The Capo’s Sacrificed Wife

At the Family dinner, my rival, Paige, emboldened by drink, blurted out the truth for all to hear.

"Five years ago, you were first on the list to move into the secure compound. It was your own husband who crossed your name off, five years running, all to play the saint!"

The room fell dead silent. I looked at my husband, the Capo of our borough.

He chewed on his cigar, utterly shameless. "I gave the spots to the widows of my men. They need the security more than you. You're my woman. You have to see the bigger picture."

I smiled, but a tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek.

So, if our son was listed as the orphan of a fallen hero, would he finally get a spot in the compound?

The air in the ballroom turned to ice.

Dean stubbed out his cigar, rose to his feet, and straightened the lapels of his suit. His eyes found mine.

"Fine. If we're airing dirty laundry, let's get it all out in the open."

"You've submitted an application for the compound five years in a row. The Family council is well aware. But every single time, there have been people in more danger than you."

"This year, it was Hazel. Her husband took a bullet for me in that last territory war. She's a widow with a son who has asthma. She needs this spot more than you do."

"You are my wife. The wife of a Capo. We have to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the men under us."

He strode over to me, his hands gripping my shoulders. "Just wait a little longer. Next year... I promise, I'll arrange it for you next year."

"I can wait, but Lucas's sickness can't!"

I shoved his hands away, the pressure in my chest finally erupting.

"Dean, have I ever once failed to follow the Family's rules in my applications? When you were fighting for your position as Capo, you didn't have the seniority."

"I gave you the connections my father left me on the docks, and those two shipping hubs in the West End. That's how you became the youngest Capo in the Family!"

"Year after year, I'm the one who runs the numbers for your rackets. The underground casinos I managed tripled their profits under my watch! I earned a spot in that compound with my own two hands. What right do you have to keep crossing my name off?"

"This wasn't my decision alone. It was a vote by the Family council!"

He frowned, his voice as cold as a blade.

"A collective vote? Or was it your one man show, Dean? Polishing your image to pave the way to Underboss?"

"Five years ago, that winter, you made a grand show of your impartiality. You gave away the security systems and imported heaters meant for the families of senior members. You gave them all to the families of your men. Our son and I spent that winter shivering through the night in a drafty, dilapidated slum. Lucas's asthma started then!"

"And you? Where were you? Smoking cigars in your climate-controlled office!"

"And that shipment of smuggled medicine for the Family clinic at the start of the year? With one stroke of your pen, you signed it all over to Hazel's son!"

I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. "Dean, when you were putting another man's child first, did it ever cross your mind that your own son was back in that slum, burning with a fever so high he was convulsing, without even an aspirin to his name?"

Dean's face turned ashen. "You're being irrational! The medicine was scarce. It had to go where it was needed most!"

Hazel, sitting in a corner, flushed from white to red and stammered, "Olivia, please don't misunderstand..."

"I'm not misunderstanding a thing." My voice was so shrill I hardly recognized it myself.

"Hazel, search your conscience and tell me. For the past six months, the apartment you live in, the guards you have when you go out, the private room at the Family clinic. Tell me, which of those didn't come from special privileges? Which one wasn't personally signed off on by my husband?"

Hazel was speechless, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt.

Seeing this, a storm of fury rose in Dean's eyes. "Have you made enough of a scene? Look at that bitter, ugly face of yours. You're petty and you can't see the bigger picture!"

"Her husband died for the Family! It's our duty to take care of her! But you? All you can see are your own petty grievances! Do you have any sense of the bigger picture? Do you have any idea what it means to be a Capo's wife?"

His hand shot out and seized my chin, his voice so forceful the wine glasses on the table trembled.

"I'm telling you right now, with that attitude, you can forget about ever moving into the compound! Even if you did, you'd just be an embarrassment!"

I slapped his hand away and took a half step back, a cold smile on my lips.

"You're right, Boss. My mistake. I've been petty and unreasonable."

"From now on, you won't have to worry about whether my son and I live or die."

With that, I turned and walked out. I didn't go back to that crumbling slum. I walked straight to the pay phone on the street corner.

A coin clinked into the machine, and the call connected.

"Hello, this is Olivia. I'm calling about the volunteer position with the parish relief team. I'll take it."

A barely concealed excitement came through the line.

"That's wonderful news, Ms. Olivia! We've been waiting for your answer for so long! You speak Spanish, you know the rules of the street... we desperately need someone like you!"

"And don't you worry. According to the agreement between the Family and the parish, the children of our volunteers are automatically placed under the Family's protection protocol for orphans. They receive lifetime medical care at the Family's private clinic and top-tier security."

"If your son so much as feels a little unwell, you can call on the private hospital and top specialists in the city center at any time."

"I understand. Thank you."

"But..." The voice on the other end paused, then grew serious.

"I have to be straight with you. It's a free-fire zone over there, a no-man's-land. The gangs are at war day and night. Once you're in that mess, you might never come out. Are you absolutely sure about this?"

I gripped the receiver tightly. "I'm sure," I said, each word deliberate.

"Alright. I'll send a car for you in five days."

Five days. That was the exact day Dean would be escorting the widows to their new, celebrated lives in the suburban compound.