Page 6 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“Only when I mean it.” There’s no hesitation or performance. Just… certainty.

It pulls at something in me.

We fall into conversation after that, and it’s almost unsettling how natural it feels. Like slipping into something I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

He asks questions, but not in that probing, intrusive way, more like he’s mapping me out piece by piece, patiently and attentively.

And I answer.

I shouldn’t, maybe. There’s a voice in the back of my mind reminding me of why I’m here, who I’m here with, and what this is supposed to be.

But that voice is stifled now. Drowned out by the low cadence of his voice, the way his attention doesn’t waver, the way I don’t have to fight for it.

Time drags.

Or folds.

I’m not sure which.

At some point, I realize I’ve stopped checking the room for Daniel. Stopped wondering if he’ll come looking for me. Stopped caring.

Until a woman appears at his side.

I don’t see her approach. One moment it’s just us, and the next she’s there, leaning in close, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder as she murmurs something into his ear.

She’s beautiful. Striking in a way that feels like every detail has been chosen with purpose.

Her hair falls in dark chestnut waves, streaked with auburn that catches the light in flashes, like something smoldering just beneath the surface.

And her eyes are dark, enough to feel. They look like they already know more than they’re saying.

He doesn’t turn toward her fully, but his attention shifts subtly.

His expression doesn’t change much.

But something in the air does.

She straightens, her gaze flicking to me for the briefest second. There’s something in it I can’t quite place, assessment, maybe. Calculation.

Then she’s gone.

I blink, the moment breaking slightly.

“She’s intense. Friend of yours?”

He watches the direction she disappeared for a second longer before looking back at me.

“Something like that.”

That’s vague. Intentionally vague.

“She didn’t look like she was here for small talk.” I turn my glass slowly between my fingers.

“She wasn’t.”

That should feel like a warning, but it does.

“I’m calling it a night.” He sets his glass down, shifting slightly toward me.