Page 76 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

Gia

I pace the living room of Dante’s penthouse, the clock seeming to tick more loudly with every step. My mind is overflowing with information, everything that’s happened since I came back to New York swirling in a chaotic jumble inside of me.

My stomach contorts in knots, twisting tighter and tighter.

Finally, the elevator dings. I turn sharply, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Dante steps into the room, looking worn and tired. I’m glad I’m alone in the apartment because this isn’t going to be pretty.

My family has gone out to eat dinner, scattering themselves around New York’s hot spots—making sure they’re seen by John Manzo’s people. It’s the first step of our plan with the Russos. But I’ve been here, waiting for Dante, ready to fly off the handle.

He enters the living room slowly, yet that damn untouchable edge clings to him, like he owns the world and couldn’t care less who knows it.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The words come out sharp and angry, but I don’t care. “You disappeared in the middle of the night without telling me.”

He stops, his gaze hardening slightly. He lets out a long, tired sigh as a response, loosening his tie and shrugging off his coat. His silence only fuels my anger.

“Answer me, Dante! Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

“Because I didn’t want to argue with you,” he says evenly, his voice low and infuriatingly calm. “I had to see him, to figure out what he’s planning. I couldn’t sit here doing nothing.”

“And what if he’d done something to you? What if you didn’t come back?” My voice shakes, fear draining the anger out of me. “You can’t just walk into danger alone and expect everything to turn out fine. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

He turns, his expression hardening. “I know what I’m doing, Gia. I don’t need you to lecture me about the risk I took.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, crossing my arms. “Because it sure seems like you’re taking extreme risks without consulting anyone, sneaking out and walking into his trap without any backup, any protection. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dante steps closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t know if you know this…but I have quite the reputation in New York now.”

I stare back, refusing to answer.

“Il Diavolo,” he says, laughing bitterly. “The most dangerous man in New York. No one can touch me.”

“Except your father.”

“My father is supposed to be dead!”

We stare at each other, silence stretching thickly between us. He’s breathing hard, anger and fear swirling inside his eyes. I know it’s not directed at me. He’s frustrated, backed into a corner but unwilling to admit it.

For a second though, he scares me. I want to shrink away, to slink out of the living room and hide in my bed under the covers. But then I remind myself that this is Dante—and despite his bravado and reputation, he’s still the boy I’ve always loved.

“He’s not dead though,” I try more gently, placing my hand softly on his arm. “And you can’t go running around the city like you’re untouchable. I mean…he has our son; we need to act more…carefully.”

Whether it’s my gentle tone or the reminder of Matteo, all the fight goes out of him and he sinks to the couch. I perch gingerly beside him, gently stroking his back. With his head in his hands, he delivers one last blow.

“You don’t understand,” he says, hopelessness creeping in. “He’s given me an ultimatum. If I don’t choose him, he’ll go after every single one of us…me, Matteo, you, your entire family.”

His words punch me in the gut, propelling me to my feet and lighting the fire that fuels my anger once more.

“So, you think going alone, without telling anyone, was the best plan? He could’ve killed you and Matteo, right then and there!”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, all I see is frustration in his eyes. Frustration aimed at me and me alone.

“You don’t think I know that? You think I don’t understand the risks?”

“Then why? Why did you go alone?”

“Because I’m trying to fucking protect you from all of this!” His booming voice echoes off the empty walls of the penthouse, ringing in my ears. His face, contorted with anger and grief, is inches away from mine. He’s a tower of solid marble, terrifying, threatening—but I refuse to let it get to me.

If Dante wants to fight, I’ll fight.

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