Chapter 179 Broken King

Chapter 179 Broken King
Nicholas POV

I'm barely a mile from the estate when the horizon erupts in a violent bloom of orange and black. An explosion. My gut twists, a cold dread sinking its claws into me. The rearview mirror reflects firelight dancing over Kyle's tense face as I bark, "Turn back."

"Boss, Cherry is still in the hospital—" Kyle starts, but my glare cuts him off. The tires screech as he whips the car around. Cherry is safe at the hospital, but the explosion at the estate sets my nerves on edge, like something vital is missing. I know I have to go back to find out what the hell just happened.

The road back stretches into a nightmare. We pass cars fleeing the estate, luxury sedans packed with wide-eyed elders and high-ranking family members.

"Stop one of them," I growl. Kyle swerves, cutting off a sleek black Mercedes. I'm out before the car fully stops, yanking the door open. An elder stares at me, trembling.

"What happened?"

His lips quiver, spittle catching in the corner of his mouth. "It... it was Cherry. She stood up in the middle of the ballroom, called out the traitors, and then... she triggered it. Bombs, everywhere. The hall's gone, Salvatore. They're trapped in the fire..."

The world drops out from under me. My vision blurs, blood draining from my face until I'm a ghost of myself. Cherry did this? She lured me away and lit the fuse herself? I can't breathe. My hands clench into fists, nails biting into my palms. "Drive," I snarl at Kyle, slamming the door shut. "Get me to that fire!"

The estate looms ahead, a hellscape of smoke and flickering inferno. I can feel the heat through the windshield, a suffocating promise of destruction.

"Boss, the structure could collapse any second!" Kyle's voice cracks with desperation.

"She's in there!" I roar, lunging for the door handle, ready to tear through the flames myself, but Kyle and two other men grab me. I thrash, pure instinct driving me, a feral need to reach her. "Let me go, damn it!" My shout echoes into the night, stripped of all the control I've built as the Salvatore patriarch. I'm no don right now—just a man, a husband, drowning in the primal fear of losing everything.

I nearly topple Kyle, my strength fueled by desperation, but they hold firm, dragging me back. The fire roars louder, mocking me, and I scream into its face, "Cherry!" My voice cracks as the deepest, ugliest fear I've ever known rips through me—losing her.

Just as I'm about to break free, a side door—a hidden underground passage—bursts open with a groan of rusted hinges. Sonya stumbles out, her face streaked with ash, clothes torn and singed. In her arms, she cradles Cherry, limp and pale as death itself.

"Boss, we got out," Sonya gasps, her voice rough from smoke. "But Cherry... she took a bad hit. She might..." Her eyes drop to Cherry's skirt, where a dark stain spreads. "She might be going into early labor."

I'm at her side in an instant, taking Cherry from Sonya's shaking arms. Her weight is so light, and yet it crushes me. Her hands, even unconscious, cling to her stomach, protecting our daughter. Rage burns out, replaced by a hollow ache, a cocktail of heartbreak and panic. I cradle her close, feeling the faint flutter of her breath. "Hospital. Now," I snap at Kyle.

In the car, I grip her icy hand, my thumb tracing circles on her skin as if I can will her back to me. "Hold on, baby," I murmur, over and over, a broken litany. "For Christina, hold on." Her face, so still, haunts me—my fierce, stubborn Cherry, reduced to this fragile shell. I can't lose her. I just... can't.

At the hospital, they wheel her into the maternity OR, the doors slamming shut before me. I pace like a caged animal. I've faced death a hundred times, but never like this—never with her life, their lives, hanging by a thread.

Two agonizing hours crawl by before the head obstetrician emerges. "Sir, due to the explosion's impact and toxic smoke inhalation, your wife entered premature labor. We've delivered the baby, but…" He hesitates, and my blood runs cold. "The infant's lungs are underdeveloped because of the prematurity. Survival odds are about sixty percent. I strongly recommend..."

I grab his shoulders. "My wife. Is she safe? That's all I care about right now."

His expression turns grave. "She lost a significant amount of blood. She's in a deep coma. When—or if—she'll wake... I can't say. We've done everything possible."

A nurse approaches, wheeling an incubator. Inside, Christina lies, tiny and frail, her cries so faint they're barely a whisper, like a kitten too weak to fight. My daughter. But I can't look at her. My wife is dying, maybe already gone. What good is a child if I've lost Cherry? I wave the nurse away and slump into a chair. The weight of it all crashes down—my empire, my power, meaningless against this.

Vincent arrives, disheveled. I've been grooming him to ease my burden, and he's proven capable. I didn't have him at tonight's banquet, sending him to another city for business. He clearly rushed back upon hearing the news.

Seeing me slumped there, defeated, he hesitates. "Uncle Nick... how's Cherry? The kid?"

I shake my head. Words won't come. He sits beside me, muttering something he got from Kyle. Russell and Theodus vanished in the explosion, while Thomas and Rebecca were found dead on the spot. He then mentions sifting through the surviving elders to root out traitors. I nod, half-listening.

"Find them," I say at last. "Kyle and Sonya will back you up."

I don't sleep, don't eat, don't move from Cherry's bedside for three days. On the third night, exhaustion wins. I collapse in the hallway, the world fading to black.

When I come to, I rip the IV from my arm, ignoring the nurse's protests, and stagger to Cherry's room. The doctor's there, his face a mask of cautious hope. "Her vitals are stable for now, but she's still comatose. As for your daughter... she's extremely premature. I'm afraid she can't—"

"Shut up," I cut him off. He flinches. I step to the incubator, staring at Christina—so small, so breakable. If Cherry wakes and finds we didn't save our daughter, it'll shatter her. I can't let that happen. "I don't care what it costs," I say to the doctor. "Best equipment, best doctors. She must live."

The doctor hurries off to make the arrangements. I stand there, gaze fixed on Christina, when Vincent returns with news. "Russell and Theodus were both critically injured. They didn't make it past the state line. Dead on the run."

It's not enough. Nowhere near. "This isn't over," I say, my voice a cold promise. "The Rossi family, those elders who slipped away—they'll pay for this. Every last one."