Page 15 of The Mafia's Second Shot

Sold me out.

By the timethe dust settles, the estate is eerily quiet. The attackers are either dead or captured, and my men are sweeping the grounds for any remaining threats. I find Zoey in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks up when I enter, her eyes searching mine for answers.

“Is it over?” she asks softly.

“For now,” I reply, crossing the room to stand in front of her. “But this isn’t the end.”

Her expression hardens. “I can’t stay here, Cooper. I won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice,” I say firmly. “Not until I know who’s behind this.”

“And then what?” she demands. “You lock me up somewhere else?”

“No.” I kneel in front of her, my voice softening. “Then I make sure no one ever comes after you again. Even if it means burning every bridge, taking down every threat.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t respond. I reach for her hand, my touch gentle.

“You’re not leaving, Zoey,” I say quietly. “Not until I know you’re safe. And if I have to force you to stay, I will.”

The silence between us stretches, heavy and charged. She doesn’t pull her hand away, but she doesn’t grip mine, either. And in her eyes, I see the same war I’ve been fighting withinmyself—a battle between fear, anger, and something that feels dangerously close to hope.

11

ZOEY

The early morning light filters through the heavy curtains in my room, casting soft shadows across the walls. I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the window but seeing nothing. My thoughts are too tangled, too loud, replaying the events of the night before.

Gunfire. Cooper’s commands. His determination to keep me safe, no matter the cost.

And then his words, quiet but unyielding:“You’re not leaving, Zoey. Not until I know you’re safe. And if I have to force you to stay, I will.”

I should be furious. And I am. Furious at his arrogance, his need to control every situation, every choice I make. But beneath that anger is something else, something softer and harder to face. Because when he said those words, there was something raw in his voice, a desperation I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just about power or control—it was about me. About how much I still mean to him, even after all these years.

I rub my temples, trying to shake the thought. Cooper might still care, but that doesn’t erase the lies or the way he pushed me away when I needed him most. It doesn’t change the fact that his world is dangerous, and I never asked to be part of it.

Still, something keeps me rooted here, despite everything. Something I can’t quite name.

I spendthe morning wandering the estate, needing to clear my head. The grounds are quiet, the chaos of last night now a distant memory. The gardens are meticulously kept, with paths that wind through rows of blooming flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s too perfect, too pristine, like everything in Cooper’s life—a carefully constructed facade hiding something darker beneath.

Eventually, I find myself inside the main house again, my aimless steps carrying me to his office. The door is slightly ajar, and I hesitate for a moment before pushing it open.

The room is exactly what I expected: dark wood, leather chairs, and shelves lined with books that look like they’ve never been touched. A massive desk dominates the space, its surface cluttered with papers, a laptop, and—oddly enough—a small picture frame.

I step closer, my curiosity getting the better of me. The photo inside the frame is old, the edges slightly worn. And when I see it, my breath catches.

It’s a picture of us. From years ago, when things were simpler. We’re standing in the park near my old apartment, his arm slung casually over my shoulder, both of us laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. I remember that day. He’d stolenmy camera and insisted on taking pictures, snapping shots of everything and everyone until I finally turned it on him.

I pick up the frame, my fingers brushing against the glass. The memory is bittersweet now, a reminder of everything we lost. But it’s also a reminder of what we had—what we were—before his world came crashing down around us.

“Didn’t think you’d be in here.”

I whirl around, the frame still in my hands. Cooper is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes that catches me off guard.

“I wasn’t snooping,” I say quickly, setting the photo back on the desk.

“I didn’t say you were,” he replies, stepping into the room. “But you found it, didn’t you?”

I glance at the picture, then back at him. “Why do you still have this?”

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