Page 19 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“I love you…” He presses a tender kiss on my forehead. “I know I messed things up,” he continues, hushed now. “I know I’ve given you every reason not to believe anything I say, but I’m not giving up on us.”

My chest folds, my breath catching at the conviction in his eyes.

“I’m going to fix this,” he adds, like it’s a promise he’s already decided on. “Whatever it takes.”

His hand lingers a second longer, holding my face in place.

“Stay right here.” He lets go. “You will love this surprise.”

He steps back, smiling at me. I smile back, rolling my eyes at him.

He walks out.

I exhale slowly, then sit at the edge of the bed, letting my body finally drop some of the tension it’s been carrying all day.

My eyes catch on the gold trim around the mirror on my side, pinned neatly to the wall, and from there, it pulls me in, guiding my gaze like a trail I can’t ignore. It extends outward, catching on the edges of the lampstands, the thin lines running along the nightstand, the frame of the artwork across the room.

It glints from the base of the champagne bucket, curls around the handles of the drawers, and into the legs of the chairs like something threaded through the bones of the room.

My gaze drifts, slower now, and lands on the red.

It spills.

Across the cushions first, then sinks into the rug beneath my feet. It climbs the curtains in thick folds, deepening the room with every inch, then scatters itself carelessly across the floor in the form of throw pillows, tossed like petals after something already happened.

And then the white.

The base of the walls, holding the rest of it together without trying too hard. It carries into the bed, crisp white sheets smooth, untouched, almost too perfect, like they’ve been waiting. Like they know something is supposed to happen here.

I sit there for a second longer, taking it all in.

It's beautiful.

I reach for my gold clutch, unclasp it, and pull out my phone. I toss it onto the nightstand, the screen lighting up instantly to reveal Aisha and me, mid-bite, sharing the same slice of pizza like we always do when neither of us wants to admit we’re hungry enough to order our own.

Her mouth was already stealing more than her share, my hand trying to pull it back, both of us caught in that messy, stupid laughter.

I stare at the wallpaper longer than I mean to.

I miss her.

My best friend. My confidant. My sister, not by blood but by everything that matters.

My fingers hover over the screen.

I want to call her. Text her. Say something simple, something that doesn’t sound like I need her as much as I do right now.

But I didn’t tell her about this trip until I had already left. And she’s been mad at me since.

I pick up the phone, turn it over in my hand, my thumb hovering over her contact.

She told me not to come on this trip. And I didn’t just come anyway, I defended him. Explained him. Wrapped his behavior in softer words until it sounded like something forgivable.

I can already hear the silence she’d give me if I called now. The disappointment.

I drop the phone back onto the nightstand.

I can’t have her voice in my head right now, pulling apart something I’m still trying to piece back together.