Chapter 7 Proposal

Nicholas POV

I watch Cherry flinch at the sound of her father's voice, a tremor running through her shoulders. I can almost feel the weight of her fear, the dread of facing Arthur after everything she's been through tonight. My hand instinctively hovers near her arm, a silent promise of protection, though I don't touch her.

"It's alright," I murmur. "I'll talk to him first." Inside, though, my thoughts churn darker. Cherry doesn't know who I really am. Revealing my identity in this moment could shatter everything. Too many variables and risks. I need to control the narrative with Arthur first, ensure he sticks to a script that keeps her in the dark a little longer.

I gesture for her to stay seated on the bench before striding toward Arthur. He's near the nurse's station, his face a mix of irritation and feigned concern, but I don't give him a chance to speak first. I grip his elbow and steer him toward the stairwell, out of Cherry's earshot.

"Your daughter's fine," I say, my tone clipped as I shut the door behind us with a soft thud. "No lasting damage. You're welcome."

Arthur exhales, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, his relief almost theatrical. "Thank you, Mr. Salvatore. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you stepping in like this. Personally handling it, I mean."

I don't smile. I don't soften. Instead, I step closer, my shadow looming over him in the dim light of the stairwell. "I've cleaned up your mess, Arthur. This little stunt with Macro is done. But I'm warning you now, don't pull any more garbage like this. Don't let Cherry get hurt again. If she so much as stubs her toe because of your negligence, the marriage talks are off. Understand?"

My mind races beneath the ice of my words. I didn't dismantle Macro's operation entirely, and I won't. Not because I can't, but because my own business has tangled with his in the past. It's too messy to unravel without drawing attention. Besides, I'm in San Laurent to legitimize the Salvatore holdings, not to topple underground empires or expand turf. Less conflict, less noise—that's the goal. And the real culprit here isn't Macro. It's Arthur, with his debts and his cowardice, who put Cherry in that warehouse to begin with.

He nods rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "Of course, of course. I'll make sure of it. You have my word."

I don't trust his word farther than I can throw him, but I let it slide for now. "Good. I'm going to check on Cherry again. Alone."

He waves a hand, almost too eager. "By all means. Whatever you need."

I turn on my heel, leaving him in the stairwell to stew in his own inadequacy. When I return to Cherry, she's still on the bench, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Her eyes flick up to mine, full of questions. "What did you say to him?"

I sit beside her, close enough that our knees nearly brush, but I keep my posture relaxed, nonthreatening. "I told him you're okay, and he's grateful. But I didn't do this for his thanks, Cherry. I did it because I care about you."

Her lips part, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she lowers her gaze. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Thank you, Nick. I mean it. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come."

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, though I keep my tone light, teasing. "A simple 'thank you' isn't enough, you know."

She blinks, tilting her head with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "What's enough, then?"

I reach for her hand, my fingers closing around hers with gentleness. Her skin is cool, trembling slightly, and I hold her gaze, letting the weight of my words settle between us. "Marry me, Cherry. I don't want us to be just uncle and niece. I want husband and wife."

Her eyes widen, shock painting her features as she stares at me, unblinking. I press on before she can interrupt. "I can keep you safe. From everything—every danger, every pain. You'll never have to face something like tonight again."

Her expression falters, hesitation clouding her pretty face. She stammers, "That's… It's not right, is it? If your wife found out, she'd—"

"I don't have a wife," I cut in. "And if I did, it'd only be you."

She's speechless, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that won't come. I lean in slightly, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. "You didn't say no outright. That means you feel something for me. Admit it, Cherry."

Her teeth catch her lower lip, and she pulls her hand back just a fraction, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I need to think about it. Okay?"

I can't help myself. I lean closer, brushing a featherlight kiss against her lips, tasting the faint sweetness of strawberry cream puff still lingering there. "Don't think too long."

She jerks back, her hands pushing at my chest, her voice a frantic hiss. "My father... He'll see!"

I stand, adjusting my suit jacket with a casual flick, my smirk returning. "Think it over. And don't mention me to him. I'll tell him the same—keep my name out of it for now. Let you decide without pressure." I pause, meeting her eyes one last time. "I'll see you soon."

Walking away, I feel the weight of her gaze on my back. I know she's torn, and I know why. That damned engagement to Vincent looms over her like a guillotine. Without it, she might've already said yes. The thought gnaws at me, another obstacle to crush. Vincent's back in town tonight, recovered and prepping for the meeting with the Millers in two days. It's time to have a word with my nephew, make him step aside. With my position, convincing him won't be hard. It's just a matter of the right leverage.

I find Arthur again before I leave the hospital. My instructions are clear, delivered with the kind of authority that leaves no room for debate. "Don't mention me to Cherry. I want my formal introduction to wait until the meeting in three days. That shall give you enough time to recover from this. If your family asks how you got out of this mess, make up whatever story you want. Just keep my name out of it."

He nods like a puppet, eager to please. "Understood, Mr. Salvatore. I'll handle it."

I don't linger. Stepping outside into the cool night air, I pull out my phone to call Vincent. We need to settle this engagement nonsense. But before I can dial, my screen lights up with his name. I answer, brow furrowing. "What is it?"

His voice slurs through the line, panicked and whiny. "Uncle Nick, I'm at a bar downtown. Some bastard jumped me. I'm hurt bad. You gotta come get me..."