Page 62 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

Carla lets out a hollow laugh, bitterness coating every word. “No, you saw what he wanted you to see.”

The entire family stares at her. Even my father sits down, his shaking hands reaching for a wine glass.

“Your father was a master of deception, Dante,” she says matter-of-factly. “He’s not dead. He staged his own death. Yes, he did. Left everyone thinking he was gone. But he’s out there.”

The shock of her words hangs heavy in the air. My breath catches, the weight of her confession settling over me like a darkcloud. Dante’s expression shifts, disbelief mingling with a raw, simmering anger.

“That’s not possible,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Aunt Carla doesn’t flinch. “I know it’s hard to believe but it’s the truth. Your father was always five steps ahead, always plotting. He fooled everyone, made you all believe he was dead. I kept his secret because...because I loved him once.”

Dante rises abruptly, pacing the length of the room, his movements sharp and agitated. I can feel the hurt radiating off him, the sense of betrayal cutting deep.

“And you just...let us think he was gone?” he spits out, the anger in his voice barely restrained.

Carla’s face crumples, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Dante. Your father…he loved me, but he’s also a dangerous man. And I know better than to cross a dangerous man. But now…with Matteo missing, I can’t be selfish.”

The pieces begin to fall into place, each revelation adding to the twisted tapestry of deceit. The attacks, the mysterious messages, and Matteo’s kidnapping were all orchestrated by the one person Dante thought was dead.

The one person capable of tearing our lives apart—again.

But why?

The question hangs heavily over everyone’s heads. No one dares to ask it.

Carla’s shoulders sag, the weight of her secrets finally catching up with her. “I’m so sorry, Dante. I never meant for it to come to this. I thought he was gone for good. I didn’t realize he’d come back—not like this.”

Dante’s face hardens, his jaw clenched, and he looks away. He doesn’t say another word, but I can see the turmoil churning within him, the betrayal slicing through him like a knife. Hewalks over to the window, his back to us, staring out into the snow-covered landscape.

“If he’s alive…and he has my son, I’ll kill him myself.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dante

Several shocked pairs of Vitale eyes stare at me. Aunt Carla gasps and makes the sign of the cross. I glance at Rocco, shock and horror painted across his face. He was my father’s right-hand man, his best friend, and even he didn’t know.

My father is alive. The words play over and over in my head, twisting every truth I thought I knew, mocking me. He’s behind everything—Matteo’s kidnapping, the attacks. All this time, he’s been out there, weaving lies, orchestrating chaos.

My fists clench, the urge to hit something simmering beneath the surface. It was him all along, keeping the families at each other’s throats. It was him who destroyed my relationship with Gia six years ago. It was him who made my childhood hell and my adult life even more so.

There’s a part of me that wants to believe Carla’s just a drunk old woman lost in nostalgia. But deep down, the pieces fit too well. My father, the man who saw every person as a pawn, would do anything to stay in control.

Faking his own death? Perfect. Out of sight, free to wreak havoc.

I look at Gia beside me, her expression a mixture of shock and anger. She’s trying to process this just like me. The realization of what really happened that night six years ago hits her and her gaze floats toward me. She stares, open-mouthed, shocked.The truth finally came out.

I want to apologize a million times for being such a fool back then. For cutting her out of my life. And now? I don’t deserve her, but she hasn’t left my side. And Matteo—our son—is still out there.

“We need to be smart,” I say finally, voice low and firm. “If my father’s capable of faking his own death, he’s capable of anything. Every move we make has to be calculated.”

Rocco, finally recovered from the shock, nods solemnly. “Agreed. He’s a master manipulator—always was. We don’t know his endgame, but he wants control.”

“He probably believes he can run both families from the shadows,” Gia’s father adds, his gaze dark and pensive. “And Matteo…” His voice falters, the implications settling over us all.

Matteo could be used as leverage, a tool in my father’s warped game. The thought sends a chill through me, cutting to my core. My own father, willing to use my son as a pawn.

I force my hands to unclench, the anger pooling into something sharper, colder. “Then we refuse to play his game,” I say. “We’ll confront him directly, expose him for the snake he is. But he’s going to expect us to be careless and desperate.”

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