Chapter 170 False Peace
Chapter 170 False Peace
Cherry POV
I sit before the desk, a report on the Salvatore family's business transition open before me. I sense Nicholas before I see him, a shadow moving beyond the glass.
"You've been at this for hours, Cherry." He strides over. "How're you feeling?"
"I'm fine. Just... digging into the feasibility of some of these ventures." I tap the report with my pen. "There's a discrepancy in the Midwest protection racket numbers. I think they're inflating the returns to justify keeping the old model."
His brow furrows as he glances at the page, then back at me. "You've got a sharp eye. But this can wait. You're pushing too hard."
I shake my head. "No, it can't. The 'protection fee' model is a relic, Nicholas. It's bleeding us dry with legal risks. We need to pivot. Tech investments, real estate fronts, anything cleaner." I've talked to Nicholas about this many times, but he always sidesteps the issue.
"I admire your head for this, but you're jumping too fast. Reform sounds noble, but it's a blade that cuts both ways. My father—" His voice catches. "He thought the same. It got him killed."
I want to argue, but the pain in his eyes stalls me. And right then, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. "I have to go. There's an annual business integration meeting. Video conference with the branches."
I seize the moment. "Let me sit in. I need to learn how decisions get made."
He hesitates, his gaze searching mine. "You listen. That's it."
I nod, though my mind's already racing ahead. "Deal."
We move to his office. I sit off-camera as Nicholas takes command, dissecting revenue streams and logistics with surgical precision. When the discussion turns to the West Coast casino operations, a number catches my ear—a projected growth rate that feels off.
Leaning forward, I cut through the drone of voices. "That statistic for the Vegas expansion is inflated. The tourist demographic is shifting post-pandemic. You're ignoring the drop in discretionary spending among the mid-tier gamblers. Adjust for that, and your margin shrinks by at least twelve percent."
A stunned silence follows. Nicholas's head snaps toward me, his eyes a mix of shock and something like amusement. On the screen, faces I've never met blink, reassessing the pregnant woman who just dismantled their data. One of the regional heads, a gruff man, grunts. "She's got a point. We'll rerun the numbers."
The call wraps soon after, and Nicholas turns to me. "You couldn't resist, could you?"
I shrug. "It was wrong. Someone had to say it."
He leans back, rubbing his temple. "You've got instincts, I'll give you that. But you just painted a target on yourself. The family—some of them—will see a threat in a mind like yours."
"Maybe that's why reform matters. This environment is toxic. If I push ideas now, I can see who fights hardest against change. Those are the ones we can't trust."
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn't argue. Instead, the conversation drifts, as it often does these days, to our daughter, Christina. "I want her to have a normal life, where she can choose who she wants to be, Nicholas."
He stiffens. "She's a Salvatore. She'll need to know how to carry the name. It's in her blood."
I meet his gaze, my heart aching with the weight of what I'm asking. "I don't want to steal her chance to decide for herself. If we transform the business, make it safer, she won't have to grow up looking over her shoulder every day."
His eyes soften, though the tension remains. We're at an impasse, but beneath it, there's a shared love for the life we've created, a fragile hope for her future. But before we can delve deeper, Kyle's voice crackles through the intercom. "Boss, Sophia's arrived from the hospital. She's pulling in now."
My chest tightens with relief. Sophia's been in and out of medical care for months. I push myself up, smoothing my dress. "This can wait. Let's go welcome her now."
Nicholas nods. I swap my casual attire for a deep blue maternity gown, fastening a delicate pearl necklace around my throat. We step outside just as the sleek, black Lincoln stretches to a stop. Sophia emerges, frail but radiant, her eyes lighting up at the sight of my rounded belly. I move carefully toward her, and she reaches out, her hand resting on my stomach. "My little Christina," she murmurs. "Grandma's back to be with you and your mama."
Dinner unfolds in the grand dining room. Sophia fusses over me, asking about my sleep, my diet, my every small discomfort. I reassure her, smiling through the exhaustion. The conversation shifts to the family, the undercurrents of tension we've all felt since Anthony's death. "With him gone, things have been quieter..." I offer.
Zoe cuts in with a brittle smile. "I've been thinking we should find a new match for Russell."
Sophia's fork pauses mid-air. "Russell? With his... issues? Why drag another poor girl into that mess? You think ruining one life wasn't enough?"
The air thickens.
---
Russell POV
I sit rigid at the far end of the table, watching my mother squirm under Sophia's sharp tongue. The urge to snap back claws at me. But I know she's right—damn her for it. My body, my failures, they're no secret in this cursed house. So I force a smile, a hollow, placating thing. "Let's not spoil the evening. We're all family here, after all."
Inside, I'm seething. Sophia, with her sanctimonious pity. Cherry, sitting there like she owns the place, swollen with Nicholas's spawn. And Nicholas himself, the untouchable kingpin, lording over us all.
I curse them silently, each syllable a venomous prayer for their downfall. Anthony's death still burns in my gut. I'd been stunned when I heard he took his own life. My plan was to frame him, let him clash with Cherry and Nicholas until they tore each other apart. I never expected him to... end it.
But his final words, pieced together from whispers, hit me like a blade. He knew. He figured out I was orchestrating the chaos. And instead of exposing me, he shouldered it all, gave me a chance to survive. The hate I held for him dulls a fraction, redirected full force at Cherry and Nicholas.
His death forced me to pause, to play the grieving son, weeping crocodile tears at his funeral while I reached out to Theodus, halting our rebellion plans. This false peace is my window to rebuild trust, to worm deeper into their defenses before I strike again. For now, I swallow my bile and keep my mask on.
After dinner, Zoe pulls me aside. "Cherry's a problem. We need to counter her influence. I'm looking for a match for you—someone with connections."
I nod, but inwardly, I scoff. Mother's plans are child's play. No alliance, no matter how strong, can topple Cherry and Nicholas. I have my own plans. But I can't tell her that. If she catches any of it, she'd spill them in a heartbeat, whether by accident or spite.