“Because it’s the only way both you and I win,” I admit—another half-truth slipping out easily. “You don’t want him joining the show alone. To get the sponsorship, you need to win. And I need to win, too.”
I turn toward Cohen.
He meets my gaze—steady, solid.
Dad watches us.
Sees something he can’t quite decipher.
And he’s torn between the instinct to protect me and the brutal realities of politics and his club.
He knows how much my agency means to me.
He knows Nino doesn’t take no for an answer.
He knows the club needs this sponsorship.
Finally, his shoulders drop.
He exhales—long, deep, defeated.
“You’re as stubborn as your mother,” he mutters, shaking his head with affection and exasperation. “And Nino is a manipulative old snake I’m going to strangle someday.”
Then he turns to Cohen.
And the temperature in the room plummets.
Dad steps close—too close. No coach now.
Only father.
“Fine,” he says, voice low, vibrating with threat. “Do it. Go on the damn show.”
Nate makes a strangled noise that sounds likethank God, but no one acknowledges him.
“But listen carefully, Becker.”
Dad presses a thick finger into Cohen’s chest.
“This isn’t a game. She is not a PR strategy. She is my daughter. My family. She is the most precious thing I have.”
His eyes glisten—just for a heartbeat—before hardening into steel again.
“If you pull one more stunt…
If you make ONE more mistake…
I will make your life such a living hell you’ll regret being born.
Am I understood?”
Cohen doesn’t flinch.
He straightens.
And for once, he looks… solemn.
Respectful.
