Page 24 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)

ZOEY

T he soft creak of the cabin’s old wood floors stirs me from sleep, but it’s the sound of steady chopping outside that fully pulls me awake.

I rub my eyes, stretching as the faint smell of pine and earth drifts through the open window.

It’s early—the light filtering through the curtains is pale and fresh, hinting at a cold morning.

Throwing on a sweater, I pad barefoot to the window. My breath catches when I see him.

Cooper is outside, shirtless, his body taut with effort as he swings an axe against a thick log.

The muscles in his back shift with every motion, his focus entirely on the task.

The sound of the axe biting into the wood is rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

The chill in the air doesn’t seem to bother him, his skin glistening faintly under the weak morning sun.

I don’t move for a long moment, my gaze locked on him.

There’s something raw about seeing him like this—strong, focused, and completely in his element.

It stirs something in me, a mix of longing and frustration.

I’ve spent so much time trying to keep my walls up around him, but here, in the quiet of the mountains, they’re starting to crumble.

By the time Cooper comes back inside, I’m curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book. He sets the axe by the door, brushing off his hands as he steps into the warmth of the cabin.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low and rough from the cold.

“Morning,” I reply, glancing up briefly. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

I watch as he moves to the kitchen, filling a glass of water and leaning against the counter. His hair is still damp with sweat, sticking up in a way that’s both messy and unfairly attractive. I try to focus on the book in my lap, but my attention keeps drifting back to him.

“You should put on a shirt,” I say, my tone teasing. “It’s freezing out there.”

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks flush. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, his grin widening.

The playful banter continues as Cooper settles into the living room, sitting on the arm of the couch. The energy between us feels lighter, easier, but there’s a tension simmering beneath the surface, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

“You’re in a good mood today,” I say, closing the book and setting it aside.

“Maybe I am,” he replies, his eyes meeting mine. “Something about this place... it’s peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” I repeat, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Not a word I usually associate with you.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Maybe I’m full of surprises.”

“Maybe,” I say, my voice quieter now.

The air shifts between us, the playfulness fading into something heavier. He leans forward slightly, his hand brushing against mine as he reaches for the coffee table. The touch is casual, accidental, but it sends a spark through me.

I glance up at him, and the look in his eyes is enough to make my heart skip a beat. There’s an intensity there, a mix of longing and hesitation, like he’s waiting for me to pull away but hoping I won’t.

“Cooper...” I start, but the words catch in my throat.

He doesn’t say anything, just leans closer, his hand settling lightly on my knee. His touch is steady, grounding, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to lean into him.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

I can’t. I don’t want to.

Instead, I close the distance, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens.

His hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer as I thread my fingers through his hair.

The book falls forgotten to the floor, and all I can think about is the way he feels—solid, warm, and achingly familiar.

We stumble back onto the couch, our movements urgent but unhurried, like we’ve been waiting for this moment for years. His hands slide under my sweater, his touch leaving a trail of heat on my skin. I pull him closer, my heart pounding as his lips trace a line along my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.

“Zoey,” he whispers, his voice filled with something I can’t quite name—reverence, maybe, or desperation.

“I’m here,” I say softly, my hands gripping his shoulders.

The world outside fades away as we lose ourselves in each other, the fire crackling in the background the only sound breaking the silence. It’s not just physical—it’s years of longing, anger, and love spilling over, binding us together in a way that feels both familiar and new.

Later, as we lie tangled together on the couch, the warmth of his body against mine, the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“This feels... dangerous,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Dangerous how?” he asks, his fingers trailing gently up and down my back.

“Letting myself trust you again,” I say, lifting my head to meet his gaze. “Letting myself believe that this can work.”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch light but deliberate. “I know I’ve hurt you,” he says quietly. “And I know it’ll take time to fix that. But I meant what I said—I’m not giving up on us, Zoey. Not this time.”

His words settle over me like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe this can work. Maybe we can find our way back to each other.

“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice trembling.

“So am I,” he says, pulling me closer. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

And for now, that’s enough.