Page 89 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“You’re reaching.” I take another sip.

“I’m here to clean up your scandal, Robert,” she replies calmly. “I observe.”

“You weren’t even there,” Enzo chimes in again.

“I didn’t need to be.” She shrugs flippantly, her gaze never leaving me. “Is she a problem?”

“Let it be, Lia.” I click my tongue, irritation skating up my throat.

“But she’s something,” she adds.

“Here.” I hand the cup to Enzo without looking at him. “Finish that.”

“Huh…” He takes it automatically, glancing between us like he’s trying to decide if he missed something important. “Thanks.”

“Tastes like piss.” I turn, already moving toward the stairs, already done with this.

“Where are you going?” Enzo calls after me.

“To get ready.”

“For what?” he adds.

“Everything ahead.” Cryptic, but it’s the fucking truth.

I leave them there.

When I stepinto the restaurant, the city has already dulled. The day noise thins into something softer, but the place doesn’t change with it.

The entrance slides open without sound, the faint scent of wood and something simmering drifting toward me, familiar, grounding in a way I don’t acknowledge out loud.

The staff straightens when they see me, bowing briskly.

“Sir.”

I nod in response, continuing on my way, past the main floor, past the low tables and soft partitions, and past the murmured conversations tucked neatly into their own spaces.

I’m led to one of the inner rooms.

The sliding door opens to tatami underfoot, a low table already set, and a single light casting a warm glow across the space.

I step in and the door closes behind me.

I sit.

Not long after, a cup is placed in front of me. Jasmine tea, with the steam curling upward in slow spirals.

I don’t touch it, my gaze resting on the door.

She’s late but it's not unexpected.

Christine doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to move when she’s told to. She decides. She calculates. She chooses her timing the same way I do.

I allow for that.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.