Page 12 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)
COOPER
T he reports are spread across my desk, their contents blurring together as I scan the words for the hundredth time.
Names, dates, locations—it’s all here, every scrap of intel my men have gathered about the attack.
But none of it feels like enough. Somewhere in this mess is the name of the traitor who’s been feeding information to Rossi, and if I don’t find it soon, Zoey won’t be safe.
I clench my fists, the edge of the desk biting into my palms. It’s not just about the betrayal—it’s about the fact that I brought this danger into her life.
Again. She’s here because of me, under my roof, surrounded by the chaos I swore to protect her from.
And the worst part? Even with all the security measures, even with my men guarding every inch of this estate, I can’t shake the fear that it won’t be enough.
The knock at the door comes softly, hesitant. I don’t look up. “What is it?”
“It’s me.” Zoey’s voice cuts through the tension in the room, sharp and clear.
I take a breath before answering. “Come in.”
She steps inside, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze flicking between me and the mess of papers on my desk. She looks tired, but there’s an edge to her expression—a determination that wasn’t there before.
“You’re working hard,” she says, her tone flat.
“Always,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. “What do you need?”
Her eyes narrow. “Answers.”
I knew this was coming. I set my jaw, steeling myself for the conversation I’ve been dreading since the moment I let her back into my life. “I’ve already told you everything you need to know.”
“That’s not true, and you know it,” she snaps. “You keep saying you sent me away to protect me, but that’s not the whole story, is it?”
I hesitate, the weight of the truth pressing down on me. “Zoey?—”
“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice trembling with anger. “Don’t lie to me again. I deserve the truth, Cooper. All of it.”
I stand, pacing to the window. The late afternoon sunlight casts long shadows across the room, but the warmth doesn’t reach me. “You want the truth? Fine. Here it is.”
I turn back to her, my voice cold and steady. “When you left, I didn’t stop them from coming after me. I thought if I gave them what they wanted—if I let them take me—it would end there. That they wouldn’t come for you.”
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.”