Page 67 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

We steal carefully through the shadows until we come up to a spiral metal staircase at the back of the warehouse that leads up to the office. Gunshots and chaos outside drown out our steps as we climb up on light feet. We pause at the landing, zeroing in on a single closed door.

It’s now or never.

I slowly creep to the door, flattening my back against the wall, and peer into the tiny window in the center. Then I see him, his back to me as he barks orders to his men, calm in the middle of the storm. Matteo sits in a chair, his hands and feet bound, eyes hollow.

I hear a commotion behind me and spin around to see Rocco taking down a guard that spotted us.We need to get inside.

I turn the handle slowly. It’s locked. My father still has his back to me, yelling into the phone, so confident in his invincibility. Matteo’s eyes catch the movement of the handle and his gaze shoots up to the window, clocking me.

I press a finger to my lips, urging him to be quiet. His face pales and his eyes grow wide as saucers but he sits unmoving in his chair. I glance back and Rocco’s worried gaze meets mine. He gestures to the main floor of the warehouse where guards are flooding in from a back entrance.

We’re pinned in place. There’s no way out. I kick the door down and my father spins around in shock, his eyes narrowing when he spots me.

He smirks a cruel, familiar expression that makes my stomach churn. “You really think you’re going to win?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I charge forward, fists clenched. We collide in a clash of fury, years of anger fueling every punch, every strike. He blocks me, countering with brutal efficiency, butI can see his age catching up to him. He’s slower than he used to be, his movements less precise.

Rocco shouts from behind, gunshots echoing as he takes down the men running up the stairs. I put all my faith in him and focus on my father. He’s still ruthless, and he knows how to fight dirty.

He pulls a knife from his coat, slashing toward me, but I dodge. I grab his wrist and twist it until the blade clatters to the ground. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I see a flicker of something I can’t name—pride, maybe, or regret. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar coldness.

“Dante!” I hear Matteo’s tiny voice ring out and I spin, trying to locate him. My father catches me off guard and smashes something cold and heavy into my head, sending me flying forward.

The last thing I see before everything goes black is Matteo’s terrified face as he’s dragged out of the room.

***

I slip back into consciousness to find Rocco slapping my cheeks. His face is a bloody mess and he’s repeating my name over and over again, trying to rouse me. I sit up dizzily as the room spins.

“Matteo,” I choke out. “Where’s Matteo?”

“They took him, Boss.” Rocco slumps to the floor, shaking his head. I hear footsteps pounding outside on the landing and instinctively search for my gun.

“Don’t,” Rocco’s voice stops me. “It’s just the Vitales securing the perimeter. All of your father’s men are gone.”

I pull myself up and limp out of the room, trying to shake the nausea and dizziness away. Rocco follows, mopping his bloody face with his jacket. On the landing, I run into Roman and heshoots me a grim look. I see the Vitales scouring the warehouse below, making sure no one’s left behind.

“They had a secret crew out back,” Roman explains. “They sent them in just as you got up here. Rocco tried to fight them off…and we joined as soon as we took care of the guys outside…but, it wasn’t enough.”

“He got away,” I say, rage seeping into my bones.

“The side ladder,” Rocco points to the small yellow ladder hidden in the darkness. “He had Matteo with him, I saw him.”

“Where’s Gia?”

Roman glances at me, his expression unreadable and tilts his chin to the front entrance. “She’s not doing too well, Dante.”

Shit.

I race down the metal stairs as fast as I can, tripping over my own feet, and burst outside. I spot Aunt Carla’s curly head, Gia wrapped in her arms. I jog over, my head spinning.

Please don’t let her be hurt. Please let her be okay.

Gia spots me and rips out of her aunt’s grasp, running to meet me. We collide with each other, stroking and petting each other down, feeling for injuries. Once I’ve confirmed she’s all in one piece, I hug her roughly and she bursts into tears.

“I thought you…” she gasps, trying to contain herself. “I thought you weren’t coming back out.”

“I’m okay, my love. I’m okay.”

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