The Survivor

CHAPTER 31

Isabella Accorso’s nausea reached its peak when her daughter’s school came into view through the windshield. She fought the urge to vomit, reminding herself that Bianca had promptly returned her text, as she always did. Still, for the entire drive, she’d been unable to fight back thoughts of police barricades, ambulances, and a single human form lying beneath a bloody white sheet.

The swaying of the car as she turned into the parking area — almost pushed her over the edge, but then she saw her daughter leaning safely against the building. She was clutching her backpack to her chest, an expression of concern etched into her normally smooth face. Isabella had given no explanation when she’d requested that Bianca be pulled from class. What explanation could there be?

“Mom?” she said as she opened the car door and slipped inside. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Isabella pulled away a little too quickly, once again checking the rearview mirror.

“Seriously, Mom. You’re scaring me. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at work?”

Isabella felt a tear starting down her cheek and wiped it away, trying to hide the emotions overwhelming her.

The man she’d met that day was deeply evil. She could feel it every time he turned his black eyes on her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted. He would have murdered her daughter and a thousand like her without a second thought. There had been no choice but to follow his instructions exactly.

“Is Dad okay?”

“Of course he is, honey.”

She didn’t know that for certain, but saw no reason why he wouldn’t be. They’d been divorced for four years now. Bianca’s father wasn’t a bad man, but he’d taken a job in Sweden and their marriage hadn’t been strong enough to handle the distance.

“Is it because Dad’s getting remarried?”

Isabella smiled. “No. I’m happy for him and Agda. Are you all right with it?”

“Sure. It doesn’t matter. I hardly ever see him.”

“He’s your father, Bianca.”

“I know. And I love him. But he’s up there, you know? And we’re here.”

It was one of the reasons Isabella had formed such a strong bond with her daughter. Bianca was everything to her. Probably too much. One day soon she’d be an adult and leave. She’d start her own life. Her own family.

For now, though, they were together. And she was safe.

“Is it something at work?” Bianca probed. “You didn’t lose your job, did you? At the Christmas party, Mr. Cipriani said the firm couldn’t run without you. I heard him.”

She’d been prepared for the subject of work to come up and didn’t let the weak trickle of adrenaline show as she accelerated onto a two-lane highway. “My job’s fine. Stop worrying. Everything’s fine.”

“No it’s not.”

Isabella tried to smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. She’d done everything the man had asked — wiping all trace of the anonymous client from the mainframe. There was nothing she could do about the original copy of the instructions in the attorney’s office and the man appeared to understand that. He hadn’t seemed angry.

How could she be certain, though? Who was he? Why had these files been so important to him? He was well dressed and looked Arab or Indian but beyond that she knew nothing about him. Was he a drug trafficker? Did this have something to do with the heroin she knew was produced in the Middle East? If so, what business was it of hers? People wanted heroin. There was no stopping it.

“Where are we going, Mom? Home?”

She nodded. “So we can change. I thought we’d go out to dinner tonight. How does La Stiva sound?”

It was Bianca’s favorite restaurant, but money had been tight for the past few years and they never went anymore. The budget was hard on her — young girls needed to fit in and that had become an expensive enterprise. She never complained, though.

“It sounds great, I guess. But what’s the occasion?”

Isabella almost started crying again but managed to maintain control. The occasion was that her daughter hadn’t been murdered.

“You’re going to be a woman soon and we might not have time to spend together then,” she said, her voice sounding slightly strangled. “I thought it would be nice. We can talk.”

Bianca didn’t look like she believed any of what she was being told but realized she wasn’t going to get any more out of her mother on the drive. No doubt she was scheduling a full interrogation for after a bottle of wine had been opened.

They continued in silence and Isabella felt doubt creeping in. Was the Arab man really gone or would he come back for something else? Was it possible that he wasn’t a drug dealer? Could he be a terrorist? Was she putting people in danger by not going to the police?

Ahead, she saw a semitruck approaching in the oncoming lane. It started to swerve, almost rocking up on two wheels as its load of concrete pipes shifted. Isabella slammed on her brakes and threw an arm instinctively in front of her daughter as the truck crossed into the lane in front of them.