Page 123 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I’ve had days.

Days of sitting with a decision that felt right when I said it and wrong the second I walked away.

Days of telling myself distance was better. That staying away meant safety.

That it was enough.

It’s not.

Not like this. Not without trying.

I push the door open and step out, everything’s already moving faster than it was a second ago.

Behind me, I hear Enzo curse under his breath. Then footsteps.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he calls after me.

I don’t look back.

Because I already am.

I pullup in front of her office, just in time for the office door to open.

Christine steps out.

For a second, everything halts, except her.

She pushes the door closed behind her, her bag slung over her shoulder, her face set in a frown.

She sees me.

I know she does because there’s a flicker.

She mutters something under her breath, then turns and walks straight to the van.

She opens the door and gets in. The engine revs slightly, and she drives off.

Just like that.

“Fuck.” The word leaves my mouth as I throw the car into gear, tires biting against the asphalt as I pull out after her.

She doesn’t slow down.

We hit the main road fast, the city thinning the further we go, buildings giving way to quieter streets, fewer cars, and longer gaps.

She pushes it.

So do I.

The distance between us expands.

Then shrinks.

Then expands again.

She takes a quick turn. And I follow. She takes another, and I’m right beside her now.

Close enough to see the tension in the way she grips the wheel, the slight sway of the van when she pushes the speed higher than it should go.