Inga

Isabella barely flinched when her boss walked into her kitchen followed by a gorgeous, semi-naked girl and a bashful Ivan, who, unusually, didn’t even look her way.

Isabella was well accustomed to strange goings on in the Molenski household and for the most part managed to ignore them. She was extremely curious this time, though, especially when just a minute before Marina had rushed through, red-faced and obviously unhappy.

She watched the trio surreptitiously as they passed by.

The girl, obviously aware she was being observed, turned and smiled. She was clear-eyed, clearly not a drugged up whore like those Molenski sometimes treated his men too. Isabella smiled back, then turned back to wiping her benchtop, even more curious. She made a promise to grill Ivan at the first opportunity she got.

She was unsurprised when they headed up the staircase in the direction of Molenski’s bedroom. The Russian was also known to treat himself occasionally, and the young girl looked quite the treat. Isabella found herself excited. The fiery Latin side of her loved drama, and if Mrs. Molenski came home while the girl was still in the house, or better still in her marital bed, things could get very dramatic, very quickly.

The Russian paused on the steps and turned to look at her. Isabella looked down quickly, furiously rubbing at an imaginary spot on the bench.

“Lunch will be ready in an hour, yes?” he asked.

“Si, Senor.”

“Good. When my guest arrives, see him to the dining room.”