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A beat of stunned silence passed as everyone absorbed the fact that I’d just raised my voice to the mayor of Boston in a room full of Morozovs.

Dad sighed, like I’d personally disappointed the entire city. He rubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “How are you going to deal with that?”

Nikolai didn’t miss a beat. He lifted his glass, took a slow sip of vodka, and said with the sort of calmness that made my eyes drop to his belt, “Very thoroughly.”

He caught the direction of my gaze, and he smirked.

That was it.

I stood.

“I’m right here,” I snapped, voice rising now. “You two want to trade jabs like I’m not in the fucking room, go ahead. But I’m the one they’re coming after. Not you. Not your press team. Me.”

His brows pulled together. “Sloane?—”

I turned to my father fully then, fury fueling every word.

“No. You don’t get to play protective dad now. Yougave me to him.” I flicked my hand toward Nikolai. “Like I was chattel, a chess piece you could trade to stabilize your campaign. Athingno longer worth keeping around. What did you get for me,Dad? How much was I worth?”

“You needed someone to keep you in line,” he snapped back.

I laughed. It was short, bitter, cutting.

“And that someone just happened to be Nikolai Morozov? You didn’t think I might have an opinion about being handed off to the Bratva like a spoiled liability you didn’t know what else to do with?”

“You needed structure. Safety.”

“I needed a father.” I slammed my hands down on the table, chest heaving.

No one interrupted. Not even Nikolai. This wasn’t about politics anymore. This was about me. This was the one moment I’d get to stand up, say my piece and everyone in the room was going to hear it.

“I was never going to be quiet,” I continued, voice shaking with rage. “You raised me to be loud. To fight. To outsmart everyone at the table. Then the second I became inconvenient, you signed me over to someone who could control me.”

I glanced at Nikolai then.

“Maybe he can control me. Maybe he will. Just don’t act like you didn’t light the match that started the fire.”

My father didn’t say anything. He just stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Maybe he was, because I wasn’tfucking twelve anymore, running wild with too much ambition and not enough fear or supervision. Or love.

I was a grown woman and I was done being managed.

I sank back into the chair and crossed my legs slowly, smoothing my dress down, pretending my hands weren’t shaking.

“So.” I looked around the table. “Now that we’re all done with the dramatics, what’s the plan?”

Maxim watched me, his face unreadable.

Dad leaned back. “So, what do you suggest we do, Sloane? Threaten Stillwell? Send a message? Maybe have a chat with the wrong end of a gun?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” I asked, raising a brow in annoyance.

He sighed. “We don’t play politics like that, not publicly. If we retaliate with violence, it’s going to be a bloodbath. I’m trying to keep the feds out of this.”

“Then don’t kill him,” I said. “Outmaneuver him.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Start where he’s weakest,” I said, standing up and pacing now. “He’s got donors involved with illegal underground fighting and gambling? We flip one. He’s got press? We bury him in bad coverage. Leak something he’s tied to, maybe one of Dalton’s shady offshore accounts. You,” I pointed at my father. “Hit the political side. Rally your base. Secure your media people. Build your defense.”