Page 49 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

The walk feels longer than it should and it's not because of distance. It's the silence.

He doesn’t speak or explain. He just leads.

Through the main space, past staff who barely look up, through a corridor I didn’t notice earlier, entering the kind of space that doesn’t belong to guests.

My heels sound louder here, each step too clear.

“Who exactly is the boss?” I ask after a moment, glancing at him.

“You’ll see,” he replies simply.

“I will see what?” I don’t like that answer. Not even a little.

He doesn’t respond.

And something in me flips.

“Excuse me…” I try again, my steps quickening slightly to keep up with him. “I have another client I need to get back to. This shouldn’t take long, right?”

No answer.

My grip fastens around my bag, a flicker of irritation rising to my throat as something else starts to creep in.

“Is this about the wedding?” I press, trying to pull logic into it, something that makes sense. “If there’s an issue, you could’ve just said that. I don’t need to be…”

Still nothing but the continuous sound of our footsteps.

Now my mind starts moving faster than I want it to. Because this doesn’t feel like work anymore.

This feels… Wrong.

My pulse kicks as unease seeps downward to my stomach, spreading outward, coiling everything in its path.

I swallow.

“Look,” I continue, my voice shifting now. “I really don’t have time for… whatever this is. I need to get back to…”

Blue.

“I have somewhere I need to be,” I add quickly, the words coming faster now. “So if this is going to take long, I’d rather…”

He stops so abruptly that I almost walk into him.

I catch myself just in time, my breath hitching slightly as I step back, the corridor suddenly feeling narrower than it did before.

He turns. And for the first time since this started, I actually see his face clearly.

Deep brown skin, even-toned, almost matte under the hallway light. His hair is cut close to the scalp, his face is angular with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a firm mouth that doesn’t give much away.

His dark brown eyes, almost black at a glance, hold just long enough to register you, then pull back like they’ve already taken what they need.

And my chest drops as fear of the unknown takes over.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t accidental. And I don’t like where that thought leads.

“I don’t like this,” I clip, more to myself than to him, but it comes out anyway.

Because suddenly, I’m not thinking about the meeting anymore. Or Celine. Or even Daniel.