Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Christine

This trip is Daniel’s latest apology.

I draw in a slow breath, letting it circle in my chest as my eyes drift across the casino floor.

Las Vegas lives up to the hype. Lights blinking, machines singing, and people chasing luck like it’s something they can trap and keep.

Three months ago, I caught him cheating with a supermodel, because of course it had to be someone like that. I broke up with him that same night.

And yet, here I am.

Since then, it’s been a parade of offerings. Designer bags I didn’t ask for. A new diamond promise ring that glitters like it means something. Now this trip, extravagant enough to feel like a statement.

Or maybe a distraction.

I wrap my arms around myself, fingers pressing lightly into my sides as if I can hold something in place.

When I finally leave him…and I will, I won’t be walking away empty-handed.

So maybe this isn’t love anymore. Maybe it’s something colder.

An investment or a pension plan dressed up in romance.

Still… I exhale, my gaze lingering on nothing in particular, the noise of the casino rising and falling around me like a tide I can’t step out of.

It wasn’t always like this.

Once, it felt like love at first sight.

Three days in Las Vegas, Daniel had said, like it was a gift. Like it would fix us. Like I was the one who needed fixing.

I pass a couple laughing too loudly at a slot machine, her hand gripping his arm like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go. I look away before I can linger too long on it. Before I can measure the distance between that and what I have.

What I’m pretending I could still have.

I tell myself I’m ready to leave if he keeps going like this. I say it like a decision already made, something waiting patiently for the right moment to unfold.

But there’s a part of me, stubborn and soft in the worst places, that still hopes he’ll change.

Because I didn’t fall for his money.

I fell for the man he was before all of this started to rot.

Back when he was just a regular at the bar where I worked. Sitting at the counter, talking to me like I was the only interesting thing in the room.

It started small. Conversations that dragged on longer than my shifts. The way he’d wait until I was done, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.

Then he began walking me home. And not in that performative way men do when they want credit for basic decency.

And the flowers.

God, the flowers.

They weren’t expensive or dramatic. They were thoughtful.

He was sweet.

He was safe.

Until he wasn’t.

And maybe this is where I should blame it on something clinical, something neat enough to make it feel less pathetic.

My anxious attachment, reaching, stretching, trying to pull him back into the version of himself I first met.

His avoidant tendencies, slipping further away the closer I get.

Like we’re locked in some tug-of-war neither of us knows how to stop.

But labels don’t change the outcome.

They don’t make him better.

I stop walking.

Across the room, I spot him.

Daniel is exactly where I left him hours ago, planted at a blackjack table like it’s grown roots around his shoes.

His sleeves are rolled up, his watch catching the light every time his wrist moves. There’s a stack of chips in front of him, smaller than it was earlier, I notice… And his focus is absolute. The kind of attention I haven’t felt from him in months.

Maybe longer.

I watch him for a moment, hoping stupidly that he’ll look up. That something in him will tug, like a thread pulling him back to me.

He doesn’t.

The dealer speaks. Cards slide. Chips clack.

Daniel leans forward, his green eyes honing, jaw clenching, like the outcome of this hand matters more than anything else in the room.

More than me.

I inhale, reshuffling my emotions, then cross the floor toward him.

“Daniel.”

He doesn’t hear me. Or maybe he does, and I’m just not loud enough to compete with the chaos he’s chosen.

“Hey.” I step closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Daniel.”

That gets him.

He glances at me quickly, distracted.

“Hey, baby.” He throws a small smile, already looking back at the table. “Give me a second.”

A second passes.

The dealer flips a card. Someone groans and another laughs.

Daniel barely blinks.

I keep my hand where it is, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he’s coiled around the game like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“I thought maybe we could go upstairs,” I start, keeping my voice soft, easy. “Or grab dinner somewhere that isn’t… this.”

“Yeah.” He nods automatically. “Yeah, yeah. In a bit.”

Another hand. Another bet.

I wait, but nothing.

“Daniel.” There’s something brittle in it this time, something I don’t bother smoothing over.

He exhales, finally turning to me properly, irritation flickering across his face like I’ve interrupted something important.

“What?” He bites out.

He looks exactly the way he always does. Average build, nothing about him demanding a second glance unless you’re already close enough to care.

Dark brown hair that falls just right without trying, green eyes that catch light in a way that almost feels intentional.

On paper, he’s attractive.

In person, he’s… lacking.

“I just…” I falter, hating that I do. “We haven’t really spent time together since we got here.”

“Christine.” His gaze drifts past me, already slipping. “We are spending time together. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Are we?” My fingers curl slightly against his sleeve.

He huffs a stiff laugh, shaking his head like I’m being unreasonable.

There’s a charm to him, yes, but it sits on the surface, like something he learned rather than something he owns.

And that’s the problem.

There’s no presence to him. No gravity pulling you in, holding you there. Just the outline of someone who should feel like more.

“Christine, relax.” He winks at me. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do.”

People.

Not us.

Not we.

“I didn’t come here to watch you gamble,” I poke, softer now, because pushing him never works. It just makes him retreat further, like I’m the problem pressing in on him.

“You don’t have to.” He reaches for his chips, barely glancing at me. “Go do something else for a bit. Get a drink. Shop. I’ll meet you later.”

Later.

The word feels empty. Undefined. Convenient.

I stand there for another second, waiting for him to look at me again, to soften, to say something that feels like he means it.

He doesn’t.

The dealer calls his move, and just like that, I’m invisible again.

I step back, my hand falling away from his arm, and he doesn’t seem to notice the absence.

I turn before I can say something I won’t be able to take back, weaving through the crowd again, the noise swallowing me whole.

The lights feel harsher now, less magical, more… glaring. Like they’re exposing something I’ve been trying not to look at too closely.

I exhale slowly, pushing past a group gathered around a roulette table, past a woman in a glittering dress who laughs like she’s a hyena.

The bar comes into view, dimmer than the rest of the casino, a place where the noise dulls just enough to think.

I slide onto a stool, smoothing my dress automatically, grounding myself in small, controlled movements.

The bartender approaches, moving like she’s done this a thousand times tonight alone.

There’s an ease to her, the kind that comes from knowing exactly how much attention to give and when to pull back.

Up close, she’s a contradiction.

Ink winds along her arms, disappearing beneath the sleeve of her black shirt like secrets she doesn’t bother explaining.

A small ring glints through her septum. Another catches the light at her brow. Studs trace one ear, climbing up the cartilage in a neat line.

Her expression stays neutral, but not cold. Just… contained. Professional in a way that keeps a clear line between herself and everyone else in the room.

“Drink?” She asks, her voice even, already reaching for the glass she knows she’ll need.

“Yes.” I nod, clearing my throat.

“What can I get you?”

I open my mouth to answer, then pause. To my right, a glass catches my attention.

It’s… simple, at first glance. Lowball, clear. But the liquid inside glows faintly amber under the light, a twist of citrus curled perfectly along the rim, ice cut so clean it looks sculpted rather than dropped in.

It doesn’t belong to the chaos of this place.

It looks intentional.

I glance up.

And the owner of the drink is already looking at me.

And not in the casual, passing way most men do here, their attention slipping the moment something brighter comes along.

His gaze is pinned. Unhurried. Like he noticed me long before I noticed him and decided to wait.

It’s… disarming.

There’s a quietness to him that doesn’t belong here, the kind that makes the room feel like it’s overcompensating. Lights flashing harder, laughter a little too loud, everything trying and failing to compete with the way he simply… exists.

Dark suit sits on him like it understands the assignment. And then there’s his hair. Silver, like winter chose a favorite and stayed. Swept back with every strand in place.

And his eyes are Hazel, but threaded with gold that catches just enough light to feel alive. Not warm or inviting.

They’re assessing.

Holding.

Keeping.

They don’t move off me like he’s already chosen what matters.

And unfortunately for me… It’s me.

I look back at the drink, then at him again, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself.

“That looks better than anything I was about to order.”

His gaze flickers briefly to the glass, then back to me.

“It is.” His voice…goodness.

It just is, and somehow that’s worse. Like it expects to be listened to.

The confidence in it should annoy me.

It doesn’t.

“What is it?” I ask. “Is it as good as it looks?”

He lifts the glass, turning it slightly, the ice shifting with a soft clink.

“Should I go for it?” I push, subtly.

“Depends on whether you are the type to trust a stranger’s recommendation?”

“Huh…” I tilt my head, considering him. “Do I look like the type to?”

A hint of amusement, maybe…touches his expression.

“No,” he answers simply.