The Boy In The Yellow Raincoat

Luca didn't hesitate. He drew a matte-black handgun from his waist and bolted through the dining room doors.

“Marco! Secure the guests! Nobody leaves!” Luca ordered over his shoulder.

I don't know what possessed me, but I didn't stay behind. I grabbed the handles of Mrs. Moretti’s wheelchair and pushed her quickly into the hallway, away from the screaming, panicking guests.

Vanessa tried to follow Luca, but Marco grabbed her arm, his grip bruising her skin.

“Let me go!” she shrieked.

I left them at the bottom of the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had cleaned every inch of this mansion. I knew the East Wing was a maze of unfinished rooms covered in plastic sheeting and dust. If a child was hiding up there, they were terrified.

I ran up the marble staircase, following the echoing sound of Luca’s heavy footsteps.

When I reached the second-floor landing, the temperature dropped. The heating in the East Wing had been shut off. Plastic tarps rustled in the drafts coming from the old, poorly sealed windows.

“Leo!” Luca’s voice cracked with a desperation that broke my heart. “Leo, it’s Dad! Where are you?”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain beating against the glass.

I stepped onto the hardwood floor, noticing a trail of small, muddy footprints leading toward the old library at the end of the hall.

“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, pointing to the floor.

He saw the prints and moved swiftly, his gun lowered but ready. He kicked open the library door.

The room was stripped bare, furniture covered in white sheets looking like ghosts in the moonlight. But in the center of the room, an old, heavy wooden wardrobe stood slightly ajar.

Luca slowly approached it. He holstered his weapon, dropping to his knees.

“Leo?” he said softly. “Buddy, it’s me. You’re safe.”

He pulled the wardrobe door open.

It was empty.

But sitting on the wooden floor inside was a small, heavy object. Luca reached in and pulled it out.

It was a child’s winter coat. Navy blue. But it was completely covered in dried, dark stains. Blood.

Answer One: Leo had survived the crash, but he had been badly hurt.

Luca stared at the coat, his broad shoulders shaking. The invincible mafia boss was crumbling in front of me.

“Who’s been feeding him?” I asked aloud, scanning the room. “If he’s been hiding here for three months, someone in this house had to know. Someone was bringing him food.”

I walked toward the corner of the room. Tucked behind a stack of moving boxes were several empty plates, a stash of bottled water, and a pile of child’s drawings.

I picked up the top paper. It was drawn in crayon.

It showed a tall woman with yellow hair—Vanessa—holding a pair of scissors next to a car.

Open Two: If Vanessa cut the brakes, who brought Leo back to the house to hide him?

“Mr. Moretti,” I said gently, handing him the drawing.

He stared at it, his jaw clenching so hard I thought his teeth would break. The grief in his eyes was instantly replaced by a terrifying, cold rage.

Then, a floorboard creaked behind us.

We both spun around.

Standing in the doorway was Nurse Higgins, the private caretaker Vanessa had hired to look after Mrs. Moretti. She was holding a tray of medical supplies, her face pale, her eyes darting nervously.

“What are you doing up here?” Luca demanded, stepping toward her.

“I... I heard the alarm, sir,” she stammered, backing away. “I came to check the windows.”

“Liar,” I said. The word slipped out before I could stop it.

I pointed to her pocket. “You have a set of brass keys clipped to your belt. The only brass locks in this house are on the East Wing doors. You’re the one who’s been coming up here.”

Nurse Higgins panicked. She dropped the tray, shattering glass vials across the floor, and turned to run.

Luca caught her in two strides, pinning her against the wall.

“Where is my son?” he roared.

“I don’t know!” she sobbed. “I swear! I just brought him food! Vanessa paid me to keep him quiet until she could get rid of the old woman!”

The reversal twisted the knife deeper. Vanessa wasn’t just trying to kill her fiancé’s family. She had kept his traumatized son as a hostage in his own home, using the corrupt nurse as a warden.

“Why did he scream?” I asked, stepping closer to the terrified nurse.

“Because someone else found him,” Nurse Higgins cried. “Someone came upstairs before the alarm went off. They took him!”

A heavy thud echoed from the floor directly above us. The attic.

Luca looked up, his face pale.

Without a word, he let go of the nurse and ran toward the hidden servant stairs. I followed closely behind.

When we reached the attic door, the lock was already broken.

Luca pushed it open.

Sitting in the center of the dusty floor was Leo, crying silently, clutching a broken pocket watch.