Page 3 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“Yeah.” He nods automatically. “Yeah, yeah. In a bit.”

Another hand. Another bet.

I wait, but nothing.

“Daniel.” There’s something brittle in it this time, something I don’t bother smoothing over.

He exhales, finally turning to me properly, irritation flickering across his face like I’ve interrupted something important.

“What?” He bites out.

He looks exactly the way he always does. Average build, nothing about him demanding a second glance unless you’re already close enough to care.

Dark brown hair that falls just right without trying, green eyes that catch light in a way that almost feels intentional.

On paper, he’s attractive.

In person, he’s… lacking.

“I just…” I falter, hating that I do. “We haven’t really spent time together since we got here.”

“Christine.” His gaze drifts past me, already slipping. “We are spending time together. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Are we?” My fingers curl slightly against his sleeve.

He huffs a stiff laugh, shaking his head like I’m being unreasonable.

There’s a charm to him, yes, but it sits on the surface, like something he learned rather than something he owns.

And that’s the problem.

There’s no presence to him. No gravity pulling you in, holding you there. Just the outline of someone who should feel like more.

“Christine, relax.” He winks at me. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do.”

People.

Not us.

Not we.

“I didn’t come here to watch you gamble,” I poke, softer now, because pushing him never works. It just makes him retreat further, like I’m the problem pressing in on him.

“You don’t have to.” He reaches for his chips, barely glancing at me. “Go do something else for a bit. Get a drink. Shop. I’ll meet you later.”

Later.

The word feels empty. Undefined. Convenient.

I stand there for another second, waiting for him to look at me again, to soften, to say something that feels like he means it.

He doesn’t.

The dealer calls his move, and just like that, I’m invisible again.

I step back, my hand falling away from his arm, and he doesn’t seem to notice the absence.

I turn before I can say something I won’t be able to take back, weaving through the crowd again, the noise swallowing me whole.