Page 51 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

The massive Christmas tree glitters like a jewel, a sea of presents piled underneath it. I smile softly, watching the young cousins shake boxes and take bets on what’s in each one. But inside, I’m empty and cold, like a grey February afternoon.

I force a smile when one of my aunts passes by, offering me a glass of champagne. My fingers curl around the stem of the glass, but I don’t drink. I haven’t seen Dante since our conversation. The wound is too fresh, and I doubt he’ll even show up tonight.

“Gia, darling, are you all right?” Aunt Lucia’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I nod quickly, plastering on another fake smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”

But I’m not. I’ve been spiraling since Dante left. What if he never forgives me? What if he never accepts Matteo?

My eyes scan the room, looking for Matteo. He’s with the other kids, running around in his little tuxedo, laughing with his cousins. The sight brings a brief moment of relief, but the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.

I finally spot Dante standing by the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his face hard as stone. He hasn’t looked my way once. I want to go to him, to explain again, but something holds me back.

Maybe it’s the icy wall he’s put between us. Or maybe it’s the fear that he’s already made up his mind about me.

A chill runs down my spine, and I glance around the room again. Something feels off, but I can’t place it. The atmosphere has shifted. There’s an underlying tension that wasn’t there before.

I shake it off, making small talk with Aunt Lucia. Aunt Carla joins us, bringing fresh gossip from the other wives. I pretend to listen, but I’m lost at sea, waves of fear and sadness crashing over me, threatening to drown me.

“Present time!” Uncle Roman’s booming voice announces, and the kids whoop and cheer.

Our family tradition lives on. Every child gets to open one present on Christmas Eve before bedtime. I always loved this tradition, hoping for a good book to put me to sleep. I smile, watching kids clamber around Roman—this year’s designated Santa-esque gift monitor.

My eyes scan the throng of tiny bodies for Matteo’s dark curls, but I come up short.

Where is he? Maybe he took a very poorly timed bathroom break?

I slip past the commotion into the hallway and check the downstairs bathrooms. Empty.

My heart starts beating wildly as I sprint up the stairs to our bedroom. I flip on the lights to find it empty as well. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself. I tell myself he’s downstairs with the kids, and I just missed him somehow.

I jog back to the ballroom, pushing through the crowd. My heart picks up speed as I scan every face. He was just here, laughing and playing.

My stomach twists with panic, and I turn, frantically searching the ballroom. “Matteo?” I call out, my voice drowned out by the noise of the party.

No answer.

My heartbeat reaches my ears, pounding louder. The edges of my vision blur as fear grips me. “Matteo!” I shout again, this time louder, more desperate.

People are starting to notice. My aunts look over, confused. My father rises from his seat, his eyes narrowing as he watches me panic.

But I don’t care about the stares. All I care about is finding my son.

Dante is suddenly in front of me, his expression shifting from coldness to concern in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Matteo,” I choke out. “I can’t find him.”

His eyes widen, and he grabs my arm, pulling me through the crowd. Together, we search the house, calling out for Matteo, but there’s no sign of him. The knot in my chest tightens, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Aunt Carla rounds up the kids in a corner, double-checking that every one of them is present. The uncles have joined us in the search, spreading out through the hallways and rooms.

Matteo! Matteo! Matteo!His name echoes throughout the house like a haunting prayer.

“He was just here,” I whisper, grabbing Dante’s elbow. “He was playing with the other kids.”

Dante’s face is grim, his jaw clenched. “Stay calm. We’ll find him.”

We ransack the kitchen, checking every drawer and cupboard. My worst nightmares play out in my mind like a twisted horror movie.

---