Page 15 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

The heartbreak.

His intense gaze burns through me like fire.

My heart thuds in my chest. Anger, hatred, and something else entirely wash over me and threaten to spill out.

I hate him.

I despise him for what he did, for how everything fell apart.

But Lord help me, I still crave him.

Dante’s expression darkens as he makes his way across the room. Every step is slow and deliberate. I feel the tension building, like a taut wire ready to snap.

“Gia.”

And just like that, I’m thrown back six years in time. I’m standing on the edge of a love I’d once believed would last forever.

Except I’m older now. Wiser, too. He’s not the sweet boy he used to be, either.

And forever was a lie.

“Absolutely not”, I choke out. “I’m not doing this.”

I can feel his molten chocolate eyes searing into me as I spin around and stomp out of the room.

Not wanting to frighten Matteo, I head for the garage instead of my bedroom. For one wild second, I pray Dante follows me.

I imagine him grabbing me around the waist with his big, strong hands, pinning me to the wall and trailing a million heated kisses down my neck. I feel my hands gliding through his dark curls as my body presses greedily against him.

Ugh! STOP IT.

I slam the garage door to shock myself out of the sick train of thought. My mind feels like a chaotic windstorm, rattling my thoughts around. I sink onto the cold marble stairs and burst into tears.

The idea of a week with Dante was once my heaven.

Now, it’s my personal hell.

Chapter Six

Dante

Brunch with the Vitales. My personal hell.

I lounge at the long oak table, surrounded by people I despise. The room smells of bacon, espresso, and old grudges. Across from me, Gia avoids my gaze, pretending to be fascinated by her breakfast.

She’s acting like I’m not here.

But I can’t ignore her.

Not with that tight, red sweater hugging her curves.

Not with the way her raven hair falls over her shoulder like a damn invitation.

“Nice of you to join us, Dante,” Giancarlo Vitale says as he strolls into the room like a peacock.

His voice is smooth and practiced, but I hear the venom reserved just for me. He pours me a cup of coffee like we’re not perpetually at each other’s throats behind the scenes.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “Family time is precious.”

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