Page 10 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I loosen my cufflinks slowly, my mind replaying the moment she lifted the glass to her lips.

The hesitation… curiosity. The way her throat moved when she swallowed.

Fuck.

These are small things. Irrelevant things. Things that shouldn’t stay. But they do.

I move to the bar, pulling a bottle of whiskey, and pouring two fingers into a glass. I add a pinch of salt and swirl to mix.

I take a sip, letting the burn drag down my throat, hoping it scrapes some of this off me.

It doesn’t.

My body doesn’t ease. If anything, it gets worse.

Every part of me is locked on her.

I set the glass down harder than necessary and move toward the window, watching the men below, the continuous movement of work continuing without interruption.

And all I can think about is dragging her here.

Right here.

Pinning her against this glass, forcing that same body that tried so hard to stay composed to give me something real.

Something unguarded. Something that sounds like it hurts to hold back.

My jaw clenches slightly.

I need to fucking focus.

I shrug off my jacket, draping it over the chair with practiced ease, but my thoughts don’t follow the same discipline.

A soft knock cuts through the silence.

Right on time.

“Come in.”

“Hey you,” Atelia drawls as she steps in, like she’s been expected long before I gave permission.

Her heels announce her first. Six inches of gold catching the low light with every step. They don’t click, they claim the floor. The black dress follows, fitted close to her slender frame, with no excess fabric.

Her hair falls sleek down her back, her posture straight, shoulders set like she’s walking into a space that already belongs to her.

There’s always something in the way she looks at me: familiar, assessing, and edged with a kind of possession she doesn’t bother hiding.

“Yeah.” I drag a hand across my face, grounding myself before I look at her fully.

“Busy night.” Her gaze lingers, noticing more than I’ve said.

She always does. It’s one of the reasons she’s still here.

“You seemed… cozy.” She moves toward the seating area. “You were distracted earlier.” She pokes.

“Was I?” I counter, handing her my glass.

“It’s unlike you to talk to anyone at a bar.” Her lips curve slightly as she takes it.