Page 9 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter Two

Robert

My head just got fucked.

Bloody hell.

And now, I can’t stop thinking about her.

My mind goes further than that, slower, darker. Fixating on the way she held herself together, like she didn’t realize how close she was to losing that control.

And I want… I exhale snappily, my jaw ticking.

I want to sink my teeth into her skin, enough to feel her react. Want to drag my tongue over the same spot after, taste the warmth of her, the salt of her skin, the shift in her breath when she realizes exactly what I’m doing.

I exhale slowly but it doesn't help. Because it’s not just the thought, it’s the certainty of it.

I take the staircase instead of the elevator.

Always have.

The first step shifts the air, which is cooler and denser. The buzz of the casino above dulls with each level, like it’s being swallowed whole. By the time I reach the midpoint, the laughter is gone. The music reduced to a faint, distant pulse.

By the time I reach the bottom, there's nothing.

The walls narrow slightly here, a purposeful design. Dark stone without ornament. It’s not meant to impress. It’s meant to contain. To remind anyone who walks this path that they’ve stepped out of spectacle and into something else.

My steps echo once, then disappear into the thick carpet as I move down the corridor toward my private chamber.

Security nods as I pass. Doors unlock before I reach them.

Christine’s face returns without permission. Not the obvious parts or the way she looked in that dress, though that alone would have been enough to hold attention.

It’s the way she reacted.

The flicker in her eyes when she realized I was looking at her. That brief, unguarded second before she pulled herself back together. The restraint. The refusal to give anything away while her body betrayed her anyway.

Petite, but not fragile. There’s weight to her where it matters. Curves that don’t ask for attention but take it anyway, held tight under that red dress like they’re being contained rather than shown.

And her hair is dark enough to feel like it would stain my hands if I touched it, falling around her shoulders like a shadow, framing a face that doesn’t belong in a place like that.

Too… haunting with those eyes.

Silver, catching the light in a way that makes them look almost unreal, like they’re holding something just beneath the surface.

And the freckles… Fuck.

Soft across her cheeks, like something careless was allowed in the middle of all that control. The only part of her that doesn’t feel calculated.

It shouldn’t matter.

It does.

One of my men pushes the door open. I step inside and he shuts it behind me.

Still, she follows.

My private chamber doesn’t resemble anything above ground.