Page 122 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Capo.
They kept calling him that.
Not Mr. Rafael. Not CEO. Not anything remotely corporate.
Capo.
The pieces I hadn’t wanted to connect finally slammed into place with brutal clarity—the way people obeyed him without hesitation, the calm authority that didn’t ask for permission.
Black Vanta wasn’t just a company.
It was a front.
“Fine,” Rafael said coldly. “I’ll deal with those men myself.”
“Now,” he continued, “before we bring this meeting to a close—you all know Loretta as my wife. What you should also know is that she serves as my personal assistant, which is why she’s here today.”
I felt it immediately—attention snapping toward me from every direction.
Not just glances, but pressure. Awareness.
I kept my hands folded in my lap beneath the table, forcing my breathing to stay even as my skin prickled.
A quiet ripple passed through the room.
“As you can see,” he added, tone steady, “she is visually impaired. That does not diminish her capability in any way. She is highly effective in her role.”
A pause.
“Any conduct toward her,” he added, voice dropping just enough to sharpen the air, “should reflect the same respect you would extend to me.”
There was a brief pause, then the greetings came.
“Pleasure, Señora Loretta.”
“Welcome to the family, ma’am.”
“Any wife of El Mencho is family.”
The last title hit differently.
El Mencho.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it whispered in fragments, but hearing it attached to him so openly made something cold settle in my chest.
I lifted my chin slightly, orienting toward the sound of their voices. “Thank you, gentlemen,” I said evenly.
My voice didn’t shake.
I tried to smile. I wasn’t sure I succeeded.
The muscles in my face felt distant, like they belonged to someone else—someone who had lived a softer life, one I couldn’t quite remember existing anymore.
The meeting didn’t soften after that.
If anything, it darkened.
Talk shifted deeper into territory that no corporate language could disguise.
