Page 38 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Time moved strangely in the quiet. The light beyond the windows shifted from the morning into afternoon.

Matteo was nothing like anyone I’d met. He wasn’t the loud kind of intimidating, not spitting threats, not Dario. Dario was shouting, the slap, the casual cruelty that announced itself. This was quieter. Colder.

The kind of evil that lived in the precise way he had washed me, the flat tone he used when he listed the rules, the way he looked at my body as if it were a schedule of ovulation windows and blood panels and heirs.

And then he had brought me here, collared me, leashed me, and begun the work of turning the rest of my life into the queen the seat required.

I would stay silent. I would stay useful. I would not give him anything he had not taken.

Somewhere beyond the glass the city kept moving. People walked free. I had no way to know what waited for me after the doctor. I only knew that the man on the other side of the door owned every hour that came next, and that the only way to keep breathing was to remain the quiet, obedient thing he expected.

I must have drifted. The next sound that pulled me under was the door opening without a knock. It was not three yet, but the light had the quality of a day that had fully arrived. Matteo stepped inside dressed the same way he had been earlier. Black trousers, freshly pressed black shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, a watch heavy on his wrist. Behind him came a man in a dark suit carrying a black medical bag and a woman in scrubs with a tablet open.

The physician was early, apparently. I sat up with a groan.

Matteo left the leash and wrapped once around his fist. The slight tug against my throat made my pulse jump.

“The doctor is here,” he said. His voice was the same flat controlled tone he had used for the rules. “He will examine you now. You will cooperate, right?”

My stomach dropped so hard I tasted metal. I had thought I had a bit more time. I had thought I had a few more hours, at least, to prepare myself for the next violation. There was not enough preparation for this.

The doctor set his bag on the low dresser and looked at me the way the women at the club had looked at me the night of the auction. Livestock to be checked. He did not introduce himself. He simply nodded once at Matteo and began.

“Remove the trousers.”

Matteo gave the leash a short tug. “Go on, Rena.”

I sat up and worked the soft grey fabric down my hips. The air of the room was cool against skin that felt raw from the night before. I kept the long-sleeved top on. No one told me to take it off yet. The leash hung between us like a living line. I kept my eyes on the ceiling.

The doctor pulled on black latex gloves with a soft snap. The woman in scrubs adjusted the lights higher until the brightness made my eyes water. Matteo stood at the side of the bed, leash in hand, watching everything with the same cold focus.

“Knees up. Feet flat. Let them fall open,” the doctor instructed.

I obeyed because the alternative was worse. The position left me completely exposed under the bright light.

The doctor’s gloved hands were impersonal and thorough. He checked the faint red marks the old collar had left beneath the new one. Then the places where the cuffs had bitten during the long hours of restraint. His fingers pressed and noted and moved on. The woman in scrubs typed steadily.

Then he moved lower.

I stared at the ceiling and counted breaths while he examined the place Matteo had claimed in front of every powerful man in the city. The stretch of gloved fingers was clinical, not sexual, and somehow that made it worse.

He noted the residual swelling, the slight tearing that had begun to heal, the evidence that less than a day earlier I had been untouched. Cool air hit the wetness the examination left behind. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and forced myself to stay still. The leash remained taut in Matteo’s hand. I could feel the weight of his attention on every place the doctor touched.

“Healthy,” the doctor said at last. “Young. Fertile. No signs of infection or lasting damage from the consummation. Cycle appears regular from the history provided. We can begin tracking ovulation immediately. Bloodwork today. Ultrasound for baseline measurements of the uterus.”

Matteo’s voice was quiet. “Baseline. And the full panel. I want to know everything before we start.”

The doctor nodded. The woman prepared a tourniquet and vials. I kept my eyes on the ceiling while the needle slid into the bend of my elbow. Blood filled the tubes one after another, dark against the glass. I did not flinch. Pain was just information now. Something to notice and file away the same way I had filed away every bruise Dario left and every night on the secondary stage.

When the bloodwork was done the doctor positioned a portable ultrasound machine beside the bed. Cold gel slicked across my lower abdomen. The wand pressed low, moving in slow clinical sweeps. The screen flickered with grainy black-and-white images of the inside of me.

“Uterus is normal size and position,” the doctor said. “Ovaries healthy. No cysts or abnormalities. She should conceive easily once timing is optimized.”

Matteo’s hand tightened once on the leash. I felt the slight pull against the collar and kept my face carefully blank. I did not look at him. I did not speak. Fear sat too thick in my throat for words. The knowledge of what my body was now settled deeper with every grainy image on the screen.

The examination continued. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. Questions about my cycle that I answered in monosyllables because the alternative was screaming.

The doctor noted everything with the same detached efficiency the women at the club had used when they checked my teeth and made me hold myself open under harsh lights. When he finished he stripped off the gloves and spoke to Matteo as if I were not in the room.