“Actually,” I say, brightening a bit. “I did tell Saint how I felt. I mean, sort of. I told him if he asked me to go somewhere with him after this Mercier job, I would go.”
“That’s good,” he praises with a tiny slap of his hand on the table. The kettle starts whistling, but I jump up and beat him to it.
I head into the kitchen as my dad asks, “What did Saint say to that?”
“Nothing really,” I answer with a shrug. “He’s worried about this last job—can’t see past it.”
“And you of all people should understand how important it is to put all of your energy and brainpower into a job,” he chastises.
“I know,” I reply, preparing our tea and grabbing a can of biscuits—cookies, according to Saint—I’d bought. I lay the items out on a tray before carrying it to the table. “And this Mercier job—whatever it might be—is supposed to be huge. Like nothing we’ve ever worked before.”
“I have faith in you two,” he replies firmly, reaching for his cup.
“Actually,” I say with a sly smile. “Maybe we can run some stuff by you, bounce some ideas off you once we find out what the job is.”
My dad’s face lights up with pure joy. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” I say with a laugh as I take my seat. “You can be a strategy consultant.”
I open the biscuits, then hand a few over to my dad. I’ve always loved talking to him, knowing he’d never judge me. He’s been the best sounding board I could ever hope for.
“Let me ask you a hypothetical question,” I drawl, tapping my biscuit on the edge of my teacup. “If I had the ability to move to anywhere in the world and start over, would you want to come with me and where would you want to go?”
My dad ponders a moment, nibbling on his biscuit. “I can’t think of anywhere in particular. I mean… London is my home. I’d want to be close by if you had kids, of course, so I suppose if you moved somewhere and you didn’t mind me coming along, I’d go wherever you went. Why do you ask?”
I shrug, hating I’m even considering Saint’s offer to help me disappear. To move my dad and me safely out of Mercier’s reach.
“Sindaria,” my dad says. I can tell I’ve worried him by his scrunched brow. “Why did you ask that? And don’t think about lying to me.”
I’m at a crossroads. I’ve withheld information from my dad so he wouldn’t worry about me, which I felt was protecting him. But I’ve had about as honest and transparent of a conversation with him where I had to crush his dreams of returning to his life as a thief, and he took it way better than I expected.
Maybe I need to quit thinking I have to protect him. Instead, he’d drawn on his strength I’d thought he’d lost. Despite his stroke and failing capabilities, he’s still my strong-shouldered father.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to let Dad in on the secret I’d been harboring. “You’re going to be angry with me when I tell you this,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Of course, I won’t,” he scoffs.
Okay. Whatever. “When you had your stroke and it messed up that job with Mercier, he told me that I had to work jobs for him until your debt was paid off. I’ve been doing that—”
My dad explodes, shooting out of his chair. His voice booms, sounding like thunder. “Jesus Christ, what the bloody hell have you agreed to do for that arsehole?”
“You said you wouldn’t get mad,” I accuse, pointing at the chair. “Now sit before you give yourself a heart attack, and I’ll explain.”
Reluctantly, because my dad is a stubborn man, he plops his frame back in the chair and glares at me. I ignore that, because I’ve decided to come clean in case something bad happens in this last job with Mercier.
“He threatened to kill you if I didn’t—”
My dad starts cursing again. This time, he jumps out of the chair and paces the length of the small apartment, threatening to fly to Paris right this moment and cut off Mercier’s balls with a butter knife. I wait it out, sipping at my tea and nibbling a biscuit until he calms down.
Finally, he returns to his chair and sits with a huff.
“Are you done?” I ask sarcastically, fighting off a smile.
“For now,” he clips out.
“Okay… so I agreed to help Mercier out on some jobs until the price you cost him was paid.”
“And how long was that going to take?” my dad demands.
“No clue,” I say honestly, owning up to getting myself in a pickle. “But that’s moot right now because this job with Mercier is going to be the last.”
My dad frowns. “I’m not following.”