Page 1 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter One

Christine

This trip is Daniel’s latest apology.

I draw in a slow breath, letting it circle in my chest as my eyes drift across the casino floor.

Las Vegas lives up to the hype. Lights blinking, machines singing, and people chasing luck like it’s something they can trap and keep.

Three months ago, I caught him cheating with a supermodel, because of course it had to be someone like that. I broke up with him that same night.

And yet, here I am.

Since then, it’s been a parade of offerings. Designer bags I didn’t ask for. A new diamond promise ring that glitters like it means something. Now this trip, extravagant enough to feel like a statement.

Or maybe a distraction.

I wrap my arms around myself, fingers pressing lightly into my sides as if I can hold something in place.

When I finally leave him…and I will, I won’t be walking away empty-handed.

So maybe this isn’t love anymore. Maybe it’s something colder.

An investment or a pension plan dressed up in romance.

Still… I exhale, my gaze lingering on nothing in particular, the noise of the casino rising and falling around me like a tide I can’t step out of.

It wasn’t always like this.

Once, it felt like love at first sight.

Three days in Las Vegas, Daniel had said, like it was a gift. Like it would fix us. Like I was the one who needed fixing.

I pass a couple laughing too loudly at a slot machine, her hand gripping his arm like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go. I look away before I can linger too long on it. Before I can measure the distance between that and what I have.

What I’m pretending I could still have.

I tell myself I’m ready to leave if he keeps going like this. I say it like a decision already made, something waiting patiently for the right moment to unfold.

But there’s a part of me, stubborn and soft in the worst places, that still hopes he’ll change.

Because I didn’t fall for his money.

I fell for the man he was before all of this started to rot.

Back when he was just a regular at the bar where I worked. Sitting at the counter, talking to me like I was the only interesting thing in the room.

It started small. Conversations that dragged on longer than my shifts. The way he’d wait until I was done, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.

Then he began walking me home. And not in that performative way men do when they want credit for basic decency.

And the flowers.

God, the flowers.

They weren’t expensive or dramatic. They were thoughtful.

He was sweet.