Page 34 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

I’m huddled in the living room with my family, all of us silent, shaken from the night’s attack. Dante’s seated across from me, a bandage hastily taped to his side and a flannel blanket slung over his shoulders. I trail my gaze across his broad chest, then instantly feel guilty.

I know he’s hurting more than he’ll ever let on. There’s blood seeping through the bandage, but he hasn’t said a word about it.

Typical Dante, too stubborn for his own good.

I can’t stop staring at him and it’s not just because the man is pure eye candy. He saved us. Even with bullets flying, even bleeding out, he stood his ground. My family owes him everything, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

I tear my eyes and thoughts away from him and turn to Matteo curled up next to me. He’s too young to understand what happened, but I can tell he feels the tension in the room. I should bring him back to bed, but I can’t stand the thought of being away from him right now, even with Vitto close by.

Shit like this is exactly why I wanted to shelter him from this life. And it’s why I’m about to become helicopter mom of the year.

Matteo’s eyes are wide, watching Dante with a kind of fascination that makes my chest tighten. My son, looking at his father, completely unaware of the truth that binds them together.

I run my fingers through his hair, trying to calm myself as much as him. My mind is racing, forcing broken and bent puzzle pieces together, but I can’t put together a cohesive image.

Who did this? Why would they do this? What’s their end goal?

In the mafia world, attacks like this are a dime a dozen, but my family had settled down in recent years. My father had been indulging more in the illegal trade of priceless antiques than in turf wars and retribution, which is basically retirement for a mafia don.

Dante’s eyes flicker to mine, just for a second, and I feel that familiar jolt in my chest. It’s like all the years apart have only sharpened the connection between us, not dulled it. His gaze is intense, filled with something I can’t name.

Hope? Regret? Maybe both.

Before I can overthink it, my father clears his throat. His face is hard, as always, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he glances at Dante. It’s a rare thing, my father showing vulnerability, and it catches me off guard.

“I want to thank you,” he begins. “For what you did tonight. You didn’t have to. Lord knows you didn’t have to, but you did.”

Dante nods, wincing slightly as he shifts in his chair. “I have no loyalties to anyone but the Manzos, but…”

He looks pointedly at me, sending a shiver through me that pierces my soul.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The room is quiet. All eyes flicker between Dante and me as if they’re waiting for something more. There’s a tension, but it’s different now. Less hostile. Almost hopeful—like we’re standing on the precipice of something big.

My father looks around at the family. My aunts, my uncles, everyone still stunned by the attack. “We need to stay vigilant,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat and bringing us back to the present. “This was just a warning. There will be more to come.”

Dante nods, and my father leans back, satisfied with that as an answer. Before anyone else can speak, the door to the room creaks open. Aunt Carla walks in, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide with concern.

“They sent a message.” Her voice trembles, and she falters, leaning on a plaid armchair.

Everyone tenses. Dante straightens up, his hand drifting toward his side, probably ready to grab his gun—which has been replaced with a blood-soaked bandage.

“What kind of message?” my father asks.

Aunt Carla holds up a piece of paper, her hands shaking slightly. “It was left at the gate. A letter. No signature.”

My heart races. This can’t be good.

“What does it say?” my father asks, already exasperated by Carla’s dramatic nature.

He snatches the paper out of her hands, his expression hardening with every word he reads. His jaw tightens, and I can feel the shift in the room.

Something is wrong. Something bigger is coming.

He hands the paper to Dante.

Dante’s face is unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He passes the paper back without a word, but there’s a darkness in his eyes now. I see the hardness, the rage creeping in and settling around his features.

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