Page 5 of The Mafia's Second Shot

I don’t trust him. I can’t. But right now, I don’t have a choice.

I set the note down and reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over his number. Memories flood my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Cooper smiling at me across the table on our first date. Cooper pulling me into his arms after a long day. Cooper walking away without explaining why he’d chosen his dark, dangerous world over me.

My throat tightens. I drop the phone and bury my face in my hands. I’m not ready. Not yet.

The envelope sits on the coffee table, mocking me with its silent, unanswered questions.

Whoever sent this knows more than I do. And if they’re telling me to ask Cooper, it means one thing: I’m in deeper than I thought.

4

COOPER

The elevator groans as it climbs the old building, the metal cage rattling like it might give out at any moment. It’s been years since I’ve set foot in Zoey’s world, and everything about it feels foreign. Too quiet. Too exposed. It’s the kind of place that makes a man like me twitchy, my instincts screaming to look over my shoulder every few seconds. But I’ve got bigger concerns right now than the shoddy state of her apartment building.

The envelope in her apartment changes everything.

I don’t know who left it, but I have a good idea. Rosetti’s men are too brazen to make direct threats without showing their hand. This? This was different—measured, calculated. Whoever sent that note wanted to rattle her. And it worked.

When I reach her floor, I take a second to breathe, grounding myself. Zoey’s no fool. She’s going to see me showing up like this for what it is: a power move. She’ll hate it, and she’ll hate me for it. But I’d rather deal with her anger than the alternative. I won’t let her face this alone, not when she doesn’t know what she’s up against.

I knock twice. Firm, but not loud enough to make her neighbors curious. There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to tell me she’s considering not answering. Then, the lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Zoey stands there in the dim light, her expression a mix of anger and something softer—fear, maybe. She’s in sweatpants and a tank top, her hair piled messily on top of her head. She looks different from the woman I saw in the alley last night, but the effect is the same: she takes my breath away.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

I lift the envelope in my hand, the one I took from her coffee table after my informant tipped me off. “We need to talk.”

Her eyes dart to the envelope, then back to me. “How the hell did you get that?”

“I have my ways,” I reply evenly. “Can I come in?”

“No,” she snaps, stepping forward to block the doorway. “We’re not doing this, Cooper. You don’t get to show up and?—”

“You’re in danger, Zoey.” My voice is calm, but the weight of my words stops her mid-sentence. I lower my tone, leaning slightly closer. “Let me in, and I’ll explain everything.”

She glares at me for a moment, her jaw tightening. I can see the wheels turning in her head, her pride warring with the fear she doesn’t want me to see. Finally, she exhales sharply and steps aside.

“Fine,” she says, her voice cold. “But make it quick.”

Her apartment issmall but cozy, decorated in a way that feels soherit twists something deep in my chest. The walls are covered in framed prints and paintings, and the air smells faintly of lavender. It’s a stark contrast to the world I live in—sterile, sharp-edged, designed for survival, not comfort.

“Start talking,” she says, crossing the room and standing by the window, arms still folded. Her stance is defensive, her eyes sharp.

I hold up the envelope. “This was left in your apartment. Do you know who sent it?”

She scoffs. “Of course not. But I assume you do, since you’re here.”

I ignore the jab. “The message was clear. Whoever sent this thinks you know something about me. Something they want.”

Zoey frowns, her brows knitting together. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t know anything about you, Cooper. Not anymore.”

Her words sting, but I don’t let it show. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Rosetti’s people believe you’re a loose end. They think they can use you to get to me.”

She shakes her head, her laugh bitter. “Of course. Of course, this is aboutyou. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Even now.”

“Zoey—”

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