Chapter Text
Jane woke up with a start, her skin slick with sweat, her heart hammering in her chest. Another one of those god damn nightmares. She rubbed her aching shoulder and sighed. It was dark in her bedroom, save for the faint glow of an exterior lamp filtering in through her partially open curtain. What time was it? She didn’t remember falling asleep. She glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table. It was just past midnight.
Sighing, she stood up and padded over to the bathroom and flicked the light on. She was basically almost fully healed at this point. She had been recovering from a dislocated shoulder for months now. All that was left was a dull ache that sometimes turned sharp – like now.
After filling a glass with water from the tap and popping a painkiller into her mouth, Jane stared at herself in the mirror. Her dead and hollow eyes stared back at her. They had lost their spark years ago. She vividly remembered the events that changed the trajectory of her life forever. She gripped the counter tightly as she recalled the memories.
While working at Boston PD as a decorated detective, she and her team had been on a murder case of one of the Irish mob families. One of Tommy O’Rourke’s brothers was found dead with an ice pick jabbed into his chest. Everyone and their mothers across America knew whose signature move that was.
They had managed to bust a deal, but not without giving chase. Four of the suspects bolted from the area and Jane had set her sights on the guy who looked the toughest. She had chased him for a good 10 minutes before he was cornered. The chain link fence door was was tightly chained shut and he whirled around panicked and angry, his gun ready to fire a shot. Jane reacted quickly and put 3 bullets in him. She remembered the sound of his body falling onto the ground. He died within moments– she had punctured his heart.
Jane shook her head.
She really thought it was another simple open and shut case. The Irish mob families killing each other off over turf. The three remaining men had confessed to everything, all of them would be put away for a long time. During interrogation, they had refused to ID the man that Jane had killed. Every single one of them were so tight-lipped about his identity. Even when they offered lower sentencing, they still would not budge. The man’s DNA, picture, and dental records didn’t ping in any of the databases. It became impossible to find out who he was.
Before handing them over to be transported to the detention centre, Cameron O’Donald cackled and smiled sickeningly at her and spat out, “Good luck, bitch.”
Jane and her team shared a look. Her partner scoffed. “With what?”
“You’re going to regret what you’ve done.”
An armed transport guard pushed him up the stairs and into the bus after his friends. “Move it.”
Jane stared at O’Donald quizzically as he gave one final glance over his shoulder, a smirk on his face as he shook his head.
She should’ve taken it more seriously. They had all just chalked it up to the petty ramblings of a gangster about to rot behind bars. But days later when she was getting out of her car – having worked late into the night – she found herself suddenly grabbed with a hand over her mouth, a sharp sting in her neck, and being roughly thrown into the back of a work van by masked men. They taped her mouth, tied her up, and threw a bag over her head before she lost consciousness. When she came to, she had found herself on a dirty and cold cement floor, a singular incandescent light hanging over her head. The walls were made of red bricks, a lone door off to the side. She wasn’t sure how long she was there before the door burst open and a man walked in.
A man who Jane knew to be Paddy Doyle.
He crouched by her head and ripped the tape from her mouth. He was breathing hard, his body trembling in anger.“Do you know why you’re here Detective Rizzoli?”
She grit her teeth at the pain.“I don’t.”
Paddy stood up and kicked her in the stomach. The pain shot through her as she coughed, the wind taken out of her. “That man you killed?” He kicked her across the face. “THAT WAS MY SON!”
Jane could see stars behind her closed eyes as she recoiled. She spat out the blood from her mouth and stared directly into his eyes. She wouldn’t show him any weakness. She said calmly,“He pulled his weapon on me first. I didn’t know he was your son.”
He looked down at her, face red with anger, a vein bulging on his forehead. “I. Don’t. Care. You’ve killed my son and you will pay.” He picked her up by the collar and threw punch after punch at her. She made no sound as his fist continuously collided with her cheek.“You will pay with your life!”
She didn’t know how long he had laid into her with his hands, and later with a baton. Every hit gave more blood, more cuts, more bruises, maybe even some broken bones – she wasn’t sure. But she sure as hell knew she would not back down. She did the right thing. It was either him or me. She wasn’t sure if she merely thought that or said it out loud. Her vision was starting to blur and her whole body was set ablaze with pain. She was so close to fading. Death would surely come for her soon. She let out a shuddered breath. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to even make a small muscle contraction.
With her remaining strength she rasped out, “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I hope it makes you feel better.” The edges of her vision were black and slowly closing in.
Paddy threw the bloodied baton to the side and flicked his aching and bleeding hands, blood splaying in different directions. Even at his old age, he was still able to beat the living hell out of someone. He pulled an ice pick from his pocket and stared at the bloodied figure crumpled on the floor. Even in such a defeated state, under those swollen eyelids, her skin covered in cuts, blood, and bruises – there was a strong defiance in those brown eyes. They looked at him with such contempt. Maybe even pity. Not once did those brown eyes look at the ice pick in his hands with worry. They merely locked onto his own with such intensity.
“You and that damned ice pick. Just fucking do it already. Kill me,” she said weakly.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Paddy let out a sharp exhale and seemed as if he was contemplating something. Jane couldn’t ponder more about it before the darkness swallowed her whole. The last thing in her vision was Patrick Doyle kneeling by her head and raising the hand with the ice pick in it.
When she woke, she was disoriented and her head felt like it was being split into two. She could make out that she was in a sterile white room, a soft and steady beep of a machine piercing through the stale air. Pain burned through every nerve of her body. She dared not move in fear of the pain getting worse.
Glancing down, she noticed she was in a hospital gown, her body covered in bandages. Her skin black and blue. It looked like nothing was broken. On either side of her were machines and an IV drip. Her mind started racing. Paddy hadn’t killed her. But why? As her body woke up more and became more aware, the pain became absolutely unbearable, and soon the darkness took over again.
She was in and out of consciousness for what felt like forever before she was woken up by a man. Her vision was blurry, she couldn’t quite make out his facial features as he spoke to her.
“This should help with the pain.” His calm voice floated through the fog in her brain. Soon the constant pain slowly ebbed away and she fell into a peaceful slumber.
When she opened her eyes again, it took a while for her vision to focus. She could make out some blurred figures in the room with her. She was suddenly on high alert.
Finally, the figure of Patrick Doyle sitting on the love seat by the door across from the bed became as clear as day. Two armed men stood off to the side. She gave a start and winced at the pain that shot through her body. At least the pain was a lot more bearable now. How long was she out?
“I bet you’re wondering why you’re alive, Rizzoli.” He stood up and walked over to the side of the bed, his face impassive. He held out a folder and opened it. He slowly pulled out pictures of her parents, then her brothers, and finally of a closeup of her baby nephew TJ while Tommy held him in his arms. He made sure to hold this one up the longest. All the pictures looked like they were taken recently and inconspicuously.
The heart monitor picked up her accelerating heart rate. “Leave my family out of this.” She rasped out, desperation in her eyes. Her voice was strained from misuse and lack of fluids.
Doyle tucked the pictures back into the folder and held it out over his shoulder. One of the armed men took it and stepped back to his position. Doyle merely stared at her and analyzed her face. Finally, he spoke in a harsh tone,“The great Jane Rizzoli, decorated detective of Boston PD would gladly lay her life down for others. You’d gladly die if it meant living up to your honourable code.” He paused. “You didn’t even beg when I beat you within an inch of your life. You endured my beatings, and by the end, all I saw was the defiance in your eyes. I was ready to kill you for what you did.” His fist clenched at his side. “But it’s true that you had no idea that he was my son. I cannot fault you for that – you were merely doing your job.” He spoke a bit softer now, ”There was a moment of clarity after the red subsided. I realized that you possess admirable traits that’s hard to find these days, Jane. You’re resilient, honourable, strong-willed, loyal, and most importantly: not afraid of death. It’s also these very traits that will be your downfall. You’d do anything to protect your loved ones.” He let the words hang in the air before he added, “I felt it’d be such a waste to snuff out the potential.”
Jane glared at him, tired of his rambling. “What do you want from me?”
“Well,” he grabbed a water bottle from a mini fridge and opened it. “Drink first, then I’ll tell you.” He put the bottle to her mouth and Jane grudgingly sipped the cool liquid. It eased the dryness of her throat. Closing the cap, Paddy set it down on the bedside table. “As far as the world is concerned, Jane Rizzoli has disappeared and is most likely dead. It’s been just over a month since your disappearance.”
Jane grit her teeth. “I know they won’t give up looking for me.”
“Oh, but they will.” He smirked at her. “You see Jane, I have a lot of powerful friends. Boston PD has been on a wild goose chase and have depleted all their resources trying to find you. They’re strained. There’s too many things going on. You’re on the back-burner until a new breakthrough comes along. If one comes along. But rest assured, I will make sure that the bare minimum will be done, dead-end after dead-end. You’ll be forgotten. A cold case.” He leaned in closer and Jane resisted the urge to cringe at his close proximity. “As of now, you do not exist anymore. You will not contact your friends and family ever again, or else they’ll be ten feet under. Do you understand me? There is no escaping me.” His tone was full of promise.
A flurry of emotions passed through Jane as the words sunk in. Doyle had money and connections. This was how he had stayed under the radar for decades. No one was able to catch him when he had his hands in the pockets of the rich and powerful. Even if she showed her face again to the world and had the help of all the government justice departments, Doyle would get to her family first before they could come up with any strategies – before they could even get them into witness protection. And even if they did manage to give them new identities and relocate them elsewhere, Doyle would surely find them. It’d only be a matter of time. There was no hiding from a man like him. And even if they caught him and threw him behind bars, he’d still manage to have her family killed. He'd do all that just to teach her a lesson, to make a show of the amount of power and reach that he held at his fingertips.
Jane clenched her fists, ignoring the pain stabbing her muscles. It was loud and clear what he wanted from her. Patrick Doyle wanted her to become a gangster.
When he didn’t receive a response, Doyle fisted her hair and snarled inches from her face, “Do you understand me?”
Jane stared at him blankly. “Yes.”
“Good.” He let go of her hair and straightened. “From now on you belong to the Doyle family, and you will do everything that I command.” He almost smiled. “Your sense of honour will be tainted soon enough. You will be a great asset to my empire.”
With that, she was left alone with the painful thoughts and feelings. They all flooded her at once as the finality of the door clicking shut echoed through the air.
Finally, the tears flowed freely.
After 6 months of recovery and another year of constant training, Jane was in tip top shape. She had spent countless hours in physiotherapy, all the cuts, bruises, and minor cracks were healed. She did have a prominent scar that went from under her right ear to under her right eye thanks to one of Paddy’s rings, as well as a number of scars on her body due to the severe beating. That was easily remedied by covering the most affected parts with tattoos (on the empires dime). Her parents would have an absolute conniption at the sight of their only daughter.
There had been guards monitoring her around the clock after being released from the makeshift hospital. They were stationed outside her new luxurious home, they accompanied her to the secret mob-owned gym, to her intense training sessions (Krav Maga, boxing, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu) - they were in the shadows wherever she went.
Doyle had given her multiple documents for different identities. She used the appropriate wigs when out of the house. Jane always kept a low profile despite living on the outskirts of Boston in a secluded area. She couldn’t risk getting spotted. She especially avoided the places where she could possibly run into anyone from her old life.
Her experience in law enforcement came in handy. She knew what to do to avoid leaving any evidence. She advised the footmen on how to execute plans smoothly and with little trouble. It took no time for her to move up the ranks. It came to a point where she no longer had armed guards at her home and following her everywhere. She was already in too deep, and there was no getting out of this immoral life she was forced into.
More months passed, and Doyle eventually had her hunting and executing those who betrayed the family, those who hurt the family, those who opposed the family, and basically anyone that stood in the way. The first few executions were the most difficult. She was so accustomed to killing in self-defence in order to protect herself and others – but that was when she was on the good side of the law. Now, she lurked in the shadows on the other side, consumed by darkness and sin. Jane now felt absolutely nothing when torturing and killing. She was no longer fazed when they pleaded for their lives.
She had mastered the art of shutting out her emotions. This was the only way for her family to stay alive. She had to keep going and do whatever was needed of her in order for them to survive. Her hands were stained with the blood of Doyle's enemies, and no amount of repenting could cleanse her of her sins.
And this is how the great Jane Rizzoli became a lethal, unstoppable killing machine for Doyle’s criminal empire.
There was no turning back now.
Now here she was, 4 years later, staring at the emptiness in her own eyes through the bathroom mirror. If only the world could see her now. The once great and heroic Jane Rizzoli turned ruthless killer.
“Are you alright?” A soft voice called out, effectively pulling her out of her thoughts.
Jane whipped her head to the side to the naked blonde woman standing at the doorway wrapped in a bed sheet, her hair mussed from their previous escapades. “Yeah.” She replied simply.
Yvonne Flanagan, one of Boston’s finest defence attorneys stared at her hungrily. “Then let’s get back to bed.”
Jane stood motionless and watched the other woman saunter over and grab her by the wrist. She allowed herself to be pulled back into the bedroom.
Yvonne gently pushed Jane onto the bed and shed the bed sheet before straddling the brunette. “You’ll be back on the job soon. Something big is happening.”
Jane dug her fingers into the woman’s thighs, earning a hiss. “Care to tell me?”
“I’m still tender from how hard you gripped me there. I’m sure it’s going to bruise.” She moaned when the grip tightened even more. “You know I can’t, Jane. Paddy is very particular.”
Jane smirked up at her and grabbed her by the waist. “Fine.” In one fluid motion, Jane flipped her on her back. “Maybe I can fuck the information out of you.”
The blonde laughed. “You can try.”
Jane grabbed the blonde’s face roughly. “And I’ll succeed,” she rasped out against plump lips.
Yvonne moaned and arched her back, pressing her body further into Jane’s. She threaded her fingers through Jane’s mane of hair and scratched at the back of the brunette’s head. “Then we’ve got a long night ahead of us, don’t we?”