To Find Isabel

Chapter 25

I paused for a moment. I could see the curiosity in his eyes. At the same time, I could almost feel his broken heart. It's like he's laid it out in front of me, hoping for me to pick up the pieces and put them back together for him.

And then an idea struck. If I was going to assume this person was alive, I should know what she looks like to find her.

"Do you have pictures?" I faltered.

"Of?"

"Of Isabel," I cocked my head to the side, "Surely, you would have taken some pictures at some point."

"I do," he paused, "Somewhere."

I leaned back into the seat and silently waited while he called for a phone and dug through it for pictures.

Rich people really are the laziest people existent. You would think they would have a good work ethic that brought them all the wealth, but no. They have people for everything. They do absolutely nothing.

"Here," he motioned for me to walk over and I did. I hunched over his shoulder as he pulled out the images.

We flipped though a few pictures and I tried to look for any blatant details. She didn't accessorize that much. Just a simple necklace and bracelet or watch.

"Wait stop," I ordered as we flipped through.

"What?"

"That purse. Go back," I said, and he did as told. Every picture had the purse. It was sort of a red and beige patterned.

"Did she always have that purse?" I asked, turning towards him.

"From these pictures and what I remember, she did usually carry that purse around."

"So, could that have been the purse she took that day? Do you remember?"

"What does the purse have to do with-"

"Stop being an idiot and answer the question," I interjected, "Do you remember if that's the purse she took?"

"If it's not in her wardrobe that we haven't been in since she died, then it's highly likely."

"Was there some attachment to that purse? Anything special about it?"

"It had our initials on the top right of the inside flap. I don't think she knew it was there, but I had it made as a gift before I even met her. The initials look just like a 6 in roman numerals." He drew a VI with his finger on the table.

I looked at him. The tears threatened, and there was a lump in my throat. He didn't know her. He never met her. But he had loved her to a point where he had gifts for her before she even knew him. Before she even knew he loved her.

I took a deep breath.

At the moment I had two thoughts. It could have been Lara, or it could have been someone else that Victor was feuding with. Of course, I can't confirm anything until I get a lead.

I explained to him that I could go talk to Lara.

"No one here knows I exist or even who I am," I assure him, "and if they were to find out, they wouldn't know anything about you and me. Besides, my father is known for nothing but his affairs."

"But still, it's a dangerous area. I doubt, you can get anything out of Lara to be honest."

"I majored in psychology, I can play with their minds," I say devilishly while waving my fingers in the air.

"It's really not safe."

"I didn't grow up in the mafia Victor. I grew up without protection. I had to be my own defense."

"But still," he whispered.

"Just watch," I smirked, "You'll see a whole new side of me."

"Is that so?" He asks raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

As we brush over the conversation and make our way back inside, I noticed a motorbike out of the corner of my eye.

"That yours?" I ask Victor

"Yes, it is."

I think he could tell that I was elated to know he owned a bike.

"Do you like it?" he grinned.

"Can I use it?" I ask. He hesitates. "I used to have one in London, I promise I wont die."

"Hmm," he drones.

"Have the keys ready tomorrow," I wink, and walk away.

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