It took two days and three different favours before Dante found her, and even then, that didn't mean 'she' was the woman in the picture. Isabella Herrera was the younger sister of the woman he saw in the photo, who was named Maria Herrera. Why she was important, Dante still didn't know, but he was about to find out.
He stood in front of a modest home, one of those small and quaint modern cottage types. It had so many flowers out front that it made Dante want to sneeze, but he put a finger to the underneath of his nose and pressed – a trick his father taught him to keep from sneezing. He walked forward through the small garden gate and up the porch, knocking on the door.
He could hear the whistle of a tea pot as he waited, so he stayed there until he heard it stop. Once it was done, he knocked again, just in case he wasn't heard the first time. He heard a voice call to him:
"Coming!"
The door opened a few seconds later, showing an older woman who… was the spitting image of the photo he had. She had curly brown hair with streaks of silvery grey, crow's feet at her eyes and warm hazelnut skin, her eyes rimming with green. His jaw dropped.
"Maria?" He said quietly.
Her face fell from kind confusion to pure shock. The name spilled out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think, and her expression fell. It was clear memories were rewinding in her head, but the closer he looked, the more he saw… her eyes weren't the same. Maria had hazel eyes, and she had just green. Like a verdant canopy.
"Oh-" He said quickly. "Um, sorry, I- I'm looking for Maria."
He took the photo from his front pocket and held it out to her. The woman looked down, taking the photograph of Maria with trembling hands. She had the utmost look of sorrow in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip. With a deep breath, as if holding back tears, she looked back at Dante.
"I'm sorry, young man," She said slowly, her voice thick with a Spanish accent. "Maybe you should come inside."
She pulled the door open farther and Dante frowned, glancing around. If this woman, Maria Herrera, was connected to the mafia… he didn't exactly trust this person immediately. However, she looked sincere, just really sad. He forced a friendly smile and stepped inside, looking around. There were handstitched quilts along every surface, and picture frames were everywhere of a life untold. Some of them held photographs of two nearly identical women (Maria and Isabella), another was a picture of a smiling little boy that also looked strangely familiar, but not enough to stir any memories. As Isabella came in, she quickly flipped over a photo of a man with a baby in his arms.
"Are…" Dante hesitated for a moment. "Are you Maria's sister?"
Isabella took a deep breath, waving to a chair. "Please, sir – sit."
He stood his ground. "I'd rather stand, if that's alright with you."
Isabella smiled. "You know what you're looking for, don't you?" She whispered, and he didn't answer. She moved away from the photograph and sat down. "Don't worry – I'm not part of the circle. I'm just a woman trying to live her life."
He paused for a moment, but then decided it better to take a seat. "You didn't answer my question."
She smiled. "Yes, Maria is my sister. But she passed away nearly seven years ago. You won't find her here anymore."
Dante's heart hurt. No wonder she looked so shaken beforehand – imagine someone calling you by your dead sibling's name. He shrunk in his seat, biting his lower lip nervously.
"I'm very sorry," He said slowly. "For your loss, and… for calling you by her name."
She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. Maria and I always got called twins, but really she was older than me by three years."
He nodded. "My name is Dante, by the way."
She smiled. "I'm Isabella. But I'm sure you already knew that."
He offered a gentle shrug, pulling out a small spiral notebook and pen. "Do you mind telling me a little about Maria?"
Isabella glanced away, but looked back at him quickly enough. "She was… everything. Brave, kind, loud, stubborn, brilliant. She had this passion that could light up a room."
"What happened to her?" He asked, pen to paper.
"She was forced into the hands of a horrible man, and brought into the wrong crowd." She said quietly. "Her only wish, even after living the rest of her life in hell, was to save me."
Dante leaned forward. "Save you from what?"
Isabella smiled sadly, pulling her hair aside and turning – on the back of her neck was a barcode tattoo. He frowned, for he remembered seeing notes on the fact that the people he saved last week were all marked with barcode numbers.
"We were cargo," She said, turning back around. "And he took a liking to her. I'm not surprised – she was a beautiful spitfire. But she promised to be his wife as long as he spared me."
He wrote things down quickly. "Who was he?"
"I can't say his name," She said slowly. "I can only tell you what I am."
He nodded gently, leaning back. "I understand."
Dante wanted to offer her protection, to say the police would take her in as an informant and keep her safe, but he remembered what Hale said. He couldn't chase this with a badge. So he stayed silent on the matter.
"There was someone else," She said lowly. "Jose Carvalho. He followed her – kept her safe. He was a good man, and he cared for her." She held her collarbone. "She told him things that she didn't tell me."
Isabella gave Dante such a serious glance that he assumed it could only mean one thing – Jose could say things that she couldn't, and he knew more. Most likely Isabella would give Jose a call before Dante found him, and he would be more prepared to give information than she was in a home that was probably bugged. Not to mention, if she was able to say Jose's name, it probably meant he was assumed to give him nothing.
"Do you know Blaze Kuron?" He asked gently.
She looked up, her eyes bright with wonder and a sense of false hope, before she just sadly shook her head and the look in her eyes faded. He nodded slowly and stood up, pocketing his pen and notebook.
"Thank you for your help." He said to her gently.
She smiled and stood. "Tell Jose to visit again, when the sky isn't so stormy."