From the very beginning, when the roles were being developed, it was clear to him that the siblings were fully committed to crafting something layered in allegory. With Billy's help—his imagination and precision—the vision improved significantly, and so they became even more demanding with every detail. Although it may have seemed excessive, they were convinced that this intensity would help bring the best scenes to life. That's how they defined Anne Carrie's character: a woman capable of enchanting anyone. And for good reason, they went with a seductive outfit, a tight-fitting dress, a strict diet, and exceptional makeup artists who elevated Trinity to a whole new level—beauty radiated from her pores.
Her jet-black hair was cut into a sleek bowl style—something out of a noir film. This version of Trinity was darker, more gothic, infused with the cyberpunk flair that ended up influencing the film's fashion. The already iconic outfits became even more memorable. Billy's investment became more generous, allowing improvements in both special effects and set design, along with the physical training he had to undergo.
Billy wasn't allowed to see Anne outside of filming—Larry's rule. And when he did, he had to appear impressionable and clueless, lost and disconnected from the world, completely detached from whatever was going on in his head. One of the hardest truths was this:
–Then I'm afraid you still owe me ten more rounds, – Billy's instructor said, taking him down to the mat. Every morning, Billy had to go through intense strength and cardio training, eat a hearty breakfast, then draw until 10 a.m., followed by martial arts rehearsals. He practiced karate, judo, boxing, and jiu-jitsu, trying to master enough techniques to appear credible. He knew that if he wanted to succeed, he had to take action—no good actor skips out on doing their basic fight scenes, even the safer ones.
–Yeah, I get it, – Billy replied, pushing through exhaustion, the heat, the suffocating air, and sheer fatigue. He felt like he worked nonstop. But he still got his eight hours of sleep and kept up with all his responsibilities.
***
Monica's heels struck the floor confidently at the swimsuit gala. Her body was slender, her golden-brown skin perfectly proportioned. Her layered haircut gave her a fresh, modern look. She was on the verge of becoming one of the most sought-after models in the world. She had something on her mind. The show had just ended when, out of nowhere—
–Miss Bellucci, – said an older man, just under seventy. He carried himself with undeniable confidence. It wasn't clear if he was wealthy, but his demeanor exuded the kind of comfort only power can offer.
Suddenly, Jim Wait appeared—her agent, and Billy's. According to Billy, Jim was a smart man, someone who bet on the right horse and won. He preferred working behind the scenes, rarely attending premieres, only showing up when necessary. Yet he had unwavering confidence in their success, even if it didn't come with the celebrity status others sought.
–Now that we're here… we'd like to make you a contract offer. Your presence and skill have shown us that your talent has a flavor we can truly make use of, – said the man, now introducing himself as Mr. Hoggiburd, or something close to that.
–So then... –
–The offer is on the table. We hope to build a long and prosperous partnership, – the man said as he took his leave.
Monica looked closely at Jim Wait.
–It's simple. They want you to be the face of a project called Victoria's Secret—featuring the world's most beautiful women, united as angels. At the same time, you'd represent Prada's brand, signing on to promote their evening gown line, plus a deal in casual fashion through Versace Jeans Couture and Ralph Lauren. You'll be treated like the top models and earn a total of $10 million a year, I explained.
The first thing Monica thought about was Billy. Jim noticed her hesitation and added:
–He already knows and says it's a huge opportunity for you, – Jim said.
She looked down, feeling a bit disheartened. Deep down, she wanted him to deny her the fame, to ask her to be a housewife, to make her live only for him. But that was asking too much. Yes, it was better to be successful, at least someone who didn't rely on her partner for everything, someone with the freedom to spend as she pleased. Though Billy's $100,000 monthly allowance was no joke, for a woman used to luxury, it was hard to let go of her passion for shoes.
–Yes, I think… I think I'll do it. But I suppose it's going to be a lot of work, – Monica said.
–It is, – Jim replied. –But the rewards are obvious. In two years, you'll be remembered. For now, you'll still have time for movies, as long as you stick to supporting roles.–
–Yes… let's do it! – Monica said, a small but definitive step that would mark a turning point in how she and Billy balanced their careers. A long-distance relationship marked by tired, infrequent calls. But success was knocking on her door.
…
–So it's done? – asked William D. Rockefeller.
–It's done, – replied his trusted butler, who was working to finalize two kinds of deals: one, to keep Monica Bellucci as busy as possible, and the other, for his granddaughter Amelia, who would turn 18 that November and was about to compete in Miss Universe. She was charming, a perfect fit for that kind of role, though her mother had to help and guide her carefully.
–I mean, the time we have is short. All we need now is your trust, – William added, speaking with sharp clarity. William Domer had cancer, and his only wish was for Billy to take on the Rockefeller name—and with it, the full weight of the family legacy.
Extending time was difficult, especially when I was ill. Fighting the disease would take everything he had just to make it another five years—maybe four. But his grandfather, John D. Rockefeller, had been one of the smartest men he'd ever known.
...