In the hyper-masculine world of Latin-American drug cartels, it is sometimes the women you need to watch.
That’s how the Mexican military hunted down one of the world’s most-wanted traffickers – Nemesio “El Mencho” Oseguera Cervantes – in a daring operation earlier this year that included special forces storming his hideout in Jalisco state.
Among the eye-catching details of that raid – which provoked a wave of retaliatory violence across the country that left several American tourists stranded – is how the military finally tracked down a man who had been on the run for years, was wanted by both Mexican and US authorities, and had a $15 million bounty on his head.
They simply tracked one of his lovers, who inadvertently led them to a cabin in the mountains of Tapalpa in western Mexico, where one of the most notorious criminals of his generation was hiding out.
While authorities have kept the details surrounding the mystery woman deliberately sparse, her involvement in one of Mexico’s most significant anti-drug operations in recent years underscores the role of women in the inner circles of Latin America’s drug cartels.
It is an underworld that, though colored by a strong culture of machismo, has women carving out roles at all levels of the hierarchy – from trophy wives to smuggling operatives to criminal masterminds.
And while hitmen and foot soldiers still tend to be men, it is often women who are best-suited to the logistical and financial sides of cartel operations, experts say – especially if they are married to bosses and have front-row seats to the action.
“If you are the wife of a senior cartel boss, you are likely read into their logistics, their operations, their strategies,” said Henry Ziemer, an expert on organized crime at the Center for Strategic and International Studies. “So, when your husband is captured or killed, it’s possible that you’re able to take over a large chunk of the business.”
One of Latin America’s most colorful female crime bosses was Colombia’s “Queen of Cocaine” Griselda Blanco, the focus of Netflix’s series “Griselda,” who had no fewer than three husbands (all partners in her criminal enterprises) during her ascent to notoriety in the Miami drug wars of the 1970s and 80s.
At the height of her power, Blanco, also known as “the godmother,” was responsible for shipping multi-ton shipments of cocaine from Colombia to Miami, according to authorities. Linked to the late Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar and the Medellin cartel, she was the mastermind of dozens of killings, according to Miami-Dade investigators – and was reputedly every bit as violent, if not more so, than her male counterparts. Infamous for running a network of gunmen known as the Pistoleros, she had a penchant for drive-by shootings – one of which killed a toddler.
“Even by the context of how hits were taken out in the cartels across the Americas in the 70s and 80s, she’s still pretty ruthless,” Claire White, director of education at The Mob Museum in Las Vegas, told CNN.
But violence wasn’t Blanco’s only way of wielding power. Like other female crime bosses, her real prowess was organizing the logistics and financial aspects of her cartel’s empire, reportedly worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Adept at money laundering and overseeing distribution operations, she ran a real estate empire and a factory that made undergarments with hidden pockets designed for smuggling contraband.
As a woman she also found it easier than her male counterparts to recruit other women, who she often employed as smugglers.
“She had that ability to recognize skills and see women and put them into those positions,” said Elaine Carey, historian and author of “Women Drug Traffickers: Mules, Bosses, and Organized Crime.”
“Griselda was actively recruiting women to be within the organization and work alongside her.”
Blanco was also skilled at evading the law. Despite being indicted in 1975 on federal charges of conspiring to manufacture, smuggle and distribute cocaine in the US, she was not caught until February 1985, when she was arrested by DEA agent Bob Palombo in Irvine, California. According to Palombo, when his team burst in, she was in bed, reading a Bible.
That year, Blanco was sentenced to 15 years in prison on federal drug trafficking charges. Nine years into her sentence, the state of Florida charged her with ordering three killings dating to the early 80s, including that of the toddler. She pleaded guilty and served both sentences concurrently. Following her release in 2004, she was deported to Colombia, where she reportedly lived a quiet life before being gunned down while leaving a butcher shop in 2012.
Talking about her case at the time she was charged over the deaths, Al Singleton, a sergeant with the Miami-Dade Police Department, said authorities believed Blanco was responsible for dozens of killings in the Miami area.
“If she was not one of the most prolific traffickers in the Miami area, she clearly was one of the most violent. We’ve got her, conservatively, estimating her to be involved in at least 40 homicides between Miami, Queens and Broward County,” he said.
Her youngest son, Michael Corleone Blanco – named after the character in “The Godfather” – told The Mob Museum in 2025 his mother had never been one for taking a back seat.
He recalled watching as a child when gunmen killed his father – Blanco’s third husband, the bank robber and assassin Dario Sepulveda – following a custody dispute between his parents after they separated.
His mother had always denied widespread claims she was behind the killing, Michael said. Still, he noted, “Even though my father was a man amongst men … she (Blanco) was the boss … and she would scream, and she would tell him what to do.”
Though not technically a cartel wife like Blanco, Antonella Marchant, who ran Chile’s feared Los Marchant clan alongside her father, also specialized in financials and logistics, according to Chilean authorities.
Her cartel was known for importing large quantities of cocaine from Bolivia and distributing it in the southern part of Chile’s capital Santiago, Chilean prosecutor Yans Escobar told CNN.
One such operation in December 2021 involved more than 300 kilograms of the drug, according to the Chilean judiciary, which in 2023 sentenced Antonella and her father, Francisco Antonio Marchant Iglesias, each to 15 years in prison, and her older brother, Ricardo, to 12.
While Antonella, Ricardo and their father all admitted drug trafficking, Francisco insisted he was the focal point of the operation and had not wanted his family to get involved.
The judiciary, however, did not buy Francisco’s account. Describing Antonella’s role as tracking drug shipments and collecting payments and her father’s as coordinating their relationship with suppliers, it said, “it was clear that the leadership of the gang rested primarily with Antonella Marchant.”
Her case gives the lie to the idea that it is always the son who takes over the family business.
“The reality is, organized crime is becoming more gender balanced,” said The Mob Museum’s White.
The wife of “El Mencho” is another case in point. Rosalinda Gonzalez Valencia, known as “La Jefa” or “The Boss,” is someone Carey calls “drug trafficking royalty.”
Her brother Abigael and the Los Cuinis family-based cartel he led were both sanctioned by the US and added to the Treasury’s Specially Designated Nationals List in 2015. Another brother, Jose Gonzalez Valencia was a Los Cuinis leader and co-founder who was sentenced to 30 years in 2025 for drug trafficking – but had been trying to import cocaine into the US since at least 2006, according to the US Justice Department.
Los Cuinis has been closely aligned with the Jalisco New Generation Cartel – a bond the DOJ says was “strengthened by familial ties.” According to the DEA, Los Cuinis served as the financial and logistical arm of the Jalisco cartel and oversaw its “diverse network of money laundering operations.”
Indeed, El Mencho owes his own ascent in the Jalisco cartel to Rosalinda – rather than the other way around.
“In reality, El Mencho reached the (Jalisco) cartel’s leadership through a diplomatic strategy via marriage,” said Mexican public security expert David Saucedo.
Mexican authorities have long suspected Rosalinda of being one of the group’s financial masterminds and charged her with money laundering in 2018, only to release her months later because of insufficient evidence.
Then in 2021 she was arrested and accused of serving as a financial operator for a criminal group. Mexican authorities described the detention as a “significant blow to the financial structure of organized crime in the state of Jalisco.”
In 2023 she was sentenced to five years in prison for “operating with resources of illicit origin” but was released in 2025 for “good behavior,” according to Mexico’s Attorney General’s office.
Deborah Bonello, author of “Narcas: The Secret Rise of Women in Latin America’s Cartels,” cautions against viewing Rosalinda’s influence merely through the lens of her marriage.
“Rosalinda’s role in the cartel is pretty fundamental in the sense that she has always been involved in the money side,” she said. “(Besides) when people in that world are married, they’re not living what you and I would consider a conventional marriage. Who knows whether they were still romantically involved?”
‘Buchonas,’ boob jobs and bulletproof vests
Still, not all narco-wives dive head-first into the cartel business.
One of the most stereotypical perceptions of a narco-wife is that of a “buchona,” a slang term from Sinaloa in northwest Mexico that refers to the romantic partners of cartel bosses and conjures up images of “plastic surgery, diamond-encrusted nails and Instagram,” according to journalist and author Ioan Grillo, who reports on crime and drugs in Latin America.
One of the most famous buchonas might be California-born former beauty queen Emma Coronel Aispuro, the wife of notorious Mexican drug lord Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman. Since 2019, he has been serving a life sentence at a maximum security prison in Colorado.
Coronel, who met her husband at a party in 2006 when she was 17 years old – 32 years his junior – and married him a year later, is now most known for her modeling career. She has walked the runway at Milan Fashion week, appeared in a music video, and modeled for various brands. She has also become an influencer of sorts, with over 500,000 followers on Instagram, and has launched a fitness business, selling a guide detailing meal plans and workout routines for women.
She has downplayed any involvement in her husband’s line of work. In November, she told an Oxygen True Crime documentary that she did not ask him about his staggering fortune (estimated by Forbes in 2009 at $1 billion) “because of my lack of experience or perhaps out of convenience.”
However, in 2021, Coronel was arrested in Virginia and sentenced to three years in prison and four years of supervised release after pleading guilty to money laundering and federal drug trafficking charges related to her husband’s narcotic empire.
Even so, Bonello says Coronel’s relatively low-level involvement in the cartel contrasts with the central roles played by other women.
Often, they move and operate like businesswomen, largely unlike their male counterparts, and are proud to do so.
“Women who are leaders of the organizations will say, ‘I’m a boss, I’m not a buchona’,” notes Carey, the historian.
She says one Sinaloan narca has told her: “I’m not going to have a boob job, because to customize a bulletproof vest is very, very expensive.”
