Chapter 13 #2
"You've gotten quite close to President Hale since Cain's death," Varro observes. "Remarkably close, for a grieving girlfriend."
"Cain beat me." The words come out flat. Steady. "For three years. I was never his girlfriend. I was his prisoner."
"So you say."
"So the evidence says." I lean forward, meeting his eyes. "I know what you're trying to do, Chief. You're trying to build a case against Levi by going through me. You think I'm weak, that I'll crack under pressure, that I'll say something you can use against him."
"I think you're a woman in a difficult situation. A woman who might have information that could help bring justice to a murder victim."
"Your son was a monster."
The words hang in the air. Varro's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes.
"He beat me," I continue, my voice gaining strength.
"Regularly. Brutally. He broke my wrist, cracked my ribs, left bruises all over my body.
He told me I was worthless, that no one else would ever want me, that I'd be nothing without him.
He controlled every aspect of my life—who I talked to, where I went, what I wore.
He was a textbook abuser, and I have three years of evidence to prove it. "
"Evidence?"
"Hospital records. Photos. Witness statements." I sit back, crossing my arms. "I know you've seen some of it. I know you're trying to figure out how to make it go away. But it's not going to go away, Chief. Not this time."
Varro is very still. "Are you threatening me, Ms. Tiernan?"
"I'm telling you the truth. Something I suspect you're not used to hearing.
" I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.
"Your son beat me for three years. I have documentation.
Medical records. Witnesses who saw the aftermath.
If this goes to trial—any trial—all of it comes out.
Every bruise, every broken bone, every night I spent cowering in a corner while he raged. "
"That doesn't change the fact that he was murdered—"
"Do you want that in court?" I cut him off, my voice sharp. "Do you want the world to know what kind of man your son really was? Because I'll tell them. I'll tell everyone. I'll make sure his name is synonymous with domestic abuse for the rest of your career."
The room goes silent.
Varro stares at me with something I haven't seen before. Not sympathy. Not calculation.
Fear.
"There's something else," I say, pressing my advantage. "Something Cain told me, right before the end. About a complaint. Someone who tried to report his behavior. Someone you made go away."
The fear deepens. His face pales.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do." I lean forward, my voice dropping to something almost gentle.
"I think you've been covering for your son for years.
Burying complaints, making witnesses disappear, using your position to protect him from the consequences of his actions.
And I think if I dig deep enough, I'll find the proof. "
"You have no evidence—"
"Not yet. But I'll find it. And when I do, it won't just be your son's reputation on the line. It'll be yours. Your career. Your legacy. Everything you've built."
Varro's jaw works. I can see him calculating, weighing his options, trying to find a way out.
"What do you want?" he asks finally.
"I want you to stop. The harassment. The raids. The attempts to build a case against me or Levi. All of it." I meet his eyes. "I want you to accept that your son got what he deserved, and I want you to leave us alone."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I go public. With everything. Every piece of evidence, every witness statement, every hospital record. I tell my story to anyone who will listen, and I make sure the whole city knows exactly what kind of family the Varros really are."
The silence stretches between us. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears, but my hands are steady. My voice is steady.
I'm not the woman who walked into this room a week ago, trembling and terrified. I'm not the woman who spent three years bowing to Cain's cruelty.
I'm someone new. Someone stronger.
And I'm done being afraid.
"You think you've won," Varro says quietly. "You think this changes anything."
"I think it changes everything." I stand, pushing back my chair. "We're done here, Chief. You know where to find me if you have any more questions. But I suspect you won't."
I walk to the door. My hand is on the handle when his voice stops me.
"He was my son."
I turn. For the first time, I see something human in Varro's expression. Something broken.
"Whatever he was, whatever he did—he was my son. And someone killed him."
"Yes," I say softly. "Someone did. And maybe, if you'd gotten him help instead of covering for him, he'd still be alive."
I walk out before he can respond.
Levi is waiting in the hallway, just like he promised.
The moment I step through the door, his eyes find mine. I see the question in his expression—the fear, the hope, the desperate need to know if I'm okay.
I walk into his arms.
"It's done," I whisper into his chest. "I did it."
"I know." His arms tighten around me. "I heard."
I pull back. "What?"
"Zenon has a contact in the department. Got us access to the feed from the observation room." A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "You were incredible."
"I was terrified."
"You didn't show it. Not for a second." He cups my face, his eyes shining with something that looks almost like awe. "You stood up to the Chief of Police and made him back down. Do you have any idea how remarkable that is?"
"I had good motivation." I cover his hands with mine. "I was fighting for us. For our future. That made it easier."
"Still." He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm so fucking proud of you."
The words settle into me, warm and bright. Proud. He's proud of me. Not for being pretty or obedient or small—for being strong. For fighting back. For refusing to be a victim anymore.
"Take me home," I say.
"Home?"
"The clubhouse. Our room." I smile, the first real smile I've felt in days. "Home."
He kisses me—soft and sweet and full of promise. Then he takes my hand and leads me out of the station, past the officers who stare and whisper, past the desk sergeant who watches with wide eyes, out into the sunlight of a new day.
I don't know if Varro will honor his word. Don't know if this is truly the end of the war or just a temporary ceasefire. But right now, in this moment, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Victory.
I faced the dragon, and I won.
That night, I dream of something other than Cain for the first time.
I dream of a classroom. Sunlight streaming through windows. Children's voices raised in laughter.
I dream of Levi, waiting for me at the end of a long day.
I dream of a future I once thought impossible.
And when I wake up, wrapped in his arms, I realize that the dream doesn't have to stay a dream.
I can make it real.
One step at a time. One day at a time. One choice at a time.
I choose hope.
I choose life.
I choose me.