Chapter 3 – The Coat In The Empty Cabin

The black sedan tore up the Hutchinson River Parkway, the city lights fading into the dense, rain-soaked darkness of the woods.

Elena sat silently, staring at the bare skin of her left wrist.

For seven years, she had hated her father. She had cursed his name while working double shifts to pay for textbooks. She had convinced herself she was nothing but a burden he had finally decided to shed.

Now, Lorenzo Moretti was telling her Frank Vance had tethered himself to her pulse.

“Why?” she whispered, staring out the window. “If he wanted to protect me, why leave?”

“Because proximity is a liability,” Lorenzo said, his voice softer than it had been in the restaurant. “The Costa family slaughters entire bloodlines to settle debts. Frank knew if he stayed, they would kill you just to watch him suffer.”

“So he made himself a ghost.”

“And he made you a waitress in Tribeca,” Lorenzo agreed. “Hidden in plain sight.”

The car violently turned onto a gravel road, the tires kicking up mud. The headlights cut through a thick canopy of pine trees, eventually illuminating a small, dilapidated cabin at the end of the path.

No lights were on.

No smoke came from the chimney.

“Stay behind me,” Lorenzo ordered as the car stopped.

He drew his weapon and stepped out into the freezing rain. Elena followed, her thin uniform offering no protection against the chill.

Lorenzo kicked the front door open. It gave way easily. Too easily.

He swept the room with a flashlight attached to his gun.

Dust coated the wooden floorboards. The fireplace was cold. The furniture was draped in heavy white sheets.

“He hasn’t been here in months,” Lorenzo muttered, lowering his weapon slightly.

Elena walked inside, the floorboards groaking under her shoes.

She felt a strange, heavy pull in her chest. The animal part of her brain wasn’t screaming danger anymore. It was screaming something else.

Sorrow.

She walked toward a small closet near the back hallway. The door was slightly ajar.

She pulled it open.

Hanging on a solitary wooden hook was a heavy, charcoal-gray wool coat.

Elena reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed the rough fabric. It smelled faintly of motor oil and peppermint.

Her father’s scent.

“Lorenzo,” she called out, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo appeared behind her. He saw the coat and immediately stepped forward, his professional instincts taking over.

He didn’t touch the outside. He reached directly into the deep inner pocket.

He pulled out a folded piece of paper.

He opened it, shining his light on it.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on lined notebook paper.

It showed a tall man holding the hand of a little boy with dark curly hair. Above them, a poorly drawn sun smiled down.

Elena frowned. “I didn’t draw that. I don’t draw.”

Lorenzo stared at the drawing. His breathing stopped. His hand began to shake.

“No,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice shattering. “You didn’t.”

“Who did?”

Lorenzo looked at her, his eyes filled with a pain so profound it made Elena step back.

“My nephew,” Lorenzo choked out. “Leo. He was kidnapped three weeks ago by the Costas. They sent me a piece of his shirt covered in blood. They told me he was dead.”

Elena covered her mouth.

Lorenzo looked back at the coat. “Frank didn’t come here to hide. He came here to hide Leo.”

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked above them.

Lorenzo instantly raised his gun toward the ceiling.

“Don’t shoot!” a tiny, terrified voice cried out from the loft above.

Elena pushed past Lorenzo and ran to the wooden ladder in the corner. She climbed up fast, ignoring the splintering wood.

In the corner of the dusty loft, huddled beneath a filthy blanket, was a little boy. He was thin, pale, and shivering, holding a baseball bat that was too heavy for him.

“Leo?” Elena asked softly.

The boy peeked out. His dark curly hair was matted.

“Who are you?” Leo whimpered.

“I’m a friend of Frank’s,” Elena lied smoothly, keeping her voice incredibly gentle. “He sent me to check on you.”

Leo lowered the bat. “Frank said he’d come back yesterday. He said he had to go to the city to get the lady.”

Elena froze. “The lady?”

“His daughter,” Leo said, his lip quivering. “He said bad men found her. He went to get her.”

Tears spilled down Elena’s face. Frank hadn’t abandoned the cabin. He had run into the fire for her.

Lorenzo climbed up the ladder. When Leo saw him, the boy dropped the blanket entirely.

“Uncle Enzo!” Leo screamed, launching himself into Lorenzo’s arms.

Lorenzo crushed the boy to his chest, burying his face in Leo’s hair, his broad shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Elena watched, her heart breaking for the mafia boss who loved his nephew like a son.

But the tender moment was shattered by a sound from outside.

The crunch of heavy tires on gravel. Not one car. Several.

Then, a bright spotlight ripped through the cabin window, illuminating the loft in blinding white.

A voice boomed over a megaphone.

“Lorenzo Moretti! Come out with the girl and the boy, and I’ll make it fast!”

Lorenzo looked at Elena, his face hardening back into stone.

“It’s my uncle,” Lorenzo whispered. “Silas. He’s the one working with the Costas.”

TITLE: The Silver Watch In The Dirt

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