Chapter 4: The Eyes of the Enemy

The following morning, Havana woke to a pale, uncertain sunlight. Michael stood in front of the Alvarez villa, waiting for Lucía and her father as a carriage was prepared for their visit to the harbor. He felt the gaze of the city on him—every glance from a passing neighbor, every sideways look from a soldier on patrol seemed to weigh his presence and find it suspicious. He kept his hands steady, minding the letter sewn into his jacket lining—an innocuous-looking note, but in truth, a coded message for his American contacts.

Don Rafael greeted him at the door, formal and reserved. Lucía appeared in a crisp blue dress, her hair pinned neatly, her expression composed but distant. As they rode through the city, Michael listened to Don Rafael’s measured conversation—an elegant performance of loyalty to Spain, patriotism to Cuba, and understated contempt for the growing American influence. Lucía sat quietly, gazing out the window, her thoughts unreadable.