It's the roaring twenties in Birmingham, the Peaky Blinders exist alongside God but they were much, much closer at hand than Him. Mercedes de Silva, thornless withered rose, petals filled with sorrow. Thomas Shelby, ruthlessly ambitious, conflicted...
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IT WAS ONE OF THOSE RARE, PERFECT DAYS—the subtle singing of birds, grass gleaming in the morning dew, golden streaks of sunshine creeping through the leaves of trees, flowers dancing in the open, fresh air of Worcester. The town's outskirts reminded her of home, which she didn't like, but everything around her was gorgeous.
"What are we doing here exactly?" Mercy asked, her round black sunglasses perching on her head. Thomas had shown up at her front door few hours ago, asking—more like ordering her to come with him. Mercy was supposed to join Sol and Ada's picnic today, but of course, Thomas Shelby had to appear out of thin air.
Thomas took a long puff at his cigar before letting his gaze fall on her, "Patience, angel. You'll see," he simply answered, returning his attention on the road. Mercy scoffed and leaned her body against the car seat. "It's lovely here," she whispered, feeling the gust of wind blowing against her face.
A soft chuckle escaped Thomas' lips, "What, so you're like John's wife now, eh? What's the deal with fresh air, trees, and fucking chickens?"
"That's what she said? I mean, who can blame her? Esme is a child of nature, born in a serene and carefree existence under the wide sky. Naturally, she'd want that for herself and her family," Mercy spoke up right away, defending John's wife
Speaking truthfully, Mercy also wanted to live like that, but it would be just a pipe dream if she were to continue being Thomas' inamorata. Being with Thomas means living a life that will never be easy, living with the fear that any given moment could be her last on this world.
"Do you want that?" Thomas asked, his digit slowly reaching out to her left hand before tangling it with his. "Want what?" she said, her gaze fixed on the wide blades of grass.
"Fresh air, trees, and chicken?"
"That sounds lovely, a field would be great too so I could ride a horse," Mercy glanced at him with a gentle smile that spread gradually across her face, "Never knew you could ride one," he cocked his head to the side, right brow arched.
"Well," Mercy scratched the back of her neck, "...My father didn't allow me, said it was unladylike, but fuck it, yeah? I and my brother often sneaked out and he'd let me ride Maximo, his horse," she explained, her smile slowly disappearing at the mention of her own father and brother, gloom welling up in her chest.
She still remembers Iago's black stallion that she'd always feed and pet, Mercy would ride the horse whenever their father was out of town for business or pleasure. Everything seems like just yesterday, and she'd give up anything to be with Iago for one last time.
"I see..." Thomas nodded, mentally taking notes of everything she just said. Lately, the Shelby man had been looking around for a house—his own one, since their aunt Pol finally has her own. Their abode on Watery Lane has never been about valuables and possessions, but more about memories and dreams. A place where their story and aspiration began, as well as all fights and arguments. Small Heath is where they unfolded all the important chapters of their lives. The company was progressively reaching its pinnacle, as was the family. The Shelbys were finally settling into a life of comfort and luxury.
