Chapter Text
[ Havana, Cuba, 1983 ]
‘This was supposed to be paradise. For me. For mama, and for Gina. Home was enough.’
Abandoned homes once filled with growing families, shattered windows only revealing the emptiness inside and barred doors to ward off curiosity and anyone leading from the path of nostalgia surrounds the streets in which Tony and Manny grew up.
‘I never knew my father well. I forgot him. I don’t care. He left us, I left him too.’
Spending their childhood playing ball with the other children for hours on end after school with a tight-knit community, neighbors who knew one another and looked out for each other now only to see it as nothing but an abandoned slum puts nothing but resent and disappointment in Tony and Manny’s hearts.
‘Then Mama and Gina left too, to paradise. Didn’t wait for me but I’m coming. I know then, I know now. My time was coming.’
Abandoned by most residents due to poverty and safety concerns, all Tony and Manny’s childhood neighborhood can do is serve as nostalgia and a final goodbye—nothing more.
‘I’m gonna go too. Make my own paradise. Trust nobody but me. I be the millionaire that thank nobody. That’s what I wanna be.’
Dressed in a pair of slacks and a white beater top stained with sweat from the heat and humidity of the day, this is nothing but a trip down memory lane for the last time since Tony and Manny might as well live it down.
“This no fucking family street no more, man,” Tony mumbles, looking up at the rotting wooden planks barring up doors and smashed windows; loose, twisted nails sticking out of crumbling walls with chunks of chipping paint peeled off. “This a fucking dump.”
“They ruined this place, man,” Manny frowns at his surroundings, realizing how noticeably dingy and disgusting the block appears with shadows cast over it from the setting sun. “We was right here, playing together in the streets.”
“Mama used to watch us up from there, remember?” Tony points up at his childhood home, no different from the rest remaining to be eyesores down the block. “When we play ball with the kids from the other neighborhood. Now look at all that.”
Whether some of the surrounding buildings may still be occupied as hideouts or drug houses are another story altogether, but it’s a bitter visit for the two prepared to never return back to Havana again.
“Knew it like the back of my hand,” Tony’s eyes dart over his neighbor’s worn down, abandoned home. “Mama always say gotta get through these kinda places to get what you want.”
“Mama didn’t see no communists coming, man,” Manny kicks a pebble in front of him glumly.
Poverty wasn’t completely unknown in these streets, but the bond and sense of community overpowered everything else.
When Tony and Manny were just children growing up, they witnessed firsthand for themselves families helping other families, neighbors taking turns to watch the kids out in the streets, keeping the neighborhood clean, and supporting every resident that one could.
But with Castro, the communists, and rebellions pouring through incessantly over the last many years, the next time poverty struck Tony and Manny’s hometown, it struck hard and was here to outlast every last resident.
Folks gathered all they had and wept through their goodbyes to all they knew was once their home but had to move on for their own safety. The last thing anyone wanted was trouble or to see murderers and petty thieves littering the streets.
Nobody looked back, no matter how much they wanted to, and the same was also said for Tony and Manny’s families too.
Manny’s family moved to an entirely different city altogether, but Tony’s mother and sister were easily and quickly approved to immigrate to the United States.
Tony saw the streets as an escape and knew his country like the back of his hand, but his absence from home and disobedience towards his mother was the exact reason why Tony found out the hard way that he was staying behind; everyone had already left and only looked out for themselves.
Tony had a deadbeat, absent father who already officially abandoned the family years back, but with his mother and sister leaving for the United States, Tony would have to be stupid to stick around in Havana any longer.
Memories or not, this neighborhood can’t mean anything to Tony and Manny now. Since the two left, they stayed in a house together and never looked back—waiting for their chance to immigrate to the United States too.
After months of bickering, confusion, and paperwork, Tony and Manny refused to relent and give up; they were determined on the process from beginning to end.
Tonight officially marks Tony and Manny’s last night in Havana, let alone Cuba. The two are set to board a ship bound for the United States, leaving everything behind for good as they sought.
Tomorrow, Tony and Manny may just consider themselves as good as Americans. Tomorrow, they’d start a new life and forget Havana—forget home—and gladly leave everything behind.
That’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s what’s waiting for Tony and Manny and all they were waiting for was an opportunity to get out and go into a paradise of their own in Miami, Florida.
Tony was never supposed to meet you. You were never supposed to see each other or cross each other’s paths. Tony wasn’t supposed to wait for you more than he wanted to wait for anything in his life.
It should have never reached a point where Tony couldn’t live in his paradise and call the empire he built up for himself home without having you in it too.
You think you’re simply in the wrong place at the wrong time but you’re exactly where Tony could ever want you to be right now. All Tony wishes he can do is change the circumstances.
~
“It wasn’t exactly home to us, but it was home to your grandfather. He loved Havana. For him it was a bit of paradise, so he decided to invest in it.”
Coming to a stop in your tracks, you pull out the crumpled note from your purse that your father gave to you shortly before you planned your trip to Havana for one reason alone—to visit the address scribbled upon it.
“It’s a villa, mostly used as a vacation residence but it's at the heart of the neighborhood. Your grandfather spoke very fondly of it up until his death, but I’ve never even seen so much as a photograph or deed of the estate before.”
You can practically imagine your father’s shock and disappointment if he was here with you right now. Standing at the very address the villa is supposed to be located is nothing but ruins and vandalism—a neighborhood intentionally left to rot.
“Is it home to you? To us?”
After all, you have no other reason to visit Havana other than to make sense of your family’s legacy and put the pieces together and despite having low hopes for what you’d find, you never expected to come face to face with nothingness—with destruction.
“It can’t be, can it? We have no connections to Havana. We don’t know anyone. It can’t be home to us of all people now.”
Nothingness has never been worth saving and you never felt it becoming your truth with every step you took down this lifeless neighborhood just to get here.
Greeted by chunks of glass sticking through dried mud, torn cloth, remnants of smashed belongings, broken nails, and garbage by your feet, there’s nothing that can possibly feel like home here to you now.
‘The least I can do is let father know.’ You frown at the address upon the note, only imagining the plot of land here can be sold eventually if this place ever gets cleaned up, but still unable to push past and ignore the swelling disappointment in your heart knowing you’ll forever be barred from appreciating what your grandfather loved so much in the past.
Only the calming evening breeze brushing up against you and taking away torn newspapers on the street can be heard with the distant sound of a dog barking from down the block now.
You’re neither familiar nor used to Havana; not the feeling of home that may have been here, not the environment, not the people, and not what seems to be the sounds of an empty street upon an abandoned neighborhood that deceives you so.
Eyes linger over you from the rubble of a half-burned-down home, well concealed and knowing where to remain to watch your every movement from the shadows promised by the evening hours set in.
There’s nothing you can do to appear inconspicuous—like you’re a nobody. Trained eyes from an experienced thief knows a tourist when he sees one, especially a wealthy American tourist.
Having someone like you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time only lets those with ill intentions benefit with ease, and this town’s thief isn’t hesitating to make you his next victim.
Sighing quietly to yourself, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as you slip the note back into your pocket.
Upon opening your eyes again, you stare back down at the rubble of drywall and shrapnel from damaged and destructed homes in front of you—mixed and clumped up amidst one another.
‘This could be from anybody’s home. This could mean nothing.’ Barely having an idea of what to do or look at you, you lean down and pick up a chunk of drywall that appears to be deliberately smashed out of a home.
‘But this could have been my home.’ Still, your heart ultimately feels indifference rather than any kind of relief or sadness.
Without having any connections or memories bound to this place, you simply can’t mourn what isn’t there.
You can’t help but wonder what happened to such a grand estate so highly spoken of after all of this time, but it’ll make more sense to your father than anyone else.
‘This is all that’s left of here now.’ You run your hand over the cracked drywall, giving your head a shake. ‘It’s too late to tell what happened here, but everything’s gone. Everyone’s gone.’
“Tony, c’mon man,” Manny gives Tony’s shoulder a nudge, “let’s head back. Ain’t nothin’ left here.”
“I know there’s nothing, man,” Tony grumbles, gesturing towards the streets. “That’s why we here, you know that. Look at this. I wanna see this place, just one last time.”
“Making memories?” Manny chuckles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“Fuck kinda memories anyone can make here,” Tony scoffs, “they say where we going is paradise. Miami. Mama moved us to Havana, says this is paradise. No fuckin’ paradise look like this, man.”
“No, man,” Manny agrees, shaking his head. “This a dead man’s street now.”
Manny’s eyes fall upon the tightly boarded-up front doors, barring everything in and refusing to let anything out on each and every crumbling home down the block.
“No paradise left here for us, and you know I ain’t ever gonna come back. No way, man.” Tony lets out a huff of frustration.
“Oh yeah?” Manny grins back, “not for visit either?”
“Visit what, man?” Tony furrows his brows, “when I make it, I don’t wanna come back and see this again but I always remember where I come from, you know,” Tony points at his chest, “I never forget. I can think about it. I don’t gotta come back and see it.”
“Me too man, me too,” Manny shrugs—the smile beginning to fade off his face. “I don’t wanna feel like no fish out of water.”
Meanwhile, as you’re surrounded by a mountain of rubble and shrapnel in a blocked-off street, the only option for you to get back to your hotel would be to turn around and make your way down the same street Tony and Manny are on.
With no other exits or places to turn to, you’re hardly aware of the lurking thief well hidden from your sight but directly in Tony’s perspective just from where he stands alone.
Before you can even spin around or move out of the way as a reflex for hearing footsteps suddenly grow so loud behind you, you hear the voice of your stalker before you feel or see him.
“Put it down, princess.” A smoker speaking through a husky low tone threatens you.
You feel the thief’s chest pressing into your shoulder blade, prompting you to remain as still as possible.
Had you flinched just now, the very tip of the thief’s blade he teasingly presses against your face may have just sliced your cheek clean.
You swallow hard, immediately feeling your heart thundering in your chest from being caught unaware in complete shock—anxious and terrified as your mind attempts to process what’s happening to you.
“Don’t move now,” the thief chuckles quietly over your shoulder.
The tips of your ears and the nape of your neck prickle hot in response, attempting to think through just how you’d be able to bash this man’s face in with the chunk of rubble in your hand without getting stabbed directly in the face.
“This isn’t a tourism center, sweetheart. What you doin’ in the rough neighborhoods?” The thief begins to slowly move his hand towards your cross-body purse by your hip.
“You’ll see. For now, we say goodbye to these streets—” Tony points out, all the more confident of his future solely outside of Havana.
“What, man?” Manny blinks, noticing Tony immediately coming to a halt down the middle of the street.
Stopping dead in his tracks, Tony’s muscles stiffen as a threatening scowl sours over his expression—looking towards you just a short distance down and around the corner.
Petty criminals loitering down in old neighbors are all the same to Tony and many others, but Tony and Manny both recognize the face of this one slowly inching his way toward you.
“You know her, man?” Manny asks quietly, whispering.
Both Manny and Tony remain completely still but poised to jump in and sprint down at any moment.
“No,” The glare over Tony’s expression has turned into a death stare as he analyzes the slow, creeping movements of the thief using the noise of the city streets around him to his advantage. “See this fuckin’ guy again back down here—fuckin’ asshole want another tourist as a victim.”
“Don’t wanna say anything?” Observant just as much as he’s sly, the thief begins to press the tip of the blade further into your cheek as he notices you gripping the rubble chunk tighter in your hand. “C’mon, talk to me.”
Your stare towards the mountain of rubble before you is vacant and unfocused, simply waiting for the right moment to strike and lunge out of the way when the thief least expects it.
“I can make this quick,” the thief places his grim-covered hand over your leather purse. “Tourists ain’t short of any money and you won’t find nothin’ down here. Empty your pockets. Maybe I won’t hurt you too much—”
“HEY! Fuck you, man!” Tony calls out from behind, sprinting down the street with Manny as he grips his pistol tucked behind him in the waistband of his slacks.
With the thief recognizing Tony’s voice and being momentarily stunned by the sight of two men rushing directly towards him, every precious second in-between has bought you all the more time to defend yourself.
Without hesitation, you swing your arm back and smash the chunk of rubble in your hand over the thief’s forehead twice with as much force as you can muster.
Before Tony and Manny can approach the two of you, the thief cries out in pain before slumping to the floor disoriented and beginning to heavily bleed from his forehead.
You back off from the man as much as you can, just a moment before Tony and you both make split-second eye contact then see the thief trying to reach for his knife over the pavement.
“Don’t fuckin’ think so!” Tony aims his gun at the thief’s legs, firing two shots into both kneecaps with impeccable accuracy. “Lady put you down for a fuckin’ reason!”
Your eyes bulge in horror as you watch the thief howl in pain—blood spurting from his shattered kneecaps and instantly immobilizing him and all of his movements.
Still clutching onto the chunk of rock in your hand, you stare back at the two strangers in front of you with caution but it’s more than clear to you that they aim to help you rather than rob or hurt you too.
“Damn,” Manny huffs, scowling down at the thief. “You again, huh? Fuck is your name? George something? Fuck you doing down here again?”
“NO! NO, STOP!” The thief shrieks the moment Tony takes another step toward him.
“You fuckin’ piece of shit,” Tony kicks up gravel towards him, cocking his pistol back and aiming it directly at the thief’s head this time. “Got tired of digging through old rocks, now you chasing women, huh? What I tell you, huh?! This is my neighborhood, so if you fuck with it, you fuck with me!”
“I-I don’t—I was going—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Tony shouts over him, wrapping his finger around the trigger.
“Dead end, man,” Manny shakes his head at the thief; his eyes trailing upward to meet yours for the first time.
“I teach you what happens when you fuck with my neighborhood,” Tony grits his teeth, pulling the trigger.
‘Holy fuck!’ You flinch from the impact of blood and brain matter splattering around the three of you, painting over the layers of dust upon the rubble mountain just behind you.
Tony’s expression and disposition almost immediately cool as he glances down at his gun with a hint of amusement in his eyes—tucking it behind him once again before turning to face you with Manny as if nothing just happened.
You breathe heavily, attempting to make sense of everything that occurred in front of you within just a few seconds—now standing just a few feet away from a corpse and two armed men curious to see you more than anything else.
Both men before you are complete strangers but from appearances alone, you’re already mistaking them for brothers.
Your eyes fall upon Tony and Tony only, taking into account his sweaty and frustrated demeanor and fierce attitude—drenched in grease and grime from the Havana heat and filth of the city.
The fading scar slashed over Tony’s left eye immediately attracts your attention but your newfound attraction to this man begins to grow all the more apparent to you now with each passing moment.
“Nice weapon,” Manny chuckles, gesturing to the chunk of rubble in your hand. “But no match for Tony’s gun.”
You clear your throat quietly, dropping the piece of rubble as your eyes dart over to Manny’s.
Manny’s hair is a disheveled mix of gel and sweat combed back and he carries a mischievous grin over his lips.
Taller than Tony but sharing the same lean, slim build, you notice a genuinely friendly and playful look in Manny’s expression and hear genuine care in his voice whereas with barely any conversation in or knowing who these two men are, its already become clear to you that Tony may as well be the “tough guy” between the two, but with no need to pretend.
“Hey,” Tony gives Manny a nudge, rolling his eyes. “Gotta give her credit. How was that, huh?” Tony smirks at you, impressed. “That was a good move. You know how to protect yourself.”
“I have to,” you reply back, still standing your ground and unaware of it.
“Good, I like that,” Tony grins back. “Lot of guys like that in other neighborhoods, but not lot of guys like me. We gotta look out for another, you know? I here, Manny here—” Tony gestures to Manny, revealing his name to you. “This is our place. We gotta do the lookout. You okay?” Tony begins to approach you.
“Yeah,” you remain still, steadying your breathing. “Just… Startled, that’s all.”
Tony’s eyes dart up and down your body from head to toe, looking for injury but also taking in the sight of what he likes at the same time. “Okay, good. Little cockroach didn’t hurt our new friend either.”
“You a tourist?” Manny asks.
“Barely,” you answer back, dusting off your hands. “I came here to see if the estate my father inherited existed.”
“Ah, yeah,” Tony purses his lips, “lot of tourists come down from time to time for that but see—” Tony gestures towards the pile of rubble to your side. “Nothing left. They always leave empty-handed. All gone.”
“This a junkyard now, man,” Manny agrees, nodding. “Nothing here no more.”
“Fuck’s sake,” you sigh to yourself in relief, touching your cheek where the petty criminal was about to dig his blade into. “There’s nothing, there’s just nothing. All of this for nothing.”
“Heh, no danger, no reward, huh?” Tony chuckles to himself, “but no problem for you. You an American. One made of money.”
“And what’s it to you?” You raise a brow, beginning to grow somewhat offended by the way Tony’s so openly and casually speaking to you.
“Nothing,” Tony holds back a laugh as Manny looks down at the ground with a wide smile on his lips. “Just saying, we won’t be so different later. We not gonna be down here no more, like you. No, Castro fucked this place good. We calling America home, starting tomorrow.”
“Miami, right?” It’s not the first you’ve heard of it, and certainly not the first from Havana.
“Oh, you know?” Manny blinks, looking up at you.
“You two would neither be the first nor the last, I’m assuming,” you reply back. “Yeah, I know something about it. I live in Miami myself. There’s a camp down in Florida already.”
“So you know where we going?” Tony seems all the more amused. “American tourist one step ahead of us. What you know about the place?”
“I know that you can be in that camp for longer than you ever thought you could be anywhere,” you tell him, “for months on end, waiting to get approved and get into the process for a green card. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it? You can barely do a thing without it there anyway.”
“Well, yeah,” Manny shrugs his shoulders, “we gonna live in the country.”
“You know a lot, not just little,” Tony’s gaze over you turns curious, “maybe you help us, huh? Like you Americans say, I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
“I can’t say,” you stare back at Tony and Manny. “At least not here, and not now. The least you two could tell me are your names.”
“Tony,” Tony points to his chest with a devilish grin. “Antonio Montana.”
“Manny Ribera,” Manny says with a beaming smile.
“And you?” Tony’s eyes momentarily dart up from your chest to your eyes. “What you call yourself?”
“Celeste Navarro,” you introduce yourself—noticing Tony’s curious, wandering eyes already.
“Celeste Navarro…” Tony repeats to himself, “my first American friend and she wanna help me. All Americans like you must be so nice.”
“Only if you know who to talk to,” you crack a smile, nodding. “But you think I owe you two a favor now.”
“A favor? No, sweetheart,” a smirk forms over Tony’s lips, “not me, not Manny. Nothing.” Tony nudges the corpse of the thief aside with his foot, rolling the body over. “And you know, no worry about that. Bodies here disappear overnight. You know how it is. It dangerous here, so we can’t say it a favor. Just what you have to do. That’s why I carry one on me,” Tony pats his gun tucked in the back waistband of his slacks. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Tony,” Manny mutters, nudging his back. “Don’t say it like that, man.”
“I never said I was ungrateful,” you’re unphased by the comment. “I’m certainly not.”
“I know,” Tony rakes a hand through his choppy hair. “I never say goodbye either. I say you’re gonna remember these faces—my face. We not so far from each other, right? Not gonna be.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” you roll your eyes, up to your limit from enough tough guy talk. “But good luck anyway,” clutching your purse, you turn around to face the street and begin heading off.
“Don’t take no scenic route!” Tony shouts back after you.
Ignoring him, you roll your eyes and pick up your pace—only focused on getting the hell out of here and putting this day to rest knowing you could have gotten yourself killed over a pile of rocks and nothing more.
“Wow, man,” Manny cringes, putting his hands behind his back. “That could be better.”
“That was the best, man,” Tony boasts proudly. “You don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what, man?” Manny scoffs, chuckling.
“I thank her, she thank me,” Tony points out, “that’s all. Now if I American like her and I live in Miami—nuh uh, no way, man. No way,” Tony shakes his head, “I no coming down to see pile of rocks here even if someone tell me there’s a big house. No.”
“I don’t know, man,” Manny lets out a deep sigh of relief, “these Americans live different, you know?”
“She gonna see me again,” Tony decides, nodding.
“Tony, seriously—” Manny can no longer hold back his laughter, “it a small world here, huh?”
“Celeste, Celeste…” Tony murmurs, repeating your name. “I say this ‘cause you know how it’s gonna go.” Tony bends down, picking up a blood-stained chunk of rubble. “The police or whatever guys they got in the camps over there not gonna keep us safe. They just gonna ask the questions…” Tony turns around, staring at the bloody, lifeless corpse of the thief before his feet.
“Give you the green card, yes or no, but they gonna ask—” Tony’s eyes meet with Manny’s. “They gonna ask if you know an American, I gonna say yes. I say yes, I know Celeste Navarro. So she gonna see me again, Chico, not because she owe me for killing this cockroach. She gonna see me again because I wanna see her.”