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.’
‘So do I,’ Mercy said quietly. But she hadn’t volunteered to help other victims like Irina and Karl did.
‘Stop it,’ Irina chided. ‘I can see your thoughts on your face, Mercy. We each have our path to healing. We each must decide what we are able to do for ourselves and for others. What is it that the airline attendants say? Put the mask on yourself first? If you want to help others in the future, I will be there to guide you, if you wish. But you will not berate yourself for the way you’ve sought healing. Am I clear?’
Mercy managed a smile. ‘Yes, ma’am. Someday I’d like to hear how you escaped your situation.’
Irina’s smile was genuine and serene. ‘Someday I will tell you. Now, let us leave this bathroom. It is not a sanitary place to have a family meeting.’
Rafe’s laugh was shaky. ‘I love you, Mom.’
Irina took his cheeks in her hands and pulled him down, placing a kiss on his forehead. ‘And I love you, Raphael.’ She did the same to Sasha. ‘And I love you as well, Anastasia.’
‘Boo,’ Mercy said, forcing a lightness into her voice that she didn’t feel. Not yet anyway. ‘Your real name is nice, Sasha.’
‘Yours is expensive,’ Sasha fired back, then hugged her mother again. ‘Do the others know?’
‘No. I suppose I must tell them now, but it can wait, yes?’ She lifted her brows at her children. ‘Yes?’ she repeated.
‘Yes, Mama,’ they said in unison.
‘Your secret is safe with us,’ Rafe said, then cleared his throat roughly, still visibly shaken. ‘Can you be around food, Mercy? Because I never got to eat dinner and I’m starving.’
‘I can,’ Mercy said. She hoped. Keeping food down when she was this stressed was never an easy task. ‘I never got to finish the mac and cheese that you made me, Irina.’
‘Farrah said it was your comfort food. We thought you deserved some comfort this night. Come.’ Irina took Mercy’s empty mug and led them out of the bathroom.
Mercy and Rafe were the last to file out, Rafe looking so shattered it made Mercy’s heart hurt. She took his hand and threaded their fingers together. ‘Will you be okay?’
Rafe stared at his mother’s retreating back. ‘Yes. Eventually. I . . . we didn’t know.’
‘She shared it for me, to help me,’ Mercy murmured, overwhelmed by Irina’s generosity. ‘You have an amazing mother, Raphael Sokolov.’
‘I know.’
Eight
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 12.00 A.M.
Rafe had questions. So many questions. For his mother, for his dad, for Gideon, and for Mercy herself. The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to get Mercy somewhere quieter. The two of them sat at the Sokolov family table while his mother, his father, Sasha, and Farrah made plans with Daisy over the speakerphone. His father’s attorney was working to get the video removed from the website that published the foul article on Mercy, thank goodness. Fortunately, money talked, and his father had contacts in powerful places.
Daisy had used her media connections to get an interview set up for Mercy with a reporter who’d been sympathetic and fair during and after the February fiasco. Now they were all speaking animatedly about what Mercy should and should not say to the reporter. All while Mercy sat with them, pale and hunched, and very alone despite the crowd.
He slid his arm across the back of the chair, wincing as she flinched. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
She turned to meet his eyes, hers filled with fear, sadness, and utter exhaustion. ‘I know. I’m just . . .’
‘You’re tired, and my family can be a lot,’ he murmured quietly. ‘I’m aware of this.’
She smiled in earnest at that, understanding flickering amid the pain. ‘I guess so. They’re helping. I appreciate it. It’s . . . I’m tired.’
‘Which is why we’re blowing this joint,’ he said lightly, holding up his phone. ‘I texted my brother Damien. He’s coming to escort us back to my house. You’ll get some quiet and some sleep.’
Her brow crinkled a little, then smoothed. ‘Oh, right. Damien is another police officer.’
‘Yep. He works in the Russian division, out in West Sac.’ He patted her shoulder when her frown returned. ‘He’s a good guy. You can trust him.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I can. I was just wondering why West Sac has a Russian division? Do they investigate Russian organized crime?’
He chuckled. ‘No. West Sacramento has a large Russian community. Damien’s group serves them. Damien’s fluent in Russian, so he was a natural for the division.’
‘Do you speak Russian?’
‘Some. Mom spoke it at home when we were little, but mainly when she got . . . emotional. That translates to upset because one of us was misbehaving. Or when she was driving and someone cut her off in traffic.’ He was encouraged by the humor in her eyes. So much better than the numb despair that had dominated a moment before. ‘That’s why I know the word for “asshole”.’
Her lips twitched. ‘Kaz . . . What was it?’
‘Kazyoel.’ The word his mother had used to describe the piece of shit who’d drugged Mercy. New rage bubbled up inside him and he wanted to throttle the kazyoel with his own hands. But his rage wasn’t what Mercy needed at the moment. She needed his support. His comfort. His protection.
‘I’ll have to remember that word,’ she said, and then her shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. ‘Thank you, Rafe. You all have made a really sucky evening a little bit better.’
It was all Rafe could do not to lean in and kiss her. But it wasn’t the time. She’d already fallen asleep in his arms. That was more than he’d expected. Still not enough, but more than he’d dreamed.
A throat clearing had him looking at the rest of the table, which had gone silent. ‘Yes?’ he asked, falling back behind the wall he’d built over the course of his life, pulling his nonchalant persona around his shoulders like a cloak in winter.