Chapter 10 - The Threshold of Blood
Leo gripped the brass handle of the French door. As Daniel had promised, the electronic lock was disengaged. The door swung inward with a faint, whispering sigh of warm air.
Leo stepped into the master study.
The air inside smelled of rich tobacco, peat scotch, aged leather, and expensive wax polish—the smell of unimaginable wealth, the smell of the man who had bought his mother's death for a fraction of his fortune.
Leo’s wet sneakers left dark, watery footprints on the thick Persian rug as he walked slowly toward the armchair.
The heat from the fireplace hit his face, warming his cold skin, but the ice inside his chest remained solid, unyielding.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sharpened steel nail.
He stood beside the armchair, staring down at Julian Sterling's sleeping face.
Up close, the man looked human. He had deep lines around his eyes, gray stubble on his jaw, and a faint liver spot near his temple. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like an old, tired man sleeping off a bottle of expensive alcohol.
Leo raised his arm. His small fingers tightened around the rusted iron rod.
He crushed her windpipe, Daniel’s voice echoed in his mind. She begged for her eight-year-old son.
Leo’s arm trembled violently in the warm air of the study. His heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer hitting stone.
He brought the point of the steel nail down, positioning it inches above the exposed, pulsing jugular vein in Julian Sterling's neck.
One quick, downward strike with all his body weight. That was all it would take.
Julian shifted slightly in his sleep, letting out a soft, wet snore. He turned his head toward the fire, exposing more of his pale throat.
May you like
Leo pulled his hand back, preparing to drive the spike home.
And then, his gaze caught something resting on the mahogany desk behind the armchair.
