Page 39 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)
ZOEY
T he sterile walls of the hospital corridor seem to close in on me as I pace back and forth, the seconds dragging into minutes, the minutes into what feels like hours.
My hands won’t stop trembling, and every time the doors to the operating room swing open, my breath catches, only to sink when it’s another nurse or doctor rushing past.
Marco sits on the bench near the wall, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. He hasn’t said much since we arrived, but his presence is steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.
“He’s strong,” Marco says quietly, breaking the silence. “He’ll make it.”
I stop pacing, turning to face him. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Marco replies, his voice firm. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “I’ve seen him survive things no one else could. He’s not done, Zoey. Not yet.”
His words offer a flicker of hope, but the fear gripping my chest refuses to let go. I sink onto the bench beside him, my hands twisting together in my lap. “What if this is the one thing he can’t come back from?”
Marco doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is softer, more vulnerable. “Then he’ll go knowing he fought for something worth fighting for.”
The hours stretch on, the steady rhythm of my pacing punctuated by the occasional squeak of a nurse’s shoes or the beep of a distant monitor. Every minute feels heavier than the last, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.
I think about everything that’s brought us here—the battles, the betrayals, the quiet moments that made it all worth it. I think about the way Cooper looked at me in the cabin, his eyes filled with determination and a love he couldn’t put into words.
I press my hands to my face, trying to block out the thought of losing him. But it’s there, lingering at the edges of my mind, refusing to be ignored.
Another hour passes, and I can’t sit still anymore. I start pacing again, my hands clutching at the edge of my sweater. Marco watches me quietly, his patience unyielding even as I wear a path into the tile floor.
“You should sit,” he says finally.
“I can’t,” I reply, my voice trembling. “Not until I know he’s okay.”
Marco doesn’t argue. He just nods, leaning back against the wall, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. The exhaustion is clear on his face, but he’s still here, still waiting with me.
When the doors to the operating room finally open, I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. A surgeon steps out, her scrubs stained with blood, her expression calm but serious. She looks at me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Zoey, right?” she asks.
I nod, my voice caught somewhere between hope and fear. “Yes. Is he?—”
“He’s stable,” she says, cutting through my panic. “The surgery went well. We were able to stop the bleeding and repair the damage, but the next 24 hours will be critical. He’s not out of the woods yet.”
Relief floods through me, so overwhelming that my knees threaten to give out. I grab onto the bench for support, tears streaming down my face. “Thank you,” I whisper.
The surgeon nods, her expression softening. “You can see him, but only for a few minutes. He’s in recovery now.”
The walk to Cooper’s room feels like a lifetime, every step a battle between relief and fear. When I finally step inside, the sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.
He looks so small, so pale, lying in the hospital bed. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, each beat a reminder that he’s still here. I move to his side, my hand reaching for his.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “It’s me.”
His eyes flutter open, just barely, and his gaze locks onto mine. He looks weak, his face drawn, but the faintest flicker of a smile touches his lips. His fingers twitch in mine, squeezing weakly.
“You’re here,” he murmurs, his voice rough and barely audible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reply, tears slipping down my cheeks. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His lips twitch again, his smile faint but real. “Sorry... about that.”
I laugh softly, though it’s choked with emotion. “You’d better be. Don’t ever do that again, Cooper.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes slipping closed again, but his hand stays in mine. I sit beside him, holding on tightly, as if my grip alone can keep him tethered to this world.
Hours pass, and the world outside begins to stir as dawn breaks. Marco checks in occasionally, his quiet presence a comfort even as I stay glued to Cooper’s side. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the beeping of the machines are the only things grounding me.
I rest my head against his shoulder, my exhaustion finally catching up to me. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the room, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on my chest eases.
“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “We have to be.”
As the city wakes outside, I sit by Cooper’s bed, my hand still wrapped around his. The world feels lighter somehow, as if we’ve finally found a measure of peace. It’s fragile, but it’s ours. And for now, that’s enough.