Rebecca Downhill (Becca) has known nothing in her life but a strict father who is involved in businesses with the Italian mafia in NY, an absent mother who has taught her to be obedient and fulfill her duties towards the family, and a twelve years o...
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Healey is coming twice per day, just as I've asked her, morning and evening.
The moment I've snapped when seeing the divorce papers has put her in a bit of a defense mood, which doesn't bother me much, to be honest.
I'm not in any mood for bonding, friendly, or any other kind.
I've thrown the papers away and told Gio to keep them till I feel to deal with them. I don't want to sign it. I'm not stupid.
Giving her freedom means opening the way for Vincenzo Benito to snatch her from me and I'll be damned if I let that happen.
Becca belongs to me, whether she likes it or not, and right now time is of the essence. The sooner I'm back on my feet, the faster I'm going to bring her back home.
So, I push myself to almost impossible limits. Sometimes I even double the therapy sessions, working out alone in the gym, and I'm doing really good, I can tell.
I'm walking by myself already, with the help of a cane, of course, but that will not be for too long. I'll make sure of it.
I've gotten back to my business from day one, things are going well.
As planned, I'm gradually taking steps back from the shady businesses with Benito but keep the deals with the legit ones. It's loads of money and Benito is keeping it clean. It suits me just perfectly.
"Gio, I need you to pass by my house this evening," I told him over the phone.
"Sure, Lucas. Anything I need to do before I reach you?" he asks, reading my mind.
"Yeah. I need you to find me the contact number of Mike Saphiro."
"Downhill Inc.?" he's looking for confirmation after a few moments of silence.
"Yeah. And the divorce papers."
"Alright," he replies and hangs up.
I throw the phone on the desk of my home office and with a sigh, I run my fingers through my long, damp hair after the shower I've just taken.
Since I've woken up from the coma I feel the need for a change, so I've decided to keep it long, reaching to my shoulders and I always tie it in a bun on the top of my head. And I've also kept the black, short stubble covering my jaws.
It's a total change from the neat look I've used to have before, beards always freshly trimmed, short hair, always combed and fixed in style. But like this, it feels like a new me, less sober, less stiff.
It's time to move with my plans and reach Becca. I'd taken this decision one night before, the night her memory tormented me till the early hours of the morning.
Nothing new about that. It becomes a way of life for me, one that I can't accommodate, and obviously, I never want to.
I have to take a step toward her, give her a sign, let her know I'm finally awake and see what her response will be.
