Silently, they joined Gideon, Daisy, André, and Liza, who were already sitting with Karl at the table, which was overflowing with food, a testament to Irina’s level of stress. The tension was thick as Irina served them and became thicker with each moment that the eight of them ate without speaking, because even Karl was silent. There was a grim determination to the meal, like they all felt that the other shoe was poised to drop.

So it’s not just me.

Mercy had noticed right away that Tom hadn’t joined them, but figured he was talking with the new bodyguards. Mercy had also noticed that the sink was full of dishes. The sight almost made her smile, despite the dread curling around her gut. Irina had probably fed all of the agents outside.

Irina Sokolov was so much like Farrah’s mother, Mercy felt at home. If you stayed, you could be home.

If I stayed? The thought tantalized, even as it terrified her. She had family in New Orleans—her half brothers and sisters and the Romeros. She had a job that she really loved.

But Rafe is here. And Gideon. And Irina had welcomed her with open arms.

Unless Ephraim continued hurting the Sokolov family. He’d already shot Sasha, tried to shoot Rafe, and tried to abduct Zoya. Irina might be rethinking that welcome right now.

Well, shit. Mercy dropped her eyes to her plate, unable to eat another bite. She’d brought trouble into this household. No, she hadn’t done anything to cause the trouble. Except that I survived. She couldn’t be sorry for that, no matter how much Irina might be blaming her.

My mother sacrificed her life so that I could survive. It was the thought that had kept Mercy going every time she’d wanted to give up.

Finally André broke the silence, making Mercy want to kiss him. “Irina, that was delicious. My mother would love the recipe.” He smiled at Irina, who’d only sipped at a cup of tea while the rest of them ate their fill. “She’d trade recipes with you, of course, and she is an excellent cook.”

Farrah gave André a look of clear appreciation, because Irina seemed to relax a fraction. “She really is an amazing cook, Irina. She’s been teaching me.” She rolled her eyes. “You know, so her baby boy doesn’t starve.”

Irina chuckled. “We can’t have that, can we?” She put down her cup and sighed. “Mercy, we need to have a talk.”

Mercy straightened her spine and exhaled slowly, fighting the burn of tears in her eyes. She’d cried more in the last four days than she had in the last four years. “I figured as much. I can . . .” What? Leave? To go where? “I’ll, um, find another place. As soon as I can.”

There was a beat of silence, then Rafe shoved his plate away. “What the hell?” he snarled. “No, you will not find another place. Mom, what’s this about? You’re scaring her.”