OBSESSED with my Mafia Stepfather

Chapter Three: The Way He Watches

I didn’t plan to leave the house.

But staying inside felt like suffocating.

By late afternoon, the rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and damp. I pulled on a jacket and slipped outside, the gates opening after a brief exchange with one of Jimmy’s men. He nodded at me like I was fragile glass.

I hated that.

The café down the street was small and warm, filled with soft music and the smell of coffee. Normal. Safe. I ordered a drink and sat by the window, watching people pass—laughing, talking, living lives untouched by secrets and guns.

“Hey,” a voice said.

I looked up to see Evan, a guy I vaguely knew from before my mother’s marriage. He smiled easily, the kind of smile that didn’t weigh anything down.

“Sofia, right? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” I said, surprised. “Hi.”

We talked. About nothing important. About school, about the city, about how long it had been. I laughed—actually laughed—for the first time in weeks.

I didn’t notice the black car pull up outside.

I noticed the silence first.

The way Evan’s smile faltered as his gaze drifted past me. The way the air seemed to tense.

I turned.

Jimmy stood across the street.

He wasn’t supposed to be back yet.

He leaned against the car, phone in hand, eyes fixed on me through the café window. His expression was calm—too calm. But his jaw was tight, his posture rigid.

Watching.

My stomach dropped.

I excused myself quickly and stepped outside. The cool air hit my face as I crossed the street toward him.

“You followed me?” I asked quietly.

“I protect what’s mine,” he replied.

The words landed heavier than they should have.

“I’m not a thing,” I said.

His gaze flicked past me to the café window—back to Evan—then returned to my face. “Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because he doesn’t know what kind of danger circles you.”

“And you do?” I challenged.

His eyes darkened. “I am the danger.”

A shiver ran through me.

“I was just having coffee,” I said. “Talking.”

“Talking turns into attachment,” he said sharply. “Attachment gets people hurt.”

I crossed my arms. “Or maybe you just don’t like seeing me with someone else.”

Silence.

It was answer enough.

Jimmy exhaled slowly, like he was trying to rein himself in. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me and knew he couldn’t. “Get in the car.”

“Jimmy—”

“Please,” he said, the word rough and reluctant.

That scared me more than anger.

The ride home was quiet. Heavy. I could feel his eyes on me when he thought I wasn’t looking. When we reached the mansion, he stopped the car but didn’t turn off the engine.

“You can’t live like this,” he said suddenly. “Letting people close.”

“You mean letting you close?” I asked.

He turned to me then, eyes intense. “I’m already closer than I should be.”

My breath caught.

“Then step back,” I whispered.

He looked away. “I don’t know how.”

That night, I lay in bed, heart pounding, replaying every look, every word. The way his jealousy had slipped out without permission. The way his control felt personal now—focused.

Across the hall, I heard his door open. Then close.

I knew he was awake.

I knew he was thinking about me.

And the most terrifying part?

So was I.