Chapter 7 - A QUESTION FOR THE FATHER
The sentence hung in the warm, sunlight-streaked air of Courtroom 3B like a suspended executioner's blade.
Judge Norris leaned further forward over his high mahogany bench, his reading glasses held loosely in his hand, his stern silver-gray brows knitting together in sharp judicial focus. "Tell me what, young man?"
Audrey remained on her knees by the bar gate, her hands clutching the red velvet fabric of her maternity gown, her breath hitching in her throat. She looked at her son, then looked up at Julian, her expression completely bewildered, terrified that Leo had somehow become entangled in the dark, violent machinery of his father's syndicate.
"Leo, no..." Audrey pleaded softly, her maternal instinct screaming at her to shield her child from the courtroom. "Sweetheart, come back to Mommy. You don't have to be involved in this."
Leo did not turn back to her.
His small shoes remained planted firmly on the polished floorboards. He kept his eyes locked on Julian’s handsome, pale face, his chest rising and falling beneath his navy suit jacket.
"Daddy," Leo repeated, his voice remarkably steady, carrying that innocent, devastating clarity that only a child possesses when confronting a broken world. "Should I tell him about the tea?"
Julian Vance went completely, terrifyingly still.
The breath left the mafia boss's lungs in a violent, silent gasp.
Every drop of color drained from his rugged, stubbled face with horrifying speed, leaving his skin the shade of wet limestone. His pupils dilated until the slate-gray of his irises was almost entirely consumed by black. His broad, muscular frame—a frame that had survived four gunshot wounds and two federal wiretaps without flinching—seemed to buckle by half an inch, his fingers twitching violently against his navy trouser seams.
The tea.
The single word struck Julian’s chest like a hollow-point bullet.
Beside his empty chair, Clara Sterling’s face transformed.
The sophisticated, triumphant heiress who had smirked at Audrey's defeat completely dissolved. Her jaw went slack, her hands flying to her throat, her manicured fingers clutching the five-carat diamond pendant so hard the platinum chain dug into her flesh. Her blue eyes bugged out in wild, feral panic, darting from the child in the center of the aisle to the bailiff standing ten feet away.
"Julian," Clara hissed, her voice cracking into a high, desperate pitch that carried across the entire room. "Get him out of here! He’s hallucinating! He’s six years old—he doesn't know what he’s saying!"
Judge Norris slammed his wooden gavel down with concussive force.
BANG!
The sharp crack of the wood echoed off the high ceiling like a gunshot, silencing Clara instantly.
"One more word from you, Ms. Sterling, and you will be remanded into custody for the remainder of this session!" Norris roared, his eyes blazing with fury.
The judge turned his attention back to the boy in the center of the aisle. His voice softened, but beneath the gentleness lay the full, unyielding weight of the legal system.
"Leo," Judge Norris said quietly. "What tea are you talking about?"
Leo did not look at the judge.
May you like
He slowly, deliberately shifted his gaze away from his father.
His dark eyes moved across the well of the court, crossing the three feet of empty space, until they locked directly onto Clara Sterling’s trembling, pale face.
