The Mafia & Her Doctor (g!p)

4

How are we feeling so far? :)

——

Faye was mid-bite in her breakfast when her phone buzzed. One of her men quickly approached her table, his face tight with tension as he leaned down to murmur, "Boss, we've got trouble. Some fools tried to move in on our territory last night."

She didn't pause, chewing slowly, savoring the taste as her gaze shifted lazily to the man, her expression unreadable. She finished her bite, placed her fork down with a deliberate grace, and wiped the corners of her mouth with the napkin. The calmness in her movements made the air feel even heavier. "Where are they?" Her tone was ice, each word measured.

Within minutes, she was on-site, a dark alley in one of the more secluded corners of the city—the kind of place no one ventured into unless they had no other choice. Her men had already taken care of the ones foolish enough to break the unspoken rules; now, one remained, his face bruised and bloodied, his body slumped in a futile attempt to appear unbothered.

Faye stood over him, her expression almost bored. She gave him one slow, calculating look, her eyes glinting with a kind of cruelty that was sharper than any knife she held. She cracked her knuckles, the sound echoing in the stillness of the alley.

"Which part of 'don't cross my fucking boundaries' didn't you understand?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the venom laced within it was unmistakable. Without warning, she threw a punch, her fist slamming into his face with a force that made her men wince.

The man gasped, the sudden impact jolting him to full awareness. But Faye didn't let up—another punch, this one even harder, her fist connecting with his cheekbone in a way that left an immediate bruise. And then another. She threw her fists with practiced ease, each punch landing with brutal precision, her strength both terrifying and almost graceful in its efficiency. Blood spattered across her hand and forearm, but she didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she was relentless.

Her lips curled into a smirk as she leaned down, grabbing him by the collar and forcing him to meet her gaze. "Tell your boss to stop sending little fish my way. If he wants to play this game, he should be brave enough to face me himself," she sneered, her voice low, each word dripping with disdain.

The man was too dazed to respond, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Faye rolled her eyes, and with a quick, dismissive glance to her crew, she snapped her fingers. Her men moved with clockwork efficiency, grabbing the man and hauling him up, securing him to a chair they'd dragged into the middle of the alley. Faye watched, her gaze icy, as they made sure he was firmly restrained. Her steps were slow and deliberate as she approached him again, her hand dipping into her pocket to retrieve a small, sleek blade. She held it up, examining it under the dim streetlight, the edge gleaming wickedly.

"I could keep punching you all day," she mused, her voice almost thoughtful, as if she were considering her options. "But that wouldn't be fun, would it? No, I think we need something... more memorable." Her smirk widened, a glint of satisfaction flickering in her eyes as she dragged the tip of the blade along the man's arm, teasingly light, leaving a thin, shallow line of red in its wake.

She glanced back at her men, signaling with a quick nod. They understood immediately, their faces grim but obedient as they positioned the man's legs, forcing them still. Faye knelt beside him, her smirk widening as she pressed the blade just above his knee. The man tensed, his breathing ragged, his body trembling.

"Relax," she murmured, almost soothingly. "It'll only hurt for a minute."

And then, with one swift motion, she sliced downwards. The man screamed, his voice reverberating through the alley as she repeated the cut, another thin line tracing over his thigh, each one a promise of pain. She was methodical, precise, her movements smooth and practiced as if she'd done this countless times before—which, of course, she had. She barely blinked as the blood began to flow, her expression impassive, her eyes cold and detached.