Convenient Mafia Wife: Mafia Romance Series Prequel (Syndicate Rules Book 1) by Lucy Monroe
“I assure you. I am the best in my field. My success rate is higher than any other fertility specialist in the Western United States.”
I just bet he hates having to qualify that claim with a geographical designation. This guy just oozes condescending arrogance.
“And I assure you, this is unnecessary.” I put my hand up when he opens his mouth to say something else. “I have an IUD. I had it inserted the day after my son’s birth.”
It was either that or wait eight weeks. And the one area in which Raff does not and has never disappointed me is our sex life. I knew we’d be having intercourse as soon as I got the go ahead after my six-week check-up.
Dr. Hewitt’s eyes widen. “Mr. Mancini will be relieved to hear that, I am sure.” Judgement for me not telling Raff about the birth control laces his already supercilious voice.
I manage to hold back my angry retort. Dr. Hewitt is annoying, but he’s not the person I’m most furious with. That would be my husband.
If Raff wanted to know why I hadn’t gotten pregnant, why didn’t he talk to me about it? Instead, he’d made an appointment for me with a fertility specialist without consulting me.
I’m used to my husband being high handed. He’s a mafia underboss after all. But this is beyond ridiculous. This is insulting and hurtful.
My mind goes to the gun in a specially designed, concealed outer pocket of my handbag. All of my purses have them, regardless of designer. It makes it easy for me to access my gun quickly and discreetly without opening my purse.
If my husband was here right now, I’d shoot him with it. In the arm, or something. I’d want it to hurt him, but not leave him permanently incapacitated.
I bet my father-in-law has something to do with this, too. Now, him? I would like to kneecap. He’s always banging on about us having more children, but I’m not having another baby until I’m ready.
Ironically, I have an appointment with the OB/GYN who inserted the IUD to remove it when I visit my family in New York next month. I’m seriously tempted to cancel that appointment.
The doctor washes his hands and then puts on a pair of sterile gloves. “I need you to remove your shoes and lay back on the table.”
“Why?” I already explained I don’t need an examination.
“To remove the IUD.” He frowns.
“I was not expecting this additional procedure.”
The nurse comes back into the room carrying a tray with some sealed hypodermics and empty vials for blood sample collection. She sets it down on a portable table near me.
“I need forceps,” the doctor tells her. “After I remove the IUD, I will still do the exam Mr. Mancini requested to make sure there are no complications.”
What is this guy’s damage? I am the patient. Not my husband, and sure as hell not the nurse.
“She’s on birth control?” The nurse glares at me reprovingly.
I don’t wait for him to answer her. “You are not touching me,” I tell them both firmly.
The nurse ignores me and reaches for my shoes. I was raised by my mother to be a lady, but my dad taught me to defend myself.
So, I kick my leg out just missing her because she jumps backward. She’s surprisingly fast.
“Get away from me. I am leaving.” I jump down from the exam table. “You both need to get out of here so I can get dressed.”
Dr. Hewitt opens the door and calls out for someone. Neither he, nor the now scowling nurse leave the room like I told them to do.
A couple of seconds later a man wearing scrubs comes in.
“Mrs. Mancini needs some help calming down. Prepare a sedative,” Dr. Hewitt says to the woman. “Dolph, help her back onto the exam table.”
Oh, heck, no.
Dolph reaches for me and it’s my turn to jump back. I grab my handbag and quickly pull out my Glock 19, training it on the big man. “Step back.”
“Put that away,” the doctor barks, not sounding worried at all.
Does he think I won’t shoot?
The female nurse approaches me with the hypodermic.
I let my gun’s barrel shift slightly so it’s pointing at her and I snarl. “Stay away from me.”
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