Chapter 10
LORETTA
It was a brand-new Tuesday morning, and I was inside the penthouse conference room of the Bytenext Hotel.
This was no ordinary business hotel.
Bytenext was the city’s crown of secrecy: exclusive, heavily secured, and obscenely expensive.
Even without sight, I could tell I wasn’t in an ordinary space.
I sat to Rafael’s right.
As his new personal assistant, I had accompanied him to the quarterly investors’ meeting.
My phone rested on the polished table in front of me, recording quietly.
My fingers stayed close to it, not quite touching.
Rafael’s presence beside me was unmistakable.
Five other men occupied the remaining seats.
Their voices were the first thing I learned about them. Deep. Rough. Thick Spanish accents layered with something older.
They greeted Rafael not with formality, but familiarity.
“Capo,” one of them said, clapping Rafael’s shoulder as he sat. “Good to see you married again. The empire needs stability.”
The word Capo landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.
I kept my face composed, though my throat tightened slightly at the implication I wasn’t supposed to understand yet.
The meeting began smoothly enough.
Quarterly figures. Expansion plans. Legitimate revenue streams tied to tech investments, logistics and shipping routes.
I kept my expression neutral, listening carefully, occasionally brushing my thumb over my phone screen to ensure the recording was still active.
Then the tone shifted.
“We caught two Italian guys loitering near Salvador’s warehouse two nights ago,” one man said, his voice dropping slightly, “They’re in the basement now. Tough bastards. Claim they just got lost. We’ve been... persuading them, but they’re holding.”
My fingers stopped moving.
The air changed temperature in my mind.
Basement. Persuading. Holding.
None of those words belonged in a corporate meeting.
My thumb hovered over the recording app without pressing anything further. I wasn’t sure when I’d started holding my breath, but my lungs refused to fully expand.
“Rafael,” another voice cut in, respectful but edged with urgency, “we need you to extract real answers before we dispose of them. You’re the best at breaking men who don’t want to break.”
I killed the recording.
My pulse hit my ears like distant thunder.
I tried to keep my breathing even, but it felt like my body had stopped recognizing what calm was supposed to be.
Rafael’s voice came next.
“Are you quite certain they’re threats?” he asked. “I don’t want to waste my time on tourists.”
“Capo,” another man replied, “they were carrying concealed daggers. Said it was for ‘personal protection.’ Since when do ‘lost tourists’ walk Barcelona with stilettos hidden in their jackets?”
A low chuckle followed from somewhere across the table.
“The Italians want another war on our soil again,” another voice added. “Just like our ancestors brought to theirs decades ago. We cut this off now—send a message.”
A message.
My stomach tightened.
I sat completely still, as though movement might betray that I was listening too closely, understanding too much.
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, Senora 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.
“There’s a shipment at the port that didn’t arrive clean,” one man said, flipping through papers. “We intercepted two containers. Someone inside tipped them off.”
“A traitor?” another voice asked, amused rather than alarmed.
“He confessed after pressure,” came the reply. “We removed his tongue as a warning to the others.”
There was no gasp.
No discomfort.
Only acknowledgment. Like he had reported a delayed delivery.
My stomach tightened so sharply I had to press my hands into my lap to ground myself.
The voices kept moving.
“A politician in Valencia needs persuasion,” someone added casually. “We have photographs. His mistress, his children. He’ll comply once he understands the cost of refusal.”
Another man chuckled. “There’s also the warehouse in Cádiz. We burned it last night. Two guards didn’t make it out in time.”
My pulse stayed steady only because I forced it to.
Because Rafael was still beside me.
At last, Rafael spoke again.
“The meeting is concluded, gentlemen. We will reconvene legally in three months. Unofficial matters will be handled as they arise.”
There was movement then—chairs scraping softly against the floor, papers gathered, briefcases closed. Footsteps began to retreat in controlled rhythm.
One by one, they left.
I did not move.
I stayed seated until the last echo of their presence disappeared behind the heavy door, until the room felt artificially quiet again.
Only then did I rise.
Before I could orient myself, Rafael’s hand settled at my waist.
Firm. Certain. Possessive in a way that wasn’t hurried or uncertain—it was habitual, like he had done it a thousand times and expected no resistance from the world or from me.
He guided me forward slightly.
I stopped.
Not forcefully. Just... firmly.
“I’ve always known there’s more to you than just being the richest man in the city. Are you the boss of the Spanish mafia?”
My voice was low, but it carried a sharpness I hadn’t intended to hide.
A pause.
Then, almost faintly amused—“After everything that’s been said in this room, you’re still asking me that?”
His hand didn’t leave my waist.
The words landed like impact.
My chest dropped so hard it felt like something inside me had been pulled downward without warning.
“So I didn’t just marry the richest man in Barcelona,” I said slowly, each word controlled only by effort. “I married a killer. A drug lord. An arms trafficker. A man who discusses torture in hotel basements like it’s part of a business report.”
Rafael’s voice dropped lower,
“It’s not my fault you’re only finding out now.”
My breath stuttered. “Do you know my father? Did you two work together? Are you just like him?”
His fingers tightened at my waist—not painful, but unmistakably deliberate. A warning without violence.
“I am nothing like your father.” He said quietly.
Then, after a beat:
“Now move. This location is no longer secure.”
I stayed planted, though I couldn’t see him, couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t anchor myself in anything except the sound of my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. “Do you know him? Did you ever do business with that monster?”
The air between us tightened—so sharply I felt it like pressure against my skin.
Then Rafael exhaled, “It’s time to leave, Loretta.”
“That is not an answer.” My voice cracked at the edges, anger and fear tangling together.
I turned slightly toward where I thought he stood, useless blind instinct guiding me. “Don’t do that. Don’t decide what I can or cannot handle. Just tell me the truth.”
“Walk,” he said quietly.
I jerked his hand from my waist. “I can walk on my own.”
“I know.” A pause. “But not safely in your current state of mind.”
That made something inside me flare again, but I moved anyway.
I hated how vulnerable blindness made distance feel like a trap.
He suddenly placed a hand over my chest, stopping me before I could move again.
“You would’ve taken another injury if you’d taken one more step.”
His grip shifted back to my waist. “Walk, Loretta.”
I swallowed my anger and went along this time, though it stayed simmering as he steered me toward the elevator.
The soft chime of the private lift arrived too quickly.
Metal doors slid open with a whisper, and he guided me inside first, his palm never leaving me.
Even when we stood side by side in the enclosed space, he didn’t let go.
The elevator descended in smooth silence, and I became painfully aware of everything.
When the doors opened into the underground garage, the world changed again.
He guided me forward.
“Rafael,” I tried again, sharper now. “Don’t ignore me.”
No response.
We reached the car. The door opened, and the leather scent hit me immediately.
He helped me inside without ceremony, and then the door shut, sealing me into silence.
The engine came alive with a deep, smooth growl.