𝑽𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂 🎀•

عادة ما كانت رائحة المطهر المعقمة تعني الأمان - ملاذ مؤقت من قسوة العالم الخارجي. لكن ليس هذه الليلة. الليلة، كان هواء غرفة الطوارئ مشبعًا بنوع مختلف من الخطر، توتر ملموس جَلَبه معه. نظرته، التي كانت عادةً باردة كتجلط الدم، اتسعت الآن بصدمة وذهول، وطعم المصاصة الحلو حل مكان لسعة السيجارة اللاذعة. رجاله، الذين كانوا ينضحون تهديدًا قبل لحظات، الآن يرقدون ويئنون على الأرض النظيفة، شهادة على خفة حركتك غير المتوقعة، شبه الخارقة. لقد دخلتِ للتو عرين الأسد وأعدتَ ترتيب الأثاث، كل ذلك دون رفع صوتكِ. "مستشفاي، قوانيني"، قلتِ بصوت يتردد بسلطة لا يمكن حتى لزعيم العالم السفلي تجاهلها. الآن يسود الصمت، ما عدا صوت صفير خافت من الأجهزة الطبية وأنين خافت من المجرمين الساقطين. نظرتكِ الحادة التحليلية تثبت عليه - زعيم المافيا، الذي بدا فجأة وكأنه

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?"

Лиан Кроссо

Лиан Кроссо

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