Page 63 of The Mafia's Second Shot

“You won’t,” I interrupt, standing to face him. “You’ve already proven you can handle this. You’ve got the crew’s respect, and you know how to make the tough calls. That’s all you need.”

Marco studies me for a moment before nodding. “All right. But don’t think I won’t call you if things go sideways.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

As Marco leaves,I linger in the room, the weight of the decision settling over me. I’ve spent years building this organization, pouring everything I have into it. Letting go feels like losing a piece of myself, but I know it’s the right choice. For the crew. For Marco. For Zoey.

For me.

Later that evening,I find Zoey in the kitchen, her hands busy as she prepares something that smells incredible. She glances up when I walk in, her eyes searching mine.

“How’d it go?” she asks, setting down a knife.

“Better than I expected,” I reply, leaning against the counter. “They’re accepting it. Slowly, but they are.”

“And Marco?” she presses.

“He’s stepping up,” I say, my voice steady. “He’s ready for this.”

She nods, her gaze thoughtful. “And you? Are you ready to let go?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than I expect. I take a deep breath, my eyes meeting hers. “I think I am.”

Zoey studies me for a long moment, her expression softening. “I heard some of what you told them,” she admits, her voice quiet. “About wanting to build something for the future.”

“You were eavesdropping?” I tease, though there’s no bite in my tone.

She shrugs, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe.”

I step closer,my hand brushing against hers. “You’re my future, Zoey,” I say, my voice low but certain. “This decision—it’s for us.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but her smile is bright. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“I think I do,” I reply, pulling her into my arms.

As we stand there, the past feels like it’s finally starting to let go, making room for something new. Something better.

And for the first time in years, I feel free.

45

ZOEY

The morning light spills through the kitchen window, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over the breakfast table. Cooper sits across from me, his coffee steaming in front of him, his gaze steady as he watches me. There’s a quiet in the air that feels unfamiliar—not the tense silence of waiting for the next move, but something lighter, almost hopeful.

“So,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smile. “What’s next for us?”

The question catches me off guard, even though I’ve been asking myself the same thing for days. I set my mug down, meeting his gaze. “I guess that depends on what you want.”

“What I want,” he repeats, leaning back in his chair. “I want peace, Zoey. For us. For you.”

His words make my chest tighten, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty swirling inside me. “Do you really think we can leave it all behind?” I ask softly.

He nods, his expression firm. “We have to. There’s no going back to the way things were—not after everything we’ve been through.”

We spend the morning talking,sharing dreams and ideas that feel both thrilling and terrifying. Cooper tells me about his desire to find a quieter purpose—mentoring young men who might otherwise be drawn into lives like his. I tell him about my hopes for my art, for the gallery exhibit and the work I’ve been too scared to pursue until now.

“What about a change of scenery?” he asks, his tone light but serious. “A fresh start somewhere new?”

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