Chapter 169 The Reckoning

Chapter 169 The Reckoning
Cherry POV

I wake to the pale light of dawn seeping through the heavy drapes of our bedroom. Today, we execute a plan that could either save us or shatter everything.

Yesterday, over a hushed conversation in this very room, Nicholas and I finalized the trap to draw Anthony out. "We end this today," he'd said last night, his voice a low growl. I'd nodded, my resolve steeling against the flutter of fear in my chest.

This afternoon, I find myself in the estate's sprawling garden. I walk alone, deliberately slow, my white dress catching the breeze—a beacon for the predator I know is watching.

I'm barely past the stone fountain when Anthony emerges from the hedgerow like a specter, his face a storm of barely contained rage. "Little girl, you've played with fire too long," he says, his voice a venomous hiss as he steps closer.

I stop, rooting myself to the spot. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curl into a sneer. "I'm here to remind you that some people are untouchable. Drop your little investigation into me, or you'll regret it." He leans in, his eyes glinting with malice as he adds, "I've got contingencies in place. If anything happens to me, you and that child of yours won't be safe either."

On the surface, I keep my composure, hands folded neatly at my waist, but inside, a thrill of triumph sparks. He's taken the bait, just as we planned. I let my voice soften, feigning vulnerability. "I'm just a pregnant woman. What could I possibly do?"

Anthony's smirk widens, smugness oozing from him. He thinks he's broken me. "Smart women know when to back down. You've still got a chance to do the right thing."

I meet his gaze, letting a slow, deliberate pause stretch out before I speak. "You're right. I should be smarter. Like, for instance, not meeting you without backup."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering as I slip my hand into my coat pocket and pull out a sleek recording pen. The color drains from his face, while I keep my tone even. "Kyle, you can come in now."

From behind the thicket of shrubs, Kyle steps out, flanked by two of Nicholas's most trusted men. In his hand, he holds a thick folder, the weight of our evidence. I take it from him, flipping through the pages with deliberate slowness, letting Anthony see every damning detail. "Pool surveillance deletion records, transfer payments, phone calls to the security guard, and—oh, look—the last footage of you meeting that poor soul before he killed himself."

Anthony's eyes widen, shock morphing into denial. "This is impossible. These are forged. Fabricated lies—"

"Forged?" I cut him off, my voice sharpening. "Or just not buried deep enough? You underestimated Nicholas's network, Anthony."

He shakes his head, desperation creeping in, though he clings to defiance. "I didn't push you into the pool. I didn't delete anything. You're just targeting me!"

I step closer, my gaze icy. "I'm not just targeting you. I'm looking to bury you. And your son. Did you know Justina's death might tie back to Russell? Or was that your plan all along—father and son, cleaning up messes together?"

His face contorts, a flash of raw panic breaking through. "Russell?" he sputters, dropping to his knees, his voice cracking into a manic laugh. "Russell! I can't believe it! He knows! Of course he knows!"

"What does he know?" I press, sensing the fracture in his armor.

Anthony grabs my leg, pleading. "Russell knows nothing!" Kyle surges forward, but Anthony's lost to his own frenzy. "It was me! All of it! The pool, Justina, the guard—I did it alone! Russell had no part in any of it!"

I freeze, stunned by the rawness of his confession. His weakness is laid bare, a father shielding his son at any cost. His eyes, wild with despair, lock onto mine. "Kill me if you must, but leave my boy alone. He's innocent."

I pull free from his grasp, smoothing my wrinkled dress with slow, deliberate movements. "Since you've admitted it, this gets a lot simpler."

I nod to Kyle, who steps forward, offering Anthony a gun. "Your choice. Do it yourself, or we do it for you."

Anthony takes the weapon, a ghost of acceptance in his expression. "In 24 hours, you'll hear of my death. But remember your promise—don't touch Russell."

That night, the news comes as expected. Anthony takes his own life in his room, leaving behind a detailed confession letter. He admits to Justina's murder, the pool incident, deleting the footage, and plotting against me—every sin laid bare in ink. He begs the family to spare Russell, claiming his son's innocence. I sit in our bedroom, staring at the wall, the weight of his final act pressing against me. But I know, I have to do this. For my unborn child.

Nicholas enters, his presence a quiet storm. I murmur, almost to myself, "He really loved Russell."

He pulls me into his arms. "The family's poison is finally cut out."

His death brings a strange calm to the estate, a temporary reprieve from the internal wars. The core conflicts within the family seem resolved, though the lingering shadows of the elders' ties to the Rossis remain. Since they've yet to make a move, Nicholas and I decide to hold our ground, waiting for their next play.

Six months pass in a blur. My belly grows heavier, a silent promise of the future I'm still learning to embrace. I throw myself into learning the family's business under Nicholas's guidance, absorbing the intricacies of the Salvatore empire—numbers, deals, and the unspoken rules of power. Theory clicks into place, a puzzle I'm finally solving. ennie, too, has made remarkable progress, his condition improving enough that he can speak again.

Today, we visit him at the hospital. His eyes light up when he sees us, though his body remains frail against the crisp sheets. I update him on the family's upheavals—Justine's death, Anthony's fall, things like that. His gaze sharpens, taking it all in.

"Cherry, you're different," he says, a hint of awe in his voice. "You can make hard calls now."

I smile softly, adjusting his pillow with gentle hands. "This family needs someone to make those calls."

He nods, a flicker of pride in his expression. "Christina... with a mom like you, she'll be unstoppable."

I rest a hand on my stomach, a warmth spreading through me as I hear her name spoken aloud. We've known for a few weeks now, the doctor's confirmation settling the question of gender, and the name Christina just felt right. With my pregnancy becoming more visible, we've shared the news with the family, a rare moment of light amidst the shadows.

"I just hope she never has to face what I faced," I say, smiling at Lennie.