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Edward didn’t flinch. He just sighed, added a fourth set of cutlery with the mechanical grace of a man who had long accepted the inevitability of divine punishment, and muttered, "I should have set the table for five."

"Why five?" Max asked, mouth full.

"Because Irina’s probably attached to Alexandra’s hip like a decorative brooch," Gabriel answered, already pushing his plate aside like he knew the moment for peace had expired.

Damian didn’t move. "Let her in."

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