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I tell them about my mother. About the yelling and shouting and screams I’d hear when all I wanted to do was hug my teddy bearand go to sleep. About the beatings that started when he figured I was old enough to understand the difference between an accident and intentional. About how he’d backhanded me into submission so I’d say what he wanted me to say and ultimately used me as a pawn to put an innocent man into prison.
I tell them about my suspicions about what happened to my mom. How no one will ever be able to prove that he killed her, but I justknow. I’ve always known and could never face the possibility head on until now.
“What’s changed?” Shanti gently asks. “Why now?”
What a loaded question.
I blow out a long, heavy sigh and slump in my chair. How do I tell the truth? That a powerful casino owner who is also basically the king of Vegas’ dark underworld taught me how to stand up for myself?
That an organized crime lord showed me what real love is supposed to be like?
That a big, bad Bratva boss demonstrated how real fathers treat their daughters by being for Willow what neither Martin nor Greg could ever be for either of us?
“I’ve found more friends who understand what I’ve been going through” is the answer I settle on. “I have a stronger support system. I don’t know. I guess… the timing is best now. I’m no longer afraid.”
She gives me a reassuring, if not sympathetic, smile. “That makes sense. We see this happen a lot with abuse victims. It’s just really disheartening when the perpetrator is one of our own.”
“Yeah.” I scratch at a bubble on the vinyl tabletop with my thumbnail.
“Well, that should be all we need for now. We really appreciate your time—and please know that we do understand how difficult this must be for you.”
“Absolutely,” Brenner agrees. He has kind eyes and a warm smile. “If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to reach out to either one of us.”
I nod and push my chair out, needing to be done and just… fresh air. I need fresh air.
Martin meets me in the hallway. He looks as worn as I feel, but the fact that no one is escorting him away in cuffs means he probably managed to gloss over his own involvement in my father’s dealings.
“Everything go well?” he asks me.
I dodge his attempt to give me a side-hug and nod. “Yeah. I just need to use the restroom before we go.”
“Alright. Meet me downstairs, okay?”
“Okay.”
I wait for him to shuffle off to the stairs, then duck into the nearest restroom. I do, in fact, need to pee after hours in the interrogation room.
But I also need a moment to gather my thoughts, my wits, and jot down a quick message.
I pull out the sticky note and pen I lifted from the detectives’ things and suck in a deep breath.
This has to be done. Now or never.
Martin Patterson tampered with evidence to get Tolya Zakrevsky out of prison.
I stare at the words.
Then flip it over and add,He’s also been assaulting and beating me for years. Please help.
I throw the pen into the trash, then fold up the note as small as I can make it go.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I leave the restroom. Martin is nowhere to be seen; he must be downstairs as promised and waiting for me to join him. I don’t have much time.
Shanti emerges from the interrogation room and smiles when she sees me. I beeline directly for her, which makes her brow furrow with concern. “Everything okay?”
“Fine! Great!” I beam at her and hold out my hand. “I just wanted to thank you for helping me through this. It really means a lot.”
She shakes my hand. As she does, I press the note from between my fingers into her palm.
