Page 22 of The Mafia's Second Shot

As the platesare cleared away, I pour us another glass of wine. The candle burns lower, the room growing dimmer, more intimate. I watch her as she sips, her fingers delicate around the stem of the glass.

“You’re staring,” she says softly, setting the glass down.

“Maybe I am.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the air between us thickening with something unspoken. It’s been years since I’ve seen her like this—unguarded, almost at ease. And I’m struck by how much I’ve missed it.

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” I say suddenly, the words spilling out before I can second-guess them.

Her eyes widen, her breath catching. “Cooper...”

“I mean it,” I say, leaning forward, my elbows resting on the table. “Even when you left, even when I told myself it was for the best, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to.”

She looks down at her hands, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “I don’t know if I can trust that. Trust you.”

“I know,” I say, my voice softer now. “And I don’t blame you. But I’m not the man I was back then, Zoey. I’ve made mistakes—ones I’ll regret for the rest of my life—but loving you? That’s not one of them.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, and for the first time, I see the cracks in her armor widen. The fear in her eyes is matched only by the longing she doesn’t want to admit.

“I hated you for a long time,” she whispers. “For leaving me. For shutting me out.”

“I hated myself more,” I reply.

The words hang in the air, heavy with years of pain and regret. Slowly, she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing against mine. It’s tentative, hesitant, but the touch sends a spark through me all the same.

“Cooper...” she starts, her voice trembling.

But before she can finish, I stand and move to her side, pulling her to her feet. The chair scrapes against the floor, but I don’t care. My hands find her waist, her skin warm beneath the fabric of her dress. She looks up at me, her breath shallow, her lips parted.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” I murmur, leaning closer.

She doesn’t stop me. Instead, she closes the distance, her lips brushing against mine in a kiss that’s soft at first, then deepens as the walls between us finally fall away. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I let myself get lost in her—the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she fits perfectly in my arms.

We stumble to my room,our breaths mingling as we shed the barriers between us, piece by piece. Her hands are on my chest, mine on her hips, and for the first time in years, the weight I’ve been carrying feels lighter.

The night is a blur of passion and vulnerability, of whispered promises and unspoken truths. When we finally collapse onto the bed, her body curled against mine, I feel something I haven’t felt in years: peace.

But as thehours stretch into morning, I notice the shift. She pulls away, her back to me as she stares out the window. The vulnerability from earlier is gone, replaced by the walls she’s rebuilding brick by brick.

“Zoey,” I say softly, sitting up. “Talk to me.”

She doesn’t turn around. “This doesn’t change anything, Cooper.”

Her words cut deep, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I rise and move to her side, my hand resting gently on her shoulder.

“It doesn’t have to,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

She finally looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and fear. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” I reply, my voice steady. “But I’m not giving up on us. Not now. Not ever.”

Her gaze lingers on mine, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns back to the window, leaving me with the weight of her silence.

17

ZOEY

The morning light feels intrusive as it spills into the room, soft but unrelenting. I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the door like it might open at any moment. But Cooper hasn’t come in, and I haven’t gone looking for him.

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