Page 107 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter Eighteen

Robert

I plop on the sofa facing the window, one arm draped along the back, the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey, as I turn over my thoughts.

Staying away from them was the right decision.

I nod to myself, my restless hand gripping the glass of whiskey tighter, the condensation along the rims trailing down my fingers. I wipe it absently against my thigh, before taking a sip.

I taste the salt clinging to the edge, pungent against my tongue, rooting me in a way nothing else could for now.

Outside my bedroom, the city breathes. Lights blink in and out, with cars moving like currents below.

I made the right decision.

I run it through again, turn it over, and examine it from every angle that matters.

This way, my world doesn’t touch theirs. It doesn’t bleed into it. It doesn’t leave traces that can be followed, exploited, or destroyed.

That’s how this works.

That’s how it has to work.

I take another sip. The burn turns acidic. Or maybe I’m just clinging to it, trying to pull my focus away from Christine’s face replaying in my head.

She looked calm when I said it.

Cold, even.

Cold enough to drop the room temperature. Cold enough to leave my ribs aching all the way out of her apartment.

It’s that iciness I’m trying to melt away with whiskey.

I swallow it down, almost choking on it as Blue’s laughter follows. Then the punch of how she folded into me.

“Fuck.” I bite down, my shirt suddenly too tight against my skin.

That’s exactly why I have to stay away. Because that feeling…that ease… It is a liability. It makes you forget. It makes you think you can have both.

But I know better. I learned that lesson once and I don’t need to learn it again.

I don’t know how long I’ve been circling the same thoughts, but the city starts to blur slightly at the edges, my eyes losing focus.

It was the right decision.

It was the only decision.

I exhale deeply, leaning back further into the sofa, the leather cool against my neck, the glass still in my hand, my fingers loosening just enough for it to tilt slightly before I correct it.

At some point, I stop thinking. Or maybe the thoughts just blur into something darker.

My eyes close.

And just like that, I’m not here anymore.

The smell of smoke hits first.

I’m already moving before I fully register it, my body snapping into motion, my feet hitting the pavement, hard enough to jar something loose in my chest.