Vincent was slumped sideways in his leather chair, one hand pressed hard against his left side. His white shirt had gone dark beneath his fingers.
His face looked gray.
Adeline stopped.
Most adults in the Castellano estate would later admit that what happened next frightened them almost as much as the blood.
She did not scream.
She did not run blindly through the hall.
She stared at Vincent for perhaps two seconds, her small face tightening with concentration.
Then she dropped the stuffed alligator.
Dragged the visitor’s chair across the rug with both hands.
Climbed onto it.
Continue on the next page:
