Page 47 of The Mafia's Second Shot

Marco nods, moving quickly to secure Tony’s hands. The others watch in silence, their expressions grim as they drag him toward the center of the clearing.

The restof the operation goes off without a hitch. The traps are set, and the men are ready to move out. But as we pack up, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not enough. Rossi is too smart, too ruthless to be stopped by a few tripwires and ambush points.

“Cooper,” Marco says, handing me a phone. “You need to see this.”

I take the device, frowning as I read the intercepted message on the screen. It’s from one of Rossi’s lieutenants, the words chilling in their simplicity:

“Leverage the civilians. He’ll fold.”

My stomach knots as the meaning sinks in. Rossi isn’t just coming for us—he’s planning to use innocent people as pawns in his game.

“This changes everything,” Marco says, his voice grim. “If he uses hostages, we’ll be fighting with one hand tied.”

I nod, my jaw clenching. “Then we make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

As we head backto the warehouse, the weight of the situation presses down on me. Rossi’s made his move, and now it’s my turn. But with civilians in the mix, the stakes have never been higher. One wrong step, and it won’t just be my men or Zoey who pay the price.

I glance at Marco, his face set with determination. “Double the surveillance on Rossi’s routes,” I say. “And get the factions ready. This ends now.”

34

ZOE

Zoey

The warehouse isalive 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 findCooper 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.”

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