Page 26 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)

ZOEY

T he cabin is quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the living room. I wake suddenly, the warmth of the blankets no longer enough to calm the restless energy coursing through me. The space beside me on the bed is empty, but it doesn’t take long to figure out where Cooper is.

I slip out of bed, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around my shoulders. The cool wood floor creaks beneath my feet as I make my way toward the glow coming from the living room.

There he is, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, staring into the flickering flames.

His shirt is unbuttoned, hanging loosely on his shoulders, and the shadows cast by the fire make his face look sharper, more haunted.

He doesn’t notice me at first, lost in whatever thoughts have dragged him out of bed.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask softly, stepping into the room.

Cooper glances up, startled for a moment before his expression softens. “Something like that.”

I walk over and sit on the couch beside him, the blanket still wrapped tightly around me. “Want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Just thinking. About everything. About you.”

The way he says it—low and rough, like he’s baring a part of himself he doesn’t usually share—sends a shiver down my spine. “About me?” I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “About how lucky I am that you’re still here. That you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”

I laugh softly, though there’s an ache in my chest. “It’s crossed my mind.”

He chuckles too, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes as he looks at me. “I don’t blame you. After everything I’ve put you through...”

“Stop,” I interrupt, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve made mistakes, Cooper. So have I. But we’re here now. Together. That has to count for something.”

The firelight dances across the room as silence settles between us, thick but not uncomfortable.

I study him out of the corner of my eye—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scars on his hands, the tension in his shoulders that never quite goes away.

He’s so different from the man I met all those years ago, yet so much the same.

“Do you remember our first date?” I ask suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Cooper smirks, his eyes glinting with something warmer than the firelight. “How could I forget? You spent the first half of it trying to convince me you hated Italian food.”

“I did,” I say, laughing. “And you still took me to that little hole-in-the-wall place downtown.”

“Best tiramisu in the city,” he counters, his grin widening. “And by the end of the night, you were stealing bites off my plate.”

I roll my eyes, but the memory makes my chest tighten in a way that’s equal parts joy and longing. “I was trying to be polite.”

“You were trying to win,” he teases. “And you did.”

I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. “What about you? What were you trying to do that night?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the fire. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable. “I was trying to keep you. Even then, I knew you were different. I knew I didn’t deserve you, but I wanted you anyway.”

His words hit me like a wave, and I struggle to catch my breath. “You did keep me,” I say quietly. “At least for a while.”

“And then I lost you,” he replies, his tone laced with regret. “Because I didn’t know how to hold on without breaking you.”

The room feels smaller somehow, the air between us charged with something I can’t quite name. I reach out, brushing my fingers against his hand, and he turns toward me, his eyes searching mine.

“Cooper,” I say, my voice trembling. “I don’t know if we can fix everything that’s happened. But I want to try.”

His hand covers mine, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right if you let me.”

I lean closer, my heart pounding. “Then start now.”

The words barely leave my lips before he closes the distance between us, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, filled with years of longing. His hand moves to my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away.

But I don’t. I can’t.

The blanket slips from my shoulders as I shift closer, my hands sliding up his chest. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, his heartbeat steady despite the tension radiating off him. He deepens the kiss, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me onto his lap.

“Zoey,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with emotion.

I pull back just enough to look at him, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I’m here,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is enough to undo me. He cups my face with both hands, his thumbs tracing along my jaw as he kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

We move together like we’ve done this a thousand times, yet it feels new, electric. His hands slide beneath the hem of my sweater, his touch setting my skin on fire. I let out a soft gasp as his lips trail down my neck, his stubble grazing against my skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low and reverent.

I laugh softly, the sound shaky. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “But I’m also right.”

I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest spreads, making it impossible to argue. I tug at his shirt, and he helps me pull it off, his body solid and familiar beneath my hands. He leans back, his gaze sweeping over me like he’s memorizing every detail.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his arms pulling me close.

The rest of the night is a blur of whispered words and stolen breaths, of hands and lips and skin. It’s not just passion—it’s trust, healing, hope. For the first time in years, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is something we can rebuild.

As we lie tangled together on the couch, the fire burning low in the hearth, I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

“So am I,” he says, his hand tracing lazy circles on my back. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His words are a promise, and though I know the peace we’ve found here won’t last forever, I let myself hold onto it for as long as I can.