Page 16 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)

COOPER

T he dining room is quieter than usual. No staff flitting about, no muffled voices from the hall.

Just me, Zoey, and the soft clinking of silverware on plates.

I’ve dismissed everyone tonight, wanting to keep this moment simple.

Private. For once, there’s no tension in the air—at least, not the kind that makes my muscles coil and my pulse spike.

Zoey sits across from me, her posture relaxed but her eyes guarded. It’s become a familiar look, one I’ve come to expect since she’s been here. But tonight, there’s something different. A crack in her armor, small but noticeable.

“You’re quiet,” I say, cutting into the steak on my plate.

She shrugs, swirling her wine in its glass. “Just... thinking.”

“About?”

She looks up at me, her lips pressing into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How strange this all feels. Us. Sitting here, having dinner like... like we’re normal.”

I set my fork down, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe we are normal. For tonight.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You know that’s not true. Nothing about you or this life is normal, Cooper.”

“Maybe not,” I concede. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

She doesn’t reply right away, her gaze drifting to the flickering candle between us. The light catches on her features, softening the sharp edges of her expression. For a moment, I’m lost in her—how she’s always managed to look both fierce and vulnerable, even now.

The conversation shifts as the meal goes on. I steer us away from heavy topics, letting the weight of the past few days fall to the background. Instead, we talk about the things we used to—movies we loved, places we wanted to visit, memories that still bring a smile to her face.

“Do you remember that night on the pier?” she asks suddenly, her tone lighter than it’s been in weeks. “The one where we got caught in the rain?”

I chuckle, leaning forward. “You mean the night you insisted we could outrun the storm?”

She laughs, a soft, genuine sound that stirs something deep in my chest. “We almost did.”

“Almost,” I tease. “Except you slipped and dragged us both into the water.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like we’re back there—two people who had no idea how complicated life was about to become.

“I hated you for laughing at me,” she says, though her tone is playful. “You didn’t even try to help me out.”

“I did,” I protest. “Eventually.”

She shakes her head, but her eyes are brighter now, her guard lowered just enough for me to glimpse the woman I fell in love with. The one I’ve spent years trying to protect, even when I went about it the wrong way.

As the plates are 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 the hours 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.