Ford is silent.
"I'm not naive about what's happening," I continue. "I know I'm here because I'm leverage. Because hurting me would hurt my father in ways that business losses can't. I've always known this was possible. I just thought..." I trail off, not sure how to finish.
"Thought what?"
"That the distance I put between myself and his world would be enough. That three years in Switzerland, four years at Boston University and eight years building a legitimate career would make me something other than Enzo Mancini's daughter." The words taste bitter. "It doesn't matter that I've never taken a dollar from his accounts. It doesn't matter that I live on my museum salary and split rent on an apartment in Jamaica Plain with a woman who thinks my father imports olive oil. To the Veronis, I'm still just a piece on my father's board."
Ford cuts the engine. We drift in sudden silence, the boat rocking gently as waves lap against the hull.
"You're angry."
"I'm furious." I look at him directly, letting him see it. "I'm furious that I had no say in being sent here. I'm furious that my work is sitting unfinished on a table in Boston while I hide on a stranger's boat. I'm furious that twenty-eight years of trying to be my own person wasn't enough to escape being defined by my last name."
He doesn't flinch from my fury. Doesn't try to soothe it away or tell me things will be okay.
"You have every right to be."
"I know I do."
"And I'm not going to apologize for keeping you alive."
"I'm not asking you to apologize." I stand, needing to move, needing to burn off some of this energy before it consumes me. "I'm asking you to understand that you're not the only one paying a debt here. My father put me on that plane without asking if I wanted to go. He sent me to you without telling me anything about who you are or why you owe him. I'm here because Enzo Mancini decided I should be here, and that's been the story of my entire life."
Ford moves away from the helm, approaching slowly like I'm a wild thing that might bolt.
"Priest saved my career," he says quietly. "Twelve years ago. I was given a choice. I made the one that would save my life. Priest made that choice possible."
"And the price was a marker held by my father."
"Yes."
"Why would a CIA operative owe anything to a crime boss?"
"That's not my story to tell." He's close now. Close enough that I can see the lines around his eyes, the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. "But the debt is real. And I pay my debts."
"Even if it means babysitting the boss's daughter for two weeks."
"Even then." His voice drops. "But I need you to understand something, Sera. You're not cargo to me. You're not a package or an asset or leverage. From the moment you stepped off that plane, you became a person I'm going to keep breathing. Whatever that takes."
I should step back. Put distance between us. Remember that this man is here because he owes my father, not because he chose me.
Instead I hold my ground, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body in the afternoon sun.
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't. Not yet." His gray eyes hold mine steady. "But you will."
The boat rocks beneath us. The marsh birds call to each other across the water. And something in my chest cracks open just enough to let a sliver of trust slip through.
I don't know this man. I don't know his history beyond the fragment he just offered. I don't know what he's capable of or what happened in those years between his SEAL career and this fishing boat.
But when he looks at me like I'm a person instead of a problem, something in me responds.
Inconvenient. Complicated. Dangerous.
I take a breath. "Show me how to help with the anchor."
Ford's eyebrows rise slightly.
