Page 49 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

I freeze, every muscle tensing.

“Matteo’s a smart kid,” Aunt Lucia agrees. “You know he’s bound to ask questions eventually. He’s already starting to wonder why his father isn’t around.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.Matteo.

A nagging suspicious gnaws at the back of my mind, pushing me to eavesdrop more. I listen as they keep talking, piecing together bits of the conversation.

"Do you think Gia will ever tell him?" Carla asks.

"I don’t know," Lucia sighs. "But if Dante ever finds out the truth...well, that’ll be a whole different story."

My heart slams into my ribs as everything clicks into place. The way Gia’s been acting, the way she’s avoided talking about the boy’s father.

The strange looks she’s given me whenever Matteo is around. The resemblance I hadn’t really noticed before, or maybe hadn’t wanted to see.

Matteo isn’t just any boy.He’smy son.

I turn on my heel, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I march down the hall, my thoughts racing, my blood boiling. I need answers.Now.

I find Gia in the living room where she’s been moping since she got shut out of the investigation. She’s sullenly helping her mother string dried orange slices.

Like she hasn’t been keeping the biggest secret of our lives from me.

"Gia," I say, my voice low and hard.

She looks up, startled. "Dante?"

I step closer, my eyes locked on hers. "I need you to tell me the truth. Right now."

She frowns, confused. "What are you talking about?"

I take a breath, my fists clenching at my sides. "Matteo."

Her face pales, and that’s all the confirmation I need. Elizabeth stands up quickly, making excuses and practically running out of her own living room.

Then we’re alone. Gia and I. It’s just us and her secrets.

My chest tightens, a mix of anger and betrayal swirling inside me. She’s been hiding this from me. For years.

"Gia, tell me the goddamn truth." My voice is raw. "Is he my son?"

Chapter Seventeen

Gia

The silence stretches between us.

Dante’s dark eyes burn into mine, waiting for me to speak. My throat feels tight. Every word is caught somewhere in between the truth and the terror that telling it will unravel.

I glance at his clenched fists, the veins stretching against his skin. There’s no way out of this. He already knows. Denying it now will only make it worse.

“I...” The word barely makes it past my lips. I force myself to look up, meeting his eyes. “Yes. Matteo is your son.”

His expression doesn’t change. His jaw tightens, lips pressed into a thin line. The room feels colder, smaller, suffocating.

He doesn’t move. He just stares at me as if I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. And maybe I have.

“He’s mine?” His voice is low, dangerous. “All these years. You’re telling me I’ve had a son all these years and you kept it from me?”

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