Chapter 171: Pressure Points

Cherry POV

After dinner, Nicholas and I retreat to the bedroom, diving back into the thorny issue of the family's business transition.

"It's a minefield," Nicholas starts. "Resistance at every turn. Johnny's the only one I can count on to back me without question. Eric? He's a wildcard—might smile to my face while sharpening a knife for my back. And if Anthony were still here…" He trails off, jaw tightening.

I nod, fingers tracing the edge of a velvet throw. "He'd fight you tooth and nail. But he's gone. Still, I don't buy how fast he confessed. It's too neat, Nicholas. Like he was covering for someone." My voice dips, suspicion threading through it. "Russell, maybe."

For the past six months, I've kept a close watch on every family member, with Russell under particular scrutiny. Since the consecutive deaths of his wife and father, he's been holed up in a hospital, citing psychological issues. Yet, I can't shake the feeling that it's a deliberate ploy to evade my surveillance.

I share with Nicholas the reports from our men stationed at the hospital: Russell spends his days sleeping under the covers, even eating his meals hidden beneath them. The cameras reveal no overt anomalies, but our suspicions remain unshaken.

Beyond that, the mystery of who poisoned Donovan still looms unsolved. Our focus has shifted to Eric and the remaining sisters-in-law, Zoe and Nina. Nicholas and I both agree that these women harbor hidden agendas, and we can't afford to let our guard down around them.

I meet Nicholas's gaze, steady and unyielding. "We need eyes on Russell, Zoe, Eric, Nina—all of them. Closer than ever."

"Done," he says, the word a promise carved in stone. "I'll have Kyle set it up."

A brief silence settles, heavy with unspoken fears. I shift, reaching for the small pile of gifts from the group leaders' six-month pregnancy celebration earlier. My fingers pause on a pink box from Nancy. I lift the lid, and my face flushes hot.

Inside, nestled in tissue, is a vibrator. I mutter a curse under my breath—damn you, Nancy, always with the inappropriate jokes—but a wicked impulse sparks. I glance at Nicholas, whose attention is momentarily elsewhere, and decide to play.

Holding up the item with a faux-innocent tilt of my head, I smirk. "Well, if you're not gonna help me out, I guess I'll just have to solve things myself." My voice drips with teasing challenge. "It's not quite as good as Uncle Nick, but it'll do."

His head snaps up, eyes darkening like a storm rolling in. "Throw that out. Now."

I tilt my chin defiantly, twirling the thing in my hand. "Nope. It's mine now."

His face hardens. "Fine. Since it's so fun, enjoy yourself in here alone." He stands abruptly, the door slamming behind him with a force that makes me jump. The room feels suddenly colder, emptier. My bravado cracks. Did I just make him angry?

I fumble for my phone, fingers trembling as I type into the sisters' group chat: [Help. I just did something stupid.]

I recount the fiasco, nerves jangling. Nancy finally responds, her message a mix of panic and hilarity: [I swear that was meant for me! I couldn't find it all day—must've packed it by accident!]

Darcy chimes in with a string of laughing emojis, practically cackling through the screen: [You're a mess, Cherry.]

When I admit I tested it in front of Nicholas, the chat explodes with stunned replies: [Babe, you're wild! So bold!]

I want to cry, laugh, vanish—anything but face this. "Tomorrow," I mutter to myself, crawling under the covers. "I'll fix it tomorrow. Sleep now, escape now."

Morning creeps in, gray and unforgiving. I drag myself to the study, where Nicholas sits, unshaven, surrounded by strewn files on the family transition. He hasn't slept; that much is clear from the shadows under his eyes. My chest aches. I step closer, voice soft. "Christina and I missed you all night."

His gaze lifts, sharp and unreadable. "You gonna play with that thing again?"

I shake my head quickly, words tumbling out. "No, no, it was a mix-up. Nancy sent the wrong gift. I'm sorry. Next time, we play for real—us, together." I force a smile, hoping it bridges the gap.

He studies me a moment longer, then nods, the tension easing just enough. "Alright. We're good." A faint smirk tugs at his lips, and relief washes over me.

I don't linger on it, though. Sophia's waiting—fresh out of the hospital, barely back on her feet. I carry a tray of breakfast to her room, knocking softly before entering. Her eyes light up as I approach her bedside. "Cherry, how's the nursery coming along? I can't wait to meet my little granddaughter."

I set the tray down gently and sit beside her, warmth blooming in my chest. "It's getting there. I've picked a soft lavender for the walls—calming, you know? And I wanted to ask your thoughts on the crib. I want her to have something as elegant as her grandma."

Our moment is shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps. Eric's voice booms through the hall before I see him, calling out from the doorway, "Sophia, you alone? I need to speak with you." I start to rise, intending to leave, but Sophia gestures subtly, her voice a whisper. "Hide behind the bookcase for a moment. I still want to talk with you after."

I slip behind the tall bookcase as Eric enters. His tone is slick, laced with false concern. "Sophia, I'm worried. The family's shifting too fast. Cherry—an outsider—has too much sway in our decisions. She could upend our traditions, take control if we're not careful."

Sophia's reply is ice. "Have you forgotten who runs this family, Eric? Nicholas is the head, not you."

He presses on, undeterred. "But she's gone too far. I've felt eyes on me lately—surveillance, and we all know who's behind it. If this continues, she'll push out the old guard. Me, for starters. She'll own the Salvatore legacy."

Sophia's patience snaps. "If you're so afraid of Cherry holding power, pack your bags. Leave the family. Cut ties. Then Nicholas and Cherry won't have any reason to 'target' you."

Eric mutters something about discussing a formal split soon, then storms out. I wait until his footsteps fade before emerging, anger and dread coiling tight in my gut. Sophia's eyes meet mine, calm but firm. "Don't mind him, Cherry. Nicholas is the master of this house."

When Nicholas joins us moments later, I relay Eric's accusations. He chuckles, low and dark. "This is your home now, Cherry. Salvatore is yours." But my worry lingers, heavy.

Have I gone too far with the surveillance, the purges? But the thought flickers and dies. No. When I first stepped into this family, they crushed me underfoot, treated me like dirt. Now the tables have turned, and they cry foul? If they've done nothing wrong, what do they have to fear?