Chapter Twelve
6 YEARS AND 9 MONTHS EARLIER, MOSCOW
“Mama, I’m heading over to Natasha’s,” I say in a falsely cheerful tone as I stick my head into the media room, where my mom is glued to yet another soap opera. “I’ll be home late.”
She glances my way, her eyes red and swollen. Her voice is thick, clearly hoarse from crying as she says, “But you just flew in this morning.”
“I know, but I made plans with Natasha weeks ago. She’s really eager to see me.” And I’m really eager to get out of here.
“Take a few bodyguards with you then.” She returns her attention to the TV.
“I will, of course.”
I can go now, but I hover in the doorway, uncertain of what to do. I’m dying to escape the toxic atmosphere in my parents’ penthouse, but I’ve never seen Mama so upset, nor Papa so enraged and drun
