Rafe had grown abruptly pale. “Mom?” he whispered.

Mercy could only stand there, gaping in shock. “You?”

Irina squeezed Mercy’s hands, but her gaze remained fixed on Rafe and Sasha. “It was long ago, dorogieyie. Before I left Russia. It was why I left Russia. Why my mother got me out, just like Mercy’s mother did for her.”

Sasha’s eyes had filled with tears. “You never told us.”

Irina’s smile was sad. “Why would I? When would I? When you were children? It’s not something that one tells their babies and even after you started growing up, one of you was still too young. And now that Zoya is seventeen . . .” She trailed off. “It was such a long time ago that it didn’t seem positive to bring it up. I don’t like to speak of it, but your father knows and has long accepted it. We cannot punish the man who assaulted me, but we can help others. It’s one of the reasons we are so active with the rape counseling charities and why we encouraged public service.” Her lips turned up, a small smile but a real one. “You all have made us proud—Rafe, you and Meg and Damien are police officers, Sasha a social worker who helps children, Jude is a prosecutor, Cash a physical therapist, and Patrick fights fires. I may even get a doctor in the family if Zoya continues in her path. My children right wrongs, protect the community, save lives, heal bodies, and nurture spirits. No mother could ask for more.”

“It’s also why you were so upset when you thought Gideon had been . . .” Sasha pursed her trembling lips. “Assaulted.” She wiped her eyes. “I work with victims every day—children, even—and I can’t say the word.”

“It is harder when it is family, I think,” Irina said gently. “And yes, knowing that Gideon was almost assaulted was very difficult for me.” She stroked her thumbs over Mercy’s knuckles. “Knowing how you suffered as girl, and then once you’d believed yourself safe, had to endure the second kasyoel who recorded his crime with his phone . . . This is much harder. The men who hurt you must be punished—the man in Eden and the man in New Orleans—and if we can help make that happen, then that is what we will do.”

Mercy swallowed hard because Ephraim had forced her for an entire year. But she’d managed to lose at least some of those memories. Her twelve-year-old mind had often shut down to spare her the full horror. The clear memories she shoved into her mental box and nailed it closed.

Wishing for a fraction of Irina’s strength, Mercy turned her focus to Rafe, who looked broken.

Rafe’s throat worked as tears ran down his face, unchecked. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”

Irina released Mercy and wrapped her arms around her son. “Thank you for your sorrow on my behalf, sin rodnoy moy. As I said, it was long ago. I haven’t ‘gotten over it,’ nor have I forgotten. But there are whole blocks of time when I do not think of it. That is the best I can expect and I’m grateful for those times, but when I hear of other victims, I remember.”