Page 60 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

It’s not an apology, but it's something close to it.

She exhales, like she’s deciding whether to ignore me or not, her back still turned, shoulders taut with everything she hasn’t said.

For a second, I think she’ll walk out anyway.

But then she turns.

Her expression isn’t soft. It doesn’t give anything away easily. But the edge has melted, not gone, just… dulled enough to let something else through.

I know something isn't right.

It's not loud enough to call out or to confront. But it's there, sitting under the surface like a grain that's out of place.

Because I know Atelia.

I know the way she works when something matters. The way she locks in, strips things down, follows threads other people don’t even notice exist.

It’s why I gave it to her.

Out of everything that needed handling back then, out of everything competing for my attention, I put that in her hands.

Finding Christine.

And if there’s one thing Atelia doesn’t do, it's fail at a task.

Unless, I tilt my head slightly as the thought takes root into something clearer.

I also know what she does when I’m distracted. I’ve seen it before.

The way she notices before anyone else does. The way she moves to cut it out, not violently, not obviously, but effectively. Removing what doesn’t serve, what doesn’t align, what has the potential to pull me off course.

She's protective. Calculated. Like a hawk that doesn’t just watch the sky, but controls what flies through it.

It’s why she’s still here.

It's why she’s always been close.

The one person who knows how my mind works and doesn’t flinch at it.

So if she saw Christine as a distraction.

Then it wouldn’t be about not finding her.

It would be about deciding not to.