Page 32 of Sold to the Silver Foxes (Forbidden Hearts #6)

DANTE

If anticipation were a physical substance, I could bottle tonight and retire on the resale.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the house hums at the exact frequency of my heart. Every spruce bough is strung with soft-white LEDs, the twenty-foot tree flashes warm amber through the bay window, and an honest-to-Santa snowfall drifts past the glass like stage confetti.

In short, it’s perfect.

I’m pacing the corridor outside the winter salon, rehearsing surprise logistics in my head for the hundredth time. I’ll bring Tabitha in for her surprise. The guys will help bring it in, and boom. One happy Tabitha, a present to us all.

Nico emerges from the study, brow furrowed. “Dante, stop pacing. You’ll wear tracks into the antique runner.”

“Can’t. Too excited.”

He half smiles. Even Nico—the human ledger—looks buoyant, and he knows nothing of step two of my plan. The for-real gift exchange I’ve hidden in the library’s secret bar.

A chime from my phone signals the security SUV passing the last gate. Showtime.

Tabitha stands by the salon hearth in cranberry pajamas, making her hair burn like live embers. When I enter, she’s rummaging under the giant tree for Sal’s gift. Her grin twists playfully. “Trying to snoop?”

“Negative. The next gift requires you center stage.” I pull her gently to the middle of the room. Nico switches music from orchestral carols to soft acoustic guitar. Sal, on cue, excuses himself to “check on the delivery guys.”

My pulse jackhammers, but adrenaline is my mother tongue. This shouldn’t be choking me up, but it is. I guide Tabitha’s shoulders so she faces the doorway instead of me.

“What’s this about?” she asks, half laughing.

From the hallway, a tiny voice echoes, “Is it safe to come in?”

Tabitha stiffens. Recognition detonates a millisecond before Erin wheels herself through the double doors, purple blanket over her knees.

Grandma Judy follows, cheeks bright with cold, hand to her chest. Behind them, Sal lingers—he must have hustled around through the side entrance—face flushed from cold.

Tabitha gasps, tears springing immediately. She darts forward, drops to her knees at the wheelchair. Erin squeals, and they hug, blanket and hair tangling, IV bruises and cinnamon curls all mashed together.

“Are you okay?” Tabitha blurts, eyes scanning the hospital wristband and post-op brace under the blanket. “What’s going on? Is this safe?”

“Doc said I’m the best patient ever, and I deserved a break from the hospital.” Erin sticks out her tongue. “Plus, my favorite nurse says chocolate counts as a painkiller.”

Tabitha glances up at Grandma Judy. “Is this safe? Her immune system?—”

“They swore it’s fine, Tabi. She’s going great.” Over Tabitha’s shoulder, Grandma Judy’s eyes meet mine. She mouths, Thank you.

Suddenly, I’m the one blinking back tears.

Tabitha breaks the hug, turns toward me. Two strides and she’s in my arms, mouth on mine. She kisses me full and unashamed, peppermint and happy sobs. For one dizzy second, the room disappears.

A throat clears. We break apart to find Grandma Judy masking shock with a polite smile. Erin giggles. “Get a roo-oom.”

We shepherd everyone to the semicircle of couches.

Nico presents a tray of zero-proof eggnog for Erin and Irish coffees for the adults.

Sal cues the playlist to something lively.

In ten seconds, we’re into a chaotic family Christmas.

Ribbon trails, torn foil, paper snowball fights instigated by me, and a chorus of oohs and aahs as presents are shredded into.

Grandma Judy offers her gifts last. Crocheted scarves for all of us, a copy of The Little Prince for Sal (“He looks like someone who forgot to have a childhood,” she explains), a sterling bookmark for Nico, and—because I apparently radiate “perpetual motion”—handmade thermal socks with tiny wings crocheted at the top.

Nico’s throat works, but his voice doesn’t.

Sal passes fingers reverently over the book’s spine, nodding a gracious gratitude.

I slip the socks on immediately. “Toasty and perfect for when I’m on the go. ”

That earns Erin’s giggles, which gets me a smile from Tabitha. Wins across the board.

Grandma Judy stands, smoothing her cardigan.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect from this arrangement,” she begins, glancing meaningfully at me, then at Tabitha.

“But seeing my girls happy, healthy, and hopeful is more than I ever prayed for.” She steps forward and hugs me with grandma strength, almost cracking my spine. “Thank you, Dante.”

It floors me. Strangers usually thank me for checks, adrenaline stunts, or designer freebies. Not for this. “It was nothing?—”

“Don’t you ever lie to me again.” Her voice is sharp enough to etch the words into me.

When she releases me, I’m too stunned to muster a joke. Tabitha notices, squeezes my hand. Feeling that gentle pressure, I make a silent vow. Whichever path my brothers and I take from here, I’m done fucking up. I want this. I want to feel like I matter to my family. Not like I’m a liability.

We disperse for dessert prep—Sal and Grandma Judy bond over secret chocolate-soufflé techniques, Nico and Erin debate whether math could predict gift quality. I escort Tabitha to the staircase landing to breathe.

She leans into me. “You did all this?”

“Coordinated with a few elves.” I shrug. “Sal handled the medical transport. Nico greased insurance. I merely bribed the head nurse with a lifetime of free shoes.”

Her smile grows glassy. “Best bribe ever.”

We’re prepping turndown service for our guests when my phone buzzes—unknown number, Argentinian country code. I excuse myself to the library, closing the oak door softly. “Moretti.”

“Dante, it’s Alana.” Ice water runs down my spine. Sal’s ex was last seen sobbing in our foyer. But even a snake has its uses. “It’s done,” she says. “The video, the server copy, the backups. All destroyed.”

Every muscle unknots an inch. I put in the request after she and Tabitha had their fight at the doorway. Figured if she wanted to make amends, she could start with protecting Tabitha.

“You’re certain it’s over?”

“Five-pass wipe, then physical destruction.” She sighs. “Cost me enough to buy a small island, but it’s over.”

Good. Relief washes over me, but caution follows. “Where’d the funds come from?”

“You don’t want to know.” Her voice cracks, and I can’t tell if it’s a joke or if I genuinely don’t want to know. “Sal doesn’t have to thank me. Just…I hope he’ll stop hating me.”

I lean against a bookshelf. “Protecting Tabitha goes a long way with me. But I can’t speak for Sal.”

“I really do want what’s best for him, Dante. Even if that means he’s with someone else. Sal is a good man.”

I’m not sure if I believe her or if she did this as a part of her scheming.

Regardless, I’ll take it. I’m too practical to poke at her, and she’s too good of a hacker to upset further.

“If you want what’s best for him, stay clear of the family.

I’ll give Sal your email address if he ever wants to reach out. ”

Silence—then, “I’ll take that. Thanks, Dante.”

We hang up. I add the contact to a locked note, label it “Danger upon request.” A strange melancholy settles. Endings rarely come neatly, but this feels as close to closure as broken hearts allow.

I remember when Sal told us about Alana’s cheating. Nico was livid. I wanted revenge. Not that I was sure how to get it. But using her to help Tabitha will have to be enough. The irony has to be eating at her fragile ego.

Good.

I pocket the phone and push the library door open. Laughter hits like warm syrup—Erin shrieking as Nico attempts to juggle clementines, Sal scolding him about sticky floors, Grandma Judy humming “O Holy Night,” Tabitha turning mid-step, eyes finding mine.

I step into the room, flick an orange from Nico’s flailing hands, and nail a perfect high arc to Grandma Judy, who catches it with one hand. Erin whoops. Tabitha’s laughter is my favorite melody in the world.

Everything—the chaos, the family, the hot chocolate scent, the future—feels possible. I tuck the secret of Alana’s final act away. Maybe one day I’ll pull it out when Sal’s ready. For tonight, the only story that matters is the one unfolding here and now.

I drop onto the couch beside Tabitha, tug her into my arms as Nico’s third orange thuds onto Sal’s new book. His subsequent scowl at Nico sends Grandma Judy laughing.

And somewhere beneath my breastbone, new promises settle, pulsing like the bass line of a favorite Christmas song. Collect no more reckless headlines, become the man these people believe I can be, and never, ever let this kind of Christmas be a one-time miracle.