Rodrigo pulled away from her as if my presence had burned him.

He adjusted his jacket, cleared his throat, and reached for the false authority of a man used to giving orders even while he’s sinking.

“Marco,” he said, in a crisp executive tone, “I think we should discuss this in private.”

He’d been kissing my wife in front of a hallway of employees filming through glass walls, and he still thought he could manage it like a slide deck.

“Get your hands off her,” I said quietly.

He’d already stepped back, but the calm in my voice drained the color from his face.