Chapter 8 - The Truth About Carlo RossyLorenzo stopped speaking.
Not permanently.
But enough.
He went from terse to nearly silent.
The death order destroyed the version of his father he had begun rebuilding.
I understood why.
It is easier to live with a monster than a complicated man.
A monster requires no mourning.
A complicated person keeps hurting you after death.
Evelyn finally agreed to meet him.
Mother and son.
Twenty-eight years late.
I offered to stay away.
Lorenzo asked me to come.
That surprised both of us.
Evelyn stayed in a protected residence outside Chicago.
When she opened the door, Lorenzo froze.
Up close, resemblance was undeniable.
She touched his face.
He didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He asked the cruelest possible question because he needed the answer.
“Did you love me?”
Evelyn started crying.
“Every day.”
“Then why didn’t you come back?”
“Because every time I tried, somebody died.”
He looked away.
Thomas Stone.
Carlo.
Others.
Evelyn saw me.
“You must be Marianne’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
She hugged me.
Unexpected.
“You have her eyes.”
I swallowed.
“She doesn’t remember much.”
“I know.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Years ago.”
Another hidden connection.
I was getting used to them.
We sat.
Lorenzo placed the death order on the table.
Evelyn read it.
Then laughed.
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
“This is fake.”
Silence.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Carlo never signed Carlo.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What?”
“Legal name was Calogero.”
She pointed.
“On internal orders, always C. Rossy. Never Carlo Rossy.”
Gabriel verified archives.
She was right.
Forgery.
Salvatore.
Another attempt to control Lorenzo’s memory of his father.
Evelyn explained the final years.
Carlo had indeed been brutal when younger.
He built systems that harmed people.
He approved blackmail.
Bribes.
Threats.
Then Lorenzo was born.
Then Evelyn began challenging him.
Change came slowly.
Too slowly.
But it came.
He tried to dismantle what he built.
Salvatore refused.
The brothers split.
Carlo staged Evelyn’s death because he believed that was the only way to get her out alive.
“You agreed?” Lorenzo asked.
“Yes.”
“You both decided for me.”
Evelyn flinched.
“Yes.”
“I thought my mother was dead.”
“I know.”
“You thought that was protection?”
“No.”
She cried.
“I thought it was the least terrible option.”
Lorenzo stood.
I thought he would leave.
Instead he asked:
“Did he love me?”
Evelyn smiled through tears.
“More than anything.”
“Was I his?”
There it was.
She understood.
“Biologically?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo stared.
Evelyn continued.
“I loved Salvatore when I was young.”
“But?”
“I never slept with him after marrying Carlo.”
Relief crossed Lorenzo’s face before he could hide it.
Carlo Rossy was his father.
Salvatore had lied even about uncertainty.
Evelyn took Lorenzo’s hand.
“Your father died because he refused to give Salvatore the black ledger.”
The blue ledger.
“He gave it to Marianne.”
My mother.
Everything connected.
Marianne hid it.
Created the lullaby clue.
Evelyn disappeared.
Carlo died.
My mother carried the secret until disease stole the memory.
Lorenzo looked at me.
Our families had been protecting the same truth from opposite sides.
After the meeting, Lorenzo stood beside the lake.
I joined him.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Different?”
“Yes.”
Good enough.
The corporation entered bankruptcy restructuring.
Thousands of employees who had nothing to do with the crimes risked losing jobs.
That became Lorenzo’s focus.
Not reputation.
Not personal wealth.
Employees.
He sold private assets.
A yacht I didn’t know existed.
Two estates.
Art.
Investment holdings.
He created a fund to protect pensions and payroll.
“You’re giving away billions,” I said.
“Not billions.”
“Hundreds of millions.”
“Yes.”
“That is still medically concerning.”
He smiled.
“I have enough.”
“How much is enough?”
“More than fifty-three dollars.”
I glared.
“Never letting that go?”
“No.”
I had officially left my secretary role.
The company’s restructuring team offered me an analyst position.
I took it.
Independently.
Lorenzo stayed out of the hiring process.
I knew because I made them prove it.
Three months passed.
Salvatore was indicted.
D’Amico became a cooperating witness.
Several former executives were charged.
Evelyn testified.
So did Gabriel.
So did I.
The media called me “the secretary who exposed Rossy.”
I hated it.
I was not a secretary anymore, for one thing.
Also six women before me had done half the work.
So I contacted them.
Rebecca.
Michelle.
Hannah.
Lacey.
Priya.
Andrea.
Together, we gave one interview.
Seven women.
One story.
The public narrative changed.
Not one clever woman.
A chain of women who noticed, warned, recorded, fled, survived, and passed evidence forward.
I liked that version better.
Lorenzo watched the interview from my apartment.
I had moved back.
New building.
Security.
My own lease.
He brought takeout.
“You were good.”
“I said your company had systematic failures.”
“It did.”
“I called your executive culture hostile.”
“It was.”
“I said billionaire dynasties should be treated with suspicion.”
He looked at me.
“That felt personal.”
“It was.”
He kissed me.
We had been dating quietly.
Quietly by billionaire standards meant photographers only found us twice a week.
My mother met Lorenzo during a good afternoon.
She remembered him.
Sort of.
“You’re Carlo’s boy.”
“Yes.”
“You were skinny.”
He almost smiled.
“I improved.”
She looked at me.
“He’s handsome.”
I wanted to disappear.
Lorenzo looked delighted.
Then she said:
“Don’t let him tell you what to do.”
I laughed so hard I cried.
Lorenzo said, “She’s definitely your mother.”
Life began to feel almost normal.
Then Gabriel called one night.
“Turn on the news.”
Salvatore had escaped federal transport.
My stomach dropped.
Impossible.
But there it was.
Armed attack.
Two agents injured.
Salvatore gone.
Lorenzo’s phone rang seconds later.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Salvatore’s voice.
“You destroyed my life.”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“You did that yourself.”
“You took my family.”
“No.”
“Mara did.”
My skin went cold.
Salvatore continued.
“So now I take hers.”
The call ended.
I immediately called Lakeshore.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Lorenzo was already moving.
“Gabriel.”
Security mobilized.
We reached the facility in fourteen minutes.
Police everywhere.
My mother’s room empty.
Window open.
One nurse unconscious but alive.
On the bed:
A pink gel pen.
Mine.
The one I lost three months earlier.
Beside it, a note.
THE SEVENTH WOMAN ENDS WHERE THE FIRST ONE BEGAN.
Evelyn.
The first woman.
My mother was gone.
Again.
Salvatore wanted to finish the story at its beginning.
And this time, I knew exactly where he was taking her.
May you like
The hidden level beneath Rossy Tower.
The place Carlo and Evelyn had once tried to end the empire.
