Page 17 of The Mafia's Second Shot

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“They didn’t stop,” I continue, my tone darkening. “They wanted more. They wanted to send a message. So they took me, dragged me to one of their hideouts, and made sure I understood exactly how much they hated me.”

Zoey’s face pales. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying they tortured me,” I reply bluntly. “For hours. Days. I don’t even remember how long. All I know is that by the time I got out, I wasn’t the same man.”

She takes a step back, her hand covering her mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t need to know,” I say, my voice softening. “You’d already left. You were safe. And that’s all that mattered.”

Her hand drops to her side, and her expression shifts from shock to something closer to anger. “Safe? Do you honestly think I felt safe after what happened? After finding out who you really were?”

“You were supposed to,” I say, my chest tightening. “That was the whole point. I wanted you as far away from me as possible so you wouldn’t get dragged into this.”

“Well, congratulations,” she snaps. “Because now I’m right in the middle of it.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I lean against the edge of the desk, crossing my arms over my chest. “You think I don’t regret that? Every decision I made back then, every time I lied to you—it was all to keep you safe. And look where it got us.”

Her shoulders slump slightly, the fire in her eyes dimming. “You should have told me,” she says quietly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have left if I’d known the truth.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You would have left sooner. And you’d have been right to.”

Silence falls between us, heavy and suffocating. I watch as she processes my words, her gaze drifting to the floor. I can see the war in her eyes—the conflict between anger and empathy, between the woman who loved me and the one who walked away.

“Why now?” she asks finally. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because you’re here,” I say simply. “And because I can’t keep lying to you. Not anymore.”

She looks up at me, her expression unreadable. “If you want me to stay—if you want me to even consider forgiving you—you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” I say without hesitation.

“No more secrets,” she says, her voice firm. “No more lies. If I’m going to be a part of this, I need the full truth.”

I nod, the weight of her demand settling over me. “You’ll get it. Every last piece.”

She studies me for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Because I’m not going to let you push me away again.”

The words surprise me, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I straighten, meeting her gaze with a determination that matches her own. “You have my word, Zoey. No more secrets.”

13

ZOEY

The house feels different now. Not safer—never safer—but less like a gilded cage and more like a labyrinth of truths waiting to be uncovered. For the first time, Cooper has promised me honesty, no more half-truths or evasions, and I plan to hold him to it. If I’m staying here, if I’m letting him pull me back into this world, I need to understand it. I need to understand him.

It starts with questions,tentative at first, but Cooper doesn’t shy away from them. I ask about the men who work for him—the ones who stand silently at every door, the ones who fought to protect this estate during the attack. He explains that most of them have been with him for years, some since before he took over the operation.

“They’re loyal,” he says one evening as we sit in the sprawling living room. “Not just to me, but to each other. It’s not just about business—it’s about survival.”

“Survival,” I echo, leaning back against the couch. “That’s what this is to you? Just surviving?”

His eyes flick to mine, and for a moment, I see something raw and unguarded in his expression. “It’s what it has to be.”

I don’t press him further, but the words linger with me long after the conversation ends.It’s what it has to be.

As the days pass,I start to notice the cracks in Cooper’s facade—the moments when the ruthless boss gives way to the man I used to know. He’s still meticulous, always calculating, but there’s a weight to him that wasn’t there before. The way his shoulders tense whenever he thinks I’m not looking, the way he scans the room like he’s expecting an attack—it’s like he’s carrying the world on his back, and it’s crushing him slowly.

---