Chapter 7 - THE DAY SEBASTIAN WALKED PAST HIS FATHER'S PORTRAIT
Sebastian did not walk across Chicago.
He did not rise from wheelchair at gala to gasps.
Recovery wasn't magic.
It was ten months of painful repetition.
But one day he walked twenty-seven feet with forearm crutches and braces.
Twenty-seven.
We measured.
Gabriel insisted twenty-eight.
Video proved twenty-seven and a half.
Sebastian demanded rounding up.
I refused.
At twenty-seven feet, he passed portrait of father hanging in mansion corridor.
He stopped.
Looked.
Then said:
“Take it down.”
Gabriel immediately moved.
“No,” Sebastian said.
He looked at me.
“I will.”
“Not while standing.”
“Why?”
“Because you're already fatigued.”
He glared.
Then sat.
Later he removed portrait from wheelchair.
Progress included judgment.
Mostly.
Mansion changed.
Weapons fewer visible.
Staff contracts audited.
Certain men disappeared because operations were closing.
Sebastian’s legal team worked with authorities.
He faced own consequences too.
This mattered.
He wasn't innocent boss betrayed by worse relatives.
For twenty years, even from chair, Sebastian had run criminal enterprise.
He ordered intimidation.
Illegal gambling.
Protection schemes.
Money laundering.
He admitted.
“I told myself I didn't kill civilians.”
“That doesn't make everything else okay.”
“I know.”
Would he face prison?
Possibly.
Cooperation and nature of charges mattered, but no guaranteed escape.
He accepted.
“What if I go away before I can walk independently?”
“We continue rehab wherever possible through licensed system.”
He laughed.
“You'd visit prison?”
“If clinically appropriate.”
“Romantic.”
I stared.
He had been flirting increasingly.
I ignored.
Mostly because I was scared.
Not of him anymore.
Of wanting something.
My divorce had burned trust.
Sebastian was patient, crime boss, legal catastrophe.
Terrible candidate.
Lucia noticed.
“You like him.”
“No.”
“Clare.”
“I have a son.”
“That doesn't prevent attraction.”
“It should prevent bad decisions.”
She laughed.
Fair.
Then Oliver asked worse.
“Are you dating wheelchair guy?”
I nearly crashed car.
“No.”
“He likes you.”
“How do you know?”
“He lets you tell him no.”
That child saw too much.
Sebastian’s criminal case negotiation eventually resulted in plea agreement requiring years of incarceration? We need family drama and happy ending. Perhaps 5-year federal sentence later, like prior stories. But not yet.
Before surrender, Sebastian had one request.
Visit grave of Emma.
Lucia’s daughter.
He hadn't in years because Lucia had taken ashes? Actually grave outside Chicago.
They went together.
I stayed back.
Lucia knelt.
Sebastian transferred and used crutches.
He walked last six feet to grave.
Lucia cried.
“She would've thought this was cool.”
“She thought everything I did was cool.”
“She was seven.”
“Exactly.”
They laughed.
Then Lucia said:
“I'm sorry I blamed you.”
Sebastian:
“You had reason.”
“No. I had fear.”
“You thought family system killed her.”
“It did, indirectly.”
“Yes.”
“You were part.”
“Yes.”
That honesty made reconciliation possible.
Sebastian returned home and signed dissolution documents for criminal holdings, forfeiture, cooperation.
Gabriel asked:
“What happens to us?”
Sebastian looked friend.
“You choose.”
Gabriel had been soldier, then Lombardi security.
His brother dead because same system.
He chose legitimate security work and later testified.
Not blind loyalty.
Then Derek’s case concluded.
He pled guilty to offenses involving data manipulation, corrupt payments, attempted custodial interference? Legal specifics fictional. Received prison/probation? Say substantial consequences including incarceration.
Before sentencing, he asked see Oliver.
Oliver chose short video.
Derek:
“I’m sorry.”
Oliver:
“Mom says sorry isn't plan.”
I almost laughed.
“What’s your plan?”
Derek said therapy, restitution, cooperation, letters with no pressure.
Oliver:
“Okay.”
No hug.
No forgiveness.
Enough.
Then Oliver's health improved with correct medication.
Not cured.
Important.
He still had chronic condition.
But fewer hospitalizations.
More soccer.
He played goalie because running limited.
Sebastian came first game.
In wheelchair.
Oliver shouted:
“You’re late!”
Sebastian:
“I run an organization.”
I said:
“Not anymore.”
He corrected:
“I formerly ran organization.”
Parents stared.
We laughed.
Oliver let one goal in because watching Sebastian stand using crutches near sideline.
“Sit down!” he yelled.
Sebastian did.
After game:
“You distracted me.”
“Excuse.”
“You're bad patient.”
“True.”
Their relationship became something.
Not father replacement.
Uncle-ish.
Then Sebastian asked me dinner.
“Not therapy dinner.”
“No.”
“Not business.”
“No.”
“No Gabriel.”
He looked offended.
“Why would Gabriel come?”
“Because your life is weird.”
He laughed.
I said yes.
First date at small Italian restaurant.
Public.
No private room.
He arrived wheelchair because walking long distances exhausting.
I liked that.
He wasn't using recovery to perform masculinity.
We talked.
No crime.
No spine.
Oliver only briefly.
He asked:
“What do you want?”
Question strange.
“Financial stability.”
“Beyond.”
I hadn't thought.
“Maybe teach.”
“Physical therapy?”
“Yes.”
“Why don't you?”
“Need doctorate upgrade and time.”
“Do it.”
“You sound bossy.”
“Occupational residue.”
Then:
“You could afford now?”
Insurance settlement and restored work prospects improving. Sebastian offered nothing.
Good.
“I could apply next year.”
“Do it.”
“What do you want?”
He looked at legs.
“For twenty years answer was walk.”
“And now?”
He stared.
“Not be my father.”
That was honest.
Then he said:
“And maybe lake house with no armed men.”
“Ambitious.”
“Very.”
Date ended with no kiss.
I was relieved.
Then disappointed.
Terrible.
Second date he kissed me.
I stopped.
“Sebastian.”
He immediately backed.
“Sorry.”
Consent.
No ego.
I looked at him.
Then kissed him.
Bad decision maybe.
But mine.
Three weeks later prosecutors filed formal charges from his admitted enterprise activity.
He called:
“It’s happening.”
I went to house.
He looked calm.
“Likely sentence?”
“Counsel says four to six years depending cooperation and court.”
My chest hurt.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why start this with me?”
“I tried not to.”
“Very hard apparently.”
“Clare.”
He reached.
Stopped.
“You don't owe me wait.”
I hated phrase.
Everyone telling women not owe and then deciding for them.
“I'll decide.”
He smiled sadly.
“I expected that.”
Before surrender, he wanted do one thing.
Walk into federal courthouse.
I said absolutely not.
“Why?”
“Distance from curb to security is seventy feet.”
“I can.”
“With rests.”
“No wheelchair.”
“Sebastian.”
“Please.”
That word.
I rarely heard.
We trained.
On morning, cameras waited.
He hated public spectacle but unavoidable.
He used crutches and braces.
Gabriel walked several feet behind.
Lucia beside.
I stayed off camera initially.
Sebastian stepped.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Stopped.
Breathing hard.
Forty.
Fifty.
At sixty, knee buckled.
He caught.
I almost moved.
Didn't.
He recovered.
Seventy-two feet.
Courthouse doors.
He stopped and looked back.
Not at cameras.
At me.
Then entered.
Headlines said:
PARALYZED CHICAGO BOSS WALKS INTO COURT.
They missed bigger story.
May you like
He wasn't walking to reclaim empire.
He was walking to answer for it.
