There wasn't a single man who made stupid demands with me and lived to see another day. Isabella was the exception. Not because she was a woman, fuck I didn't know. If I wanted, I'd have slapped that disobedience out of her, or even let Motya be my guest. Yet, I refrained. The thought of her being battered and bruised would've made my chest tighten. Or maybe I'd regret it later when I was alone in my office smoking a cigar.
I watched Isabella through half-lidded eyes, tracking the movement of the spoon as it disappeared between her lips. She wordlessly took the final scoop of caramel pudding and shoved the plate away. The way she'd eaten gave away her hunger. She'd not eaten anything since morning, and I'd doubt she had dinner last night too.
