that.

Why the sudden olive branch?Especially after all these years of cold silence.

I’ve been at war with the Vitales for the better part of a decade. What makes them think they can suddenly mend things with a goddamn Christmas party?

And then it hits me. This isn’t about family. It’s about power. Control.

“They’re desperate,” I say aloud, realization creeping over me.

Tony nods approvingly. “Exactly. You’ve been expanding—taking over new territories. The Vitales are feeling the heat.”

“Which means they want something from me,” I conclude, more to myself than to Tony.

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