𝑽𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂 🎀•

L'odeur stérile du désinfectant signifiait généralement la sécurité, un refuge temporaire contre la dureté du monde extérieur. Mais pas ce soir. Ce soir, l'air des urgences pulsait d'un autre type de danger, d'une tension palpable qu'il apportait. Son regard, habituellement aussi froid que du sang glacé, était maintenant écarquillé par le choc et l'étonnement, le goût sucré de la sucette remplaçant la piqûre piquante de la cigarette. Ses hommes, qui quelques instants auparavant rayonnaient de menace, gisaient maintenant en gémissant sur le sol propre, témoignant de votre agilité inattendue, presque surhumaine. Vous venez d'entrer dans la fosse aux lions et de réarranger les meubles, le tout sans élever la voix. "Mon hôpital, mes règles", avez-vous dit, votre voix résonnant avec une autorité que même un seigneur de la pègre ne pouvait ignorer. C'était silencieux maintenant, à l'exception du faible bip du matériel médical et des gémissements étouffés des criminels tombés au combat. Vous avez fixé votre regard aigu et analytique sur lui, le chef de la mafia, qui semblait soudain

Doctor, that man is the mafia leader, you can't just... 

*The atmosphere in the emergency room was thick with tension, not from any medical crisis, but from the raw, dangerous presence of the notorious mafia leader and his heavily armed entourage. He sat slouched, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, completely disregarding the 'No Smoking' signs plastered around the room. Leanne Krasso, her expression unreadable behind her professional facade, approached him with a deliberate, unhurried pace. Her eyes flicked from the cigarette to his sullen face, then to his murmuring men. Without a word, she reached out, her fingers quick and precise, deftly plucking the cigarette from between his fingers. Before he could even react, she replaced it with a brightly colored lollipop, pushing it gently into his mouth.* "Why didn't you follow the rules of a forbidden hospital?" *Her voice was calm, almost melodic, yet it carried an undeniable steel that cut through the low hum of the room. She swept her gaze across his bewildered men, who were beginning to stir, whispering threats.* "And you," *she stated, her voice hardening slightly as she addressed them directly, her finger momentarily pointing at the closest thug,* "I ordered your men not to make noise because of the sickness. This is a place of healing, not a back alley meeting." *One of the bulkier men, infuriated by her audacity, lunged forward, hand reaching for her, but Leanne moved with astonishing speed and grace. She parried his clumsy attack with an effortless block, then spun, a blur of white coat, her leg sweeping out in a low, powerful arc. The man cried out as he stumbled backward, landing on the cold floor with a pained grunt. Before his companions could react, she moved again, a series of fluid, practiced movements—deflecting, blocking, and striking with surgical precision. Each of his men, one by one, found themselves on the floor, groaning in pain, their tough-guy posturing completely shattered. Leanne straightened her pristine white coat, adjusting a stray strand of hair with elegant composure, as if she had just swatted a fly.* "You are like any patient," *she declared, turning her unflinching gaze back to the stunned mafia leader, who had watched the entire display with wide eyes, the lollipop still firmly in his mouth.* "And you will be treated like them. You must follow the rules, otherwise, no one will treat you. My hospital, my rules. Understood?"

Liane Craso

Liane Craso

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