Page 58 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

She walks past Atelia, past me without looking back, her steps quick.

The door slides open again before closing behind her with finality.

Atelia clears her throat, walking further in to place a folder on the desk before turning to face me, her expression composed but her eyes glinting with recognition.

“That was her,” she states, not a question. “Christine.”

“Yes.”

Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer, calculating, connecting pieces that were already there.

“The same Christine?” She chuckles. “You found her,” she continues.

“No,” I correct calmly. “She walked into my restaurant.”

“She did?

I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I move back to the table.

I pick up the decanter, my fingers closing around the glass neck, grounding in a way nothing else in this room is right now.

But my mind isn’t on the drink. It’s not on Atelia. It’s not even on the conversation we’re supposed to be having.

It’s on where Christine’s hand was. The way her fingers wrapped around the glass. The way she drank like she needed it. The way her breath broke after.

My thumb brushes the same spot on the decanter before I pour, the amber liquid catching the light as it slushes into the glass.

“Small world.” I exhale finally, bringing the glass to my lips.

“Yeah.” She nods, clearing her throat.

“You didn’t find her,” I add, my voice dropping just enough to tilt the air again.

She straightens slightly, a small adjustment that most people wouldn’t catch.

I do.

“I followed every lead available at the time,” she replies smoothly. “There was nothing concrete to track.”

I take a slow sip, letting the burn nurse my thoughts.

“Miami isn’t exactly hidden,” I counter, my tone even.

I know it's a good answer. The kind that would satisfy most people.

I’m not most people.

“Robert,” she exhales, like she’s choosing patience instead of offense. “With no last name, it’s almost impossible to find anyone.”

My gaze stays on her.

“You’re thorough, Atelia.”

It sounds like a compliment. It isn’t.

She tilts her head slightly, catching it for what it is.

“I do what needs to be done.”