Page 34 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)

ZOE

Z oey

The warehouse is alive with activity, every corner buzzing with purpose.

Maps are spread across tables, radios buzz with updates, and the steady rhythm of boots on the concrete floor creates a tense backdrop.

I stand near the command center, a cluster of desks pushed together, coordinating logistics for the impending battle.

“Fuel for the trucks is set,” I say, ticking off an item on the list in front of me. “The weapons cache is on-site, but we’re low on medical supplies.”

One of the younger men, Angelo, nods as he jots down the note. “I’ll send someone to restock. Anything else?”

I glance at the map pinned to the wall, marked with red circles for key points and blue arrows for our forces’ movements. “Make sure every outpost has the updated routes. We can’t afford any miscommunication.”

Angelo gives me a tight smile. “You’re good at this.”

“Thanks,” I reply, though the compliment feels strange. Just weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined myself in this position—organizing mafia operations, planning for war. But now, it feels necessary. I don’t know if it’s strength or desperation driving me, but either way, I’m not stopping.

As the day wears on, I start to notice something off.

One of the men—a quiet, wiry guy named Carl—keeps glancing around nervously, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

At first, I chalk it up to stress. Everyone here is on edge.

But as I watch him fumble with his radio and avoid eye contact with the others, a sinking feeling settles in my gut.

“Angelo,” I whisper, pulling him aside. “Something’s not right with Carl.”

Angelo frowns, following my gaze. “You think he’s cracking under the pressure?”

“Maybe,” I reply, though I don’t believe it. “But it feels like more than that.”

I decide to trust my instincts. While Angelo distracts Carl with a fake task, I slip into the storage room where Carl left his bag. My heart pounds as I rummage through it, my fingers brushing against a small, unmarked envelope.

Inside are photos—grainy but clear enough to make my stomach turn. Maps of our routes, notes on our supplies, and a list of names, including Cooper’s and mine.

I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I stuff the envelope into my pocket. This isn’t just paranoia. Carl isn’t cracking—he’s a spy.

I find Cooper near the back of the warehouse, discussing tactics with Marco. My pulse quickens as I approach, the weight of the discovery pressing down on me.

“Cooper,” I say, interrupting their conversation. “We need to talk. Now.”

He glances at Marco, who nods and steps away. “What is it?” Cooper asks, his voice low but concerned.

I pull the envelope from my pocket, handing it to him. “Carl’s been feeding information to Rossi.”

Cooper’s jaw tightens as he flips through the photos, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure?”

“I found these in his bag,” I say. “He’s been watching us. Reporting on our movements.”

Cooper exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Where is he now?”

“With Angelo,” I reply. “He doesn’t know I found anything.”

Cooper motions to Marco, who returns immediately. “Get Carl. Quietly,” Cooper says, his voice cold. Marco nods, disappearing into the crowd.

The confrontation is quick. Carl denies everything at first, his protests loud and desperate, but the evidence is undeniable. When Marco pins him against the wall, Carl finally cracks, admitting he’s been working for Rossi in exchange for money and protection.

The tension in the room is palpable as the other men watch. Some are angry, others shaken. If Rossi has an informant here, who’s to say there aren’t more?

“You’re done,” Cooper says, his tone flat. “Take him out back.”

Marco drags Carl away, and the room falls into a heavy silence. I can feel the weight of the men’s stares, their trust in each other shaken. But when Cooper turns to me, there’s something else in his eyes—pride.

“You did good,” he says softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I nod, though the adrenaline coursing through me makes it hard to process his words. “I just... I couldn’t ignore it.”

“And you didn’t,” he replies. “That’s what matters.”

Later that evening, the warehouse is quieter, the earlier tension lingering like a shadow. I find Cooper in a small office, sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. He looks up when I enter, exhaustion etched into his features.

“You okay?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he counters, his lips twitching in a faint smile.

I sit across from him, my hands folded in my lap. “I’m terrified,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not just of Rossi or his men, but of losing you.”

Cooper leans back, his gaze softening. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“You don’t know that,” I say, my throat tightening. “Every time you leave, I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

He reaches across the desk, taking my hand in his. “Zoey, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I’m not going to make the mistake of leaving you again. Not if I can help it.”

I search his eyes, looking for the certainty I desperately want to believe in. But there’s a flicker of doubt there, one he can’t hide.

“Just promise me you’ll try,” I say, my voice trembling.

“I promise,” he says, his grip on my hand tightening.

Our moment is interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Angelo steps inside, his face pale.

“Cooper,” he says, his voice tight. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” Cooper asks, already on his feet.

“Rossi’s moving,” Angelo replies. “We’ve confirmed he’s leading the assault himself. They’ll be on us by morning.”

The room feels colder suddenly, the weight of Angelo’s words sinking in. Cooper’s expression hardens, his resolve clear.

“This is it,” he says, his voice steady. “Get everyone ready. We end this.”

Angelo nods, disappearing down the hall. Cooper turns back to me, his hand lingering on my shoulder.

“Stay close,” he says. “No matter what.”

“I will,” I reply, my chest tight with fear. “Just don’t do anything reckless.”

He offers a faint smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll try.”

As he leaves, the reality of what’s coming settles over me. Rossi is here, and the final confrontation is inevitable. All we can do now is fight—and hope we make it through.