Page 67 of The Mafia's Second Shot

“No,” I admit, taking his hand anyway. “But let’s do this.”

The gallery space feels surreal,my work displayed alongside pieces from other emerging artists. Each painting is carefullylit, the colors and textures coming alive in a way I hadn’t fully appreciated until now. People mill about, studying the pieces, their expressions thoughtful.

Evelyn, the gallery director, approaches with a warm smile. “Zoey, you made it! Everything looks wonderful.”

“Thank you,” I manage, though my voice wavers. “It’s... a lot to take in.”

She laughs softly, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “That’s normal. But trust me—your work speaks for itself.”

As the evening progresses,I find myself drawn into conversations with patrons, each interaction chipping away at my nerves. Some ask about my inspiration, others about my process, and with each question, I feel a little more confident.

Cooper stays close, his quiet support a steady presence. I catch him more than once redirecting attention to my work, subtly steering conversations back to the pieces I’m most proud of.

“You’re shameless,” I whisper to him during a lull.

He grins. “Just doing my part.”

The moment that truly breaks through my doubt comes when a young woman approaches me, her expression hesitant but earnest. “Hi,” she says softly. “I just wanted to tell you... your work is beautiful. It’s so raw and emotional. It... it reminded me of something I’ve been through, and it really moved me.”

Her words take me by surprise, a lump forming in my throat. “Thank you,” I say, my voice barely audible. “That means a lot.”

She nods, her gaze lingering on one of the paintings. “I bought it, by the way. The one with the red background and the figure in shadow.”

“You did?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.

“Yes,” she says, her smile widening. “I couldn’t leave without it.”

I watch as she walks away, my chest swelling with a mix of pride and relief. Cooper steps up beside me, his hand resting lightly on my back. “Told you,” he says simply.

By the endof the night, several pieces have sold, and Evelyn is practically glowing with excitement. “This is just the beginning, Zoey,” she tells me. “I can’t wait to see what you do next.”

The words sink in slowly, but when they do, they fill me with a sense of possibility I haven’t felt in years. For the first time, I start to believe that this dream might actually be within reach.

When we arrive home,I’m too exhausted to do much more than kick off my shoes and collapse onto the couch. Cooper joins me, handing me a glass of wine before settling in beside me.

“You were incredible tonight,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, leaning against him. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “You’ve always had this in you. I just made sure you didn’t talk yourself out of it.”

As the wineand the events of the evening begin to catch up with me, Cooper stands, holding out a hand. “Come on.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Where?”

“You’ll see,” he says, his smirk teasing.

Too tired to argue, I let him pull me to my feet and lead me to the bedroom. When I step inside, I stop short, my breath catching. The room is lit with soft candlelight, the warm glow casting everything in a golden hue. On the bed is a small bouquet of wildflowers, their colors vibrant and alive.

“Cooper,” I whisper, turning to him. “What is this?”

He shrugs, his grin softening. “Just wanted to do something special. You deserve it.”

Emotion wells up in my chest, and I step closer, wrapping my arms around him. “You’re too good to me.”

“Not possible,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair.

As we stand there, the room bathed in light and warmth, I feel the weight of the night melt away. This is more than I ever thought I’d have—success, love, and the promise of a future worth fighting for.

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