Page 50 of The Mafia's Second Shot

“Doesn’t matter,” I reply. “We stick to the plan.”

The situation takes a brutal turn when Rossi’s men drag one of the hostages to the front lines, a gun pressed to the man’s head. “Drop your weapons, or he dies!” one of Rossi’s lieutenants shouts.

My jaw tightens as I motion for my men to hold their fire. The hostage’s terrified eyes meet mine, and my stomach twists. This is what Rossi does—he plays dirty, forcing you into impossible choices.

“Marco, flank left,” I whisper. “I’ll draw their attention.”

“Cooper, that’s suicide,” Marco hisses.

“Just do it,” I snap, stepping out of cover with my hands raised. “Let him go,” I call out, my voice steady despite the tension thrumming in my chest.

“Drop your weapon first,” the lieutenant demands.

I nod slowly, setting my gun on the ground. My heart pounds as I take a step closer, every instinct screaming at me to act. As the lieutenant shifts his attention to me, Marco’s team strikes, taking out the guards with precision shots.

I lunge forward, grabbing the hostage and dragging him to safety as bullets fly around us. My men cover our retreat, forcing Rossi’s forces to regroup.

The fight continues,the yard a cacophony of gunfire and chaos. My men press forward, slowly gaining ground, but the cost is high. Bodies litter the ground, and the acrid smell of smoke fills the air.

And then I see him.

Rossi stands near the center of the yard, his trademark smug grin replaced by a snarl. He’s surrounded by a handful of his men, but he doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks ready.

“Cooper!” he shouts, his voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s end this!”

I motion for my men to hold back as I step forward, my grip tightening on my gun. “Gladly.”

The years of animosity between us culminate in this moment, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. Rossi raises his weapon, and I do the same, the world narrowing to just the two of us.

“This is for everything you’ve taken from me,” I say, my voice low but filled with resolve.

“And this is for everything I’m about to take,” Rossi sneers.

The battle around us fades as we close the distance, our guns aimed, our hatred driving every step. The final confrontation has begun.

36

ZOEY

The makeshift command center is chaotic, a storm of voices, maps, and crackling radios. I sit at the edge of the main table, headphones on, listening intently as the updates come in. Every word paints a fragmented picture of the battle unfolding just a few miles away.

“Team Two has secured the west flank,” someone says over the radio, their voice strained but determined. “Minimal casualties so far.”

“Copy that,” I reply, my voice as steady as I can manage. “Hold your position and await further instructions.”

The screen in front of me flickers with a live feed from one of the drones circling overhead. The industrial yard looks like a war zone, smoke rising in thin, dark plumes. I can make out flashes of gunfire and the silhouettes of men moving through the wreckage. It’s distant, removed, but the tension in the air is palpable.

“Any word from Cooper?” I ask Angelo, who’s standing by the map.

He shakes his head, his expression tight. “Not yet. Marco’s with him, but comms have been spotty since they moved deeper into the yard.”

My stomach twists, the lack of clarity gnawing at me. “Keep trying,” I say, forcing my voice not to waver.

The minutes drag on,each one stretching longer than the last. Every update that comes through is fragmented, incomplete. I know Cooper’s leading the charge, but not knowing exactly where he is—or if he’s safe—makes it hard to breathe.

“Zoey, we need reinforcements at the south entrance,” someone calls out from across the room.

“On it,” I reply, signaling for a small team to move out. The men file out quickly, their faces set with determination. I want to believe they’ll make a difference, that every move we’re making is pushing us closer to victory, but doubt lingers at the edges of my mind.

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