The Ten Night's of Mario

chapter 4

By morning, Laketon felt different.

The city, which sparkled with December lights, suddenly carried a shadow and an uneasiness that crept through every street, every café, and every conversation. News of Mario DeLuca’s disappearance had spread faster than snowfall.

Every radio station repeated the same announcement.

Every television screen flashed Mario’s photo.

Every social media feed swarmed with hashtags, guesses, theories, and strangers offering prayers.

A child from the wealthiest family in the city was missing.

And no one knew what had happened.

Back at the mansion, police cars still lined the driveway. Officers moved in and out of the house with quiet determination. The once-grand gala hall now looked like a forgotten battlefield, tables half-cleared, decorations sagging, cold plates of food untouched.

Detective Ashford stood in the center of the room, scanning the details again and again. She had barely slept, but she remained fully alert. Cases involving missing children demanded patience, instinct, and unbroken focus.

She turned toward Mr. and Mrs. DeLuca, who sat on the same couch they hadn’t left since dawn.

We’ve pulled traffic camera footage, she told them gently. A black van matching the description left your neighborhood at 6:58 PM. It traveled through three intersections before we lost it near a construction site.

Mrs. DeLuca whispered, A construction site? Why would they go there?

We’re not sure yet, Detective Ashford replied. But the team is searching the area now.

Mr. DeLuca rubbed his forehead, exhausted. Any ransom calls?

No,she said. No messages. No threats. Nothing so far.

Sometimes, silence was worse than demands.

Outside the mansion gates, reporters crowded like a restless sea. Cameras flashed constantly. The microphone is positioned to capture anyone walking in or out.

A reporter shouted,

Is there any evidence Mario is still in the city?

Another asked,

Do the police believe this is connected to past DeLuca business disputes?

Security kept pushing them back.

Neighbors gathered on sidewalks, whispering to one another.

Those poor parents…

I can’t believe this happened here.

I heard someone say the kidnappers were professionals.

No, I heard it was revenge…

Rumors spread like wildfire, twisting with every retelling.

By noon, posters with Mario’s photo were being printed across the city.

MISSING CHILD – MARIO DELUCA

AGE: 12

LAST SEEN: DECEMBER 15TH, ROSEMONT HILL

People taped them to shop windows, bus stops, and street poles. Some put them in their car windows. Others shared Mario’s picture online, begging anyone with information to speak up.

The city felt united and frightened.

At the police station, Detective Ashford reviewed interviews from the gala staff and guests. Most had seen nothing suspicious. But a few details stood out.

One waiter reported seeing a dark figure near the garden entrance hours before the party.

Another worker recalled hearing a soft van engine outside the property earlier than usual.

None of it was strong evidence but small clues mattered.

As she made notes, her partner, Officer Damon Reyes, stepped into the room carrying a folder.

We checked the soil under the hedge, he said. Two sets of footprints. Adult size. One heavier, one lighter. They stood there for a while.

That matches the garden tracks, Ashford replied. They were waiting.

Reyes nodded grimly. And there’s more. Tire impressions near the driveway match a mid-sized van. The tread is slightly worn. Probably used often.

So they planned this,vAshford said softly. They knew the layout. They knew the timing. They knew Mario would step outside.

Reyes sighed. This wasn’t random.

That truth made the air feel colder.

Back at the mansion, Mrs. DeLuca stared out the window, holding a small toy in her hands, Mario's favorite model spaceship. He had carried it everywhere as a younger child.

Her voice trembled as she said, He must be so scared. He hates the cold. He always asks me to warm his blankets.

Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder. We’ll get him back.

But she didn’t look convinced. Tears slipped down her cheeks. How did this happen in our home? With all this security?

Mr. DeLuca looked away, jaw tight. We let our guard down.

Detective Ashford stepped closer. You couldn’t have known. You were hosting hundreds of people. Your focus was divided.

Mrs. DeLuca lowered her head. But a mother should notice. I should have noticed…

Ashford shook her head firmly. Blaming yourself won’t bring him back faster. What you can do is tell me everything about Mario, his habits, his fears, people he trusted, anyone who acted strange around him recently.

Mrs. DeLuca wiped her eyes and nodded slowly.

For the next hour, she and her husband described Mario’s routines, his tutors, his friends, his distant relatives, and even old conflicts, anything that might help.

But one name came up more than once.

A former employee named Elijah Ward.

A gardener who had worked for them years ago. Someone quiet. Someone polite. Someone who had been let go under tense circumstances.

Mrs. DeLuca hesitated when mentioning him. He left angry, she said. But that was years ago…

Detective Ashford didn’t dismiss it. We’ll follow every lead.

As dusk approached, the sky turned gray. Snow drifted down again, covering the ground in a thin, cold layer. Officers at the mansion began switching shifts.

Still no call.

Still no note.

Still no sign of Mario.

The silence grew heavier.

Inside the living room, Mr. DeLuca paced back and forth, unable to sit. Mrs. DeLuca’s eyes were red from crying, but she refused to leave the window.

The house, once full of servants and glitter and sound, felt unbearably empty.

Detective Ashford approached them once more.

We’re doing everything possible, she said. But there’s something else we need: the public.

Mr. DeLuca raised his head. You want us to speak?

She nodded. A public appeal. A message broadcast across the city. A personal plea can reach someone who sees something and doesn’t realize it matters.

Mrs. DeLuca hesitated. She had never been one to show vulnerability in public. But this wasn’t about image.

It was about Mario.

We’ll do it, she whispered.

An hour later, cameras were set up in the living room. The city’s major news stations were connected through a live feed. Every light felt blinding.

When the broadcast began, Mrs. DeLuca looked directly at the camera.

Her voice cracked.

Please… if you have our son… if you’ve seen him… anything… I’m begging you. Bring him home. He’s gentle. He’s loved. He’s just a child. Please.

Mr. DeLuca placed an arm around her shoulders. We will give anything. No questions. No negotiations. Just let our son go.

The cameras clicked off.

Mrs. DeLuca buried her face in her hands.

Detective Ashford exhaled softly. Someone out there knows something. They’ll come forward.

But deep down, the detective knew this case had layers of hidden truths waiting to surface.

And somewhere in the city, Mario was counting the hours of a night that felt endless.