Page 1 of The Mafia's Second Shot

1

ZOEY

The night air feels heavier than usual, pressing against my skin like a damp shroud. The comforting hum of the city has faded, replaced by an eerie silence that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. My heels click against the cracked pavement, too loud, too obvious. I pull my jacket tighter around me, wishing I hadn’t stayed so late at the gallery.

It’s only a ten-minute walk to my apartment. I’ve done this countless times before, but tonight, something feels... off.

The sense of being watched prickles at my senses. My heartbeat quickens. I glance over my shoulder and see nothing. Just shadows stretching like long, dark fingers under the dim glow of the streetlights. My breathing turns shallow as I clutch my purse tighter and pick up my pace. My boots slap against the pavement, echoing back at me, too loud in the dead stillness.

Stop being paranoid, Zoey.

The thought barely calms me. My body’s instincts scream louder. I’m not imagining it—someone is behind me. I can feel their gaze, sharp and intrusive, crawling up my back. My fingerstremble as I fish my phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen. The reflection shows no one close enough to see clearly, but I know I’m not alone.

The footsteps start behind me, quiet and measured. A chill creeps up my spine, tightening my muscles like a coiled spring. I whirl around.

Two figures step out from the shadows.

The first man is tall and wiry, his face partially obscured by the hood of his sweatshirt. The second is broader, his bulky silhouette blocking my view of the empty street behind him. They don’t speak right away, just watch me like wolves sizing up a wounded deer.

My stomach clenches. “What do you want?” I manage, my voice sharper than I feel.

“Where is it?” the wiry one asks, his voice soft, almost curious. “You know what we’re talking about, don’t you?”

I take a step back, my hands gripping the strap of my purse like a lifeline. “I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

The broad one chuckles, low and menacing. “Funny. That’s not what we heard.”

My chest tightens. The wrong person? No. This is a mistake—a terrifying, horrible mistake. “I don’t have anything,” I insist, the words tumbling out fast. “Just leave me alone.”

The wiry one takes a step closer, and I backpedal until I feel the rough wall of a building scrape against my jacket. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city.

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be,” he says, pulling a knife from his pocket. The blade glints in the faint streetlight.

Panic blooms in my chest. My hands dart to my phone, fumbling to unlock it, but the bulky man grabs my wrist and slams it against the wall. My phone clatters to the ground.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls.

I’m about to scream when something moves in the shadows behind them—quick, silent, and deliberate.

A blur of motion. A grunt of pain. The wiry man is suddenly yanked back and thrown to the ground. The broad one lets go of me and spins around, but it’s too late. A dark figure slams a fist into his jaw with brutal precision, sending him staggering.

“Stay down,” a low, familiar voice growls.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the man standing between me and my attackers. He’s taller than I remember, broader, with an aura of quiet menace that wasn’t there before. His dark hair is slightly mussed, and the sharp angles of his face look harsher under the streetlight.

Cooper.

I haven’t seen him in five years, and yet here he is, as if he’s stepped out of a nightmare—or a memory I’ve tried desperately to bury.

The wiry man struggles to his feet, but Cooper doesn’t hesitate. He moves like a predator, fast and efficient, taking the man down with a sharp twist of his arm. The sound of the man’s groan sends a shiver through me. The other attacker scrambles to his feet and bolts into the shadows, leaving his friend moaning on the pavement.

Cooper stands over the man for a moment, his chest rising and falling in controlled breaths, before finally stepping back. He turns to me, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice calm, almost dispassionate.

“Cooper?” I whisper, disbelief and anger warring within me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His expression doesn’t change. He crouches to retrieve my phone, his movements smooth and deliberate, before handing it back to me. “You should be more careful,” he says, ignoring my question entirely.

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