Page 46 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“From where?” Her brow lifts slightly.

“Operations.”

It’s vague enough to close the door without sounding dismissive.

She doesn’t like it. I can see it. But she adjusts. She always does.

“Fine.” She nods after a beat, smoothing a hand over the front of her blazer. “I’ll finalize Sullivan.”

“You will.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing else I should know?” She presses, softer this time, like she’s shifting tactics instead of retreating.

“No, Atelia.” I meet her gaze fully now.

She holds it for a second longer, searching for something I’m not giving her.

Then she nods.

“Alright.” She turns, walking toward the door, but pauses just before she reaches it. “You’ve never let anything pull you out of a room like that before.”

I don’t respond, because there’s nothing to say that serves me.

After a second, she leaves.

I don’t waste time.

I move to the desk this time, pick up the phone, and dial the security unit.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring her to me,” I speak into the intercom. “The woman who's currently sitting with Daniel and his fiancée.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line disconnects.

I set the phone down slowly, my fingers lingering on it for a fraction longer than necessary before I pull away.

And then… I wait.

A few minutes in and the waiting feels the same as water torture.

Every sound outside the door becomes distinct. Footsteps, voices lowered just enough to remain professional, and the distant rhythm of service beginning to build as the restaurant prepares for the afternoon rush.

Everything is moving exactly as it should.

Except me.

I move once more, slower this time, my gaze drifting briefly to the glass wall before returning to nothing in particular.

My hands rest at my sides now, no longer locked behind me, tension shifting from my shoulders to my spine.

A buzz from the door breaks through it.

I don’t answer, but the door opens anyway.

I drag in a deep breath, expecting to see her when I turn.