Page 54 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

“You think Dante really cares about this?” one of them asks, her voice low.

“He seems invested enough,” the other one says. “Matteo is his son, after all.”

“Poor Gia, though. Can you imagine having a child with such a dangerous man? I admit he’s handsome as sin, but that alone isn’t enough to make him a good husband or father.”

I stop in my tracks, my heart thudding in my chest.

The rage that’s been simmering inside me bursts to the surface. I want to confront them, tell them I will make an excellent father, that I’m fully invested in this search to find Matteo. Instead, I turn and walk away, my mind racing.

Matteo is my son. This isn’t a game.

It all makes sense, really. Everyone seems to know about my son but me. Some rival organization has likely figured out that he’s mine. Otherwise, why would someone kidnap him?

A wave of anger crashes over me, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something softer. Something I don’t want to feel.

I care more than I should.

I want him to be mine for real. I want a future where Me, Gia, and Matteo—we’re a family.

I march back toward the group of Vitale men who are gathered under a streetlight. The snow crunches under my boots, my mind spinning with what I’m going to do next. Gia might have lied to me, kept my son from me, but none of that matters right now.

All that matters is finding him.

Just as I tap Giancarlo’s shoulder, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and we both glance down at the screen. My blood runs cold.

It’s a grainy shot of a little boy being led into a black sedan. Two men, their faces obscured by shadows, follow behind him.In the distance stands a rustic wooden cabin, its doors and windows shuttered.

One of our guys got the shot. Tried to follow the car but was run off the road. He’s still in upstate New York, about an hour from you.The accompanying text from Rocco doesn’t give me much, but at least we know Matteo is still close—and alive.

Giancarlo grabs the phone out of my hands, studying the photograph closely.

“Gia!” he hollers. “Get over here! We’ve got a lead!”

In seconds, Gia is elbowing me out of the way, pawing at the phone. She breaks down in tears, nodding.

“That’s him,” she chokes out between sobs. “That’s definitely him. We need to go.”

It could be a trap. Hell, it probably is. But what choice do we have? This is the first real lead we’ve gotten all night.

Gia is hysterical and determined, as only a mother one step closer to finding her child can be. She glances at me, her eyes pleading.

“That looks like Tom Myrtle’s cabin down by Moose Lake,” says Roman, zooming in on the photo. “I don’t know for sure, but it looks very similar.”

“How far is it?”

“About thirty minutes in good weather,” Giancarlo cuts in, eyeing the flurry of snowflakes starting to surround us.

“We can’t just walk in there without a plan,” Uncle Leo protests. “What if it’s a setup?”

I gaze down at Gia, her raven hair and thick eyelashes coated by the softly falling snow. She has tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes, and she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

And she’s mine. She’s my past. My future. My everything.

Her body is buzzing with nervous energy, and I catch her eyeing my car keys like she’s one moment away from swiping them and driving off herself. I nod, decision made.

“Giancarlo,” I turn to her father. “Get your men set up with eyes on the roads leading to New York. This doesn’t seem like a small-town kidnapping. I’m betting they’re taking him to the city.”

“The rest of the family,” I continue. “Head back home, wait for information. I’m going to the cabin.”

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