Mafia King's Contract Breeder

Lara POV

The private medical clinic on the lower floors of Sagres Tower roared with controlled chaos. Guards in various states of patched-up lay on gurneys along the far wall, blood-stained shirts half-cut away, faces tight with pain or the numb aftershock of adrenaline.

Nurses moved between them with practiced efficiency, the soft squeak of their shoes on linoleum mixing with the low murmur of clipped instructions and the occasional sharp hiss of breath.

Fluorescent light, too bright and too white, bleached every surface and made the blood look darker, more real than it should have. Such a difference from the bloodbath in the dark tunnel of just half an hour ago that it made my head spin.

Emmanuel sat in the sterile chair of the examination room with an inscrutable, brooding expression. He tapped his fingers against his thigh a little impatiently.

We hadn’t spoken on the journey back. The van had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder and moving at full speed through the night streets. And my brain kept replaying me the image of the light leaving that assassin’s eyes after my bullet hit him.

The door swung open hard enough to bounce lightly against the stopper. A blond man in a crisp white coat breezed in, clipboard tucked under one arm, the faint scent of antiseptic and coffee trailing behind him.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Dr. Larinson peeled back the ruined shirt and found my quality bandage job—bow and all. A short, delighted laugh escaped him, a light gleaming in his eye like he had gained a story to tell.

Emmanuel gave him a dead eyed stare that could have stripped paint.

Dr Larinson quickly turned the laugh into a cough.

He began carefully unwinding the bandages.

"Not bad first aid work—" His expression turned more serious as he assessed the wound. "But you’re going to need a few stitches, Boss."

At the doctor’s instructions, a nurse appeared with a metal tray—needle, syringe, curved suture needle, medical thread gleaming under the harsh lights. The antiseptic smell hit me again, sharper this time, tangled up with the copper scent that never seemed to fully leave the room.

My stomach rolled.

I spun away before I could embarrass myself, hand clamped over my mouth, breathing through my nose in short, careful pulls. The fluorescent lights swam. The floor felt suddenly far away.

"Can’t stomach a little blood?" Vienna’s voice slid in from the doorway, disdainful and just loud enough to cut.

She appeared in the doorway, a pinched expression on her face. The doorway connected the private examination room and the wider clinic space where the nurses were patching up the other guards.

Her fists were tightly clenched at her side, some kind of manic energy coiled within her, looking for an outlet. After she had beaten me up in the name of training for days, I could recognize well enough the sign that she was itching to punch me.

I refused to look at her. I was fresh out of snappy insults. I just wanted this night to end.

Dr Larinson glanced up in Vienna’s direction as he finished off the stitches, then at me.

"It’s normal to be sensitive to scent in early pregnancy," he said thoughtfully.

I froze.

Pregnancy?

"What?!" Vienna said, her voice rising.

"I’m not pregnant," I said blankly.

It was too early for that, surely.

I tried to count backward—how long since I’d first walked through the Tower’s doors? About a month? Maybe a little more.

"Are you sure?" Emmanuel’s head turned toward Dr. Larinson. The distracted, brooding mask he’d worn while the doctor was literally running a needle through him had vanished. His expression tightened, something sharp and intent settling into the lines of his face.

Dr Larinson turned towards me fully and looked me up and down.

He nodded confidently, clicking his ballpoint pen rapidly.

"I need to run a pregnancy test to confirm it, but one gets an instinct for this kind of thing after a while."

I shook my head.

"It’s too soon," I protested.

"When was your last period?" Dr Larinson asked.

"It was...wait..."

I hadn’t had one. Not since arriving. A week overdue now, and I hadn’t noticed, because Vienna had filled every waking hour with bruises and burning muscles and nothing left over for counting days.

Emmanuel got to his feet the moment that Dr Larinson finished the stitch. He crossed to the door.

Vienna took a step back.

"Emmanuel—" she started.

"I don’t have the time to deal with you right now, but I have not forgotten," he said coldly.

"I didn’t know she was—"

Emmanuel did not stop to hear the end of the sentence.

"Guards." Emmanuel snapped his fingers at the closest men. "Take Vienna down to B2."

Whatever was down on B2, it made Vienna’s eyes widen in disbelief, and the two guards hesitate as they looked at her.

"You would lock me up?" Her voice wavered with accusation, the manic energy cracking into something rawer. "For her?"

"You need to clear your head," Emmanuel answered, even colder. "You are not above my orders. Take her."

The guards stepped forward and closed hands around her arms. Vienna threw them off with a violent twist of her shoulders, the motion sharp enough that one of them staggered half a step.

"I know my way," she said bitterly. "I will take myself there."

She turned on her heel and walked out without looking back. The guards followed at a careful distance.

Emmanuel slammed the examination room door shut hard enough that the framed certificates on the wall rattled. He turned back to face the room, the full force of his attention settling on the doctor like a weight.

"Run the pregnancy test," Emmanuel demanded, "Now."

Dr. Larinson took one look at his face, set down the suture tray with a quiet metallic click, and reached for a different set of supplies without another word.

My mind was still blank. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to know the answer.