Page 10 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

“Dad, no…”

“You’re coming,” he says, with finality. “Or we’re draining your bank accounts and donating your inheritance to one of the charities your mother is always yapping about.”

“You’re not serious.”

I can’t believe he’d stoop so low to get me back to New York. I didn’t give a shit about the money, but that was Matteo’s college fund. It was also what paid for his birthday presents, swimming lessons, and baseball camp.

Absolutely not.

“I’ve never been more serious,” he growls. “Don’t test me, Gia.”

I can’t risk going back to New York with Matteo. For a crazy second, I imagine leaving him here at Frank’s for the weekend while I fly back alone. I quickly discount that idea.

I haven’t spent a single day away from him since he was born. I wasn’t about to start now.

As much as I don’t want my father to win this battle, I know we will be relatively safe. The annual weeklong Christmas Extravaganza is always held in a secluded compound in upstate New York.

We’d be nowhere near the city—or the Manzos.

The Manzo family had it out for us since the mess with Dante’s father. One thing I couldn’t confirm was whether they actually had any knowledge of Matteo’s existence.

Whetherhehad any knowledge.

No, stop it. Do not even think about him.

I focus on Matteo instead, and how he’s never really met his grandparents. I know he dreams of being part of a big family. It’s always been just the two of us and “Uncle Vitto” since he can remember.

If only he knew how huge his real family is.

I sigh, curling up into a tight little ball and let the tears flow. He needs to meet them. I can’t hide him away forever.

We’ll be fine. It’s just Christmas in a middle-of-nowhere town in upstate New York.

I just hope that those won’t turn into famous last words.

Chapter Four

Dante

You’re cordially invited to the Vitale Christmas Extravaganza. Please join us in a celebration of love and family.

I toss the invitation on my desk and sink further into my chair.

What a load of bullshit.

Where was their celebration of love and family when they murdered my father in cold blood?

The Vitales mutilated him so badly that we couldn’t even hold an open-casket funeral. Love and family, my ass.

“Tough day, son?”

I glare as Uncle Tony waltzes into my office and pours himself a hefty glass of my finest whiskey.

“I get it,” he continues, chuckling at my sour expression. “Nothing gets you in a funk quite like murdering and pillaging, does it?”

“I don’t pillage.”

“Sure, sure,” he agrees, settling his enormous frame on my custom leather sofa.

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