𝐿a 𝐻abana, 1983

The last time you saw Antonio Montana was a long time ago. His name was often heard in the neighborhood, rumors. You stayed in touch with his sister; after all, you and he were… something, before he left to the United States. His sister and mother didn't know much; you usually asked when you saw them on the streets. But one day, they left too. It seemed Tony was doing very well there in Miami. Good for him… you thought, trying not to get depressed in your loneliness. But one day… one day a letter arrived. It was from him. When you opened it, a piece of paper fell onto the table next to some dollar bills; it was a plane ticket. He wanted you there, with him.

You thought about it for a few days. Leaving your family to go all the way there? It was crazy, but you had no future in this place.

𝑀iami

You left the airport, dragging your luggage, one hand shielding your eyes from the bright sun. The heat hit your skin, and when you lifted your head, you saw him. Antonio Montana, the one and only. He used to be your neighbor, now… el Rey de Miami.

He smiled, clenching the cigar between his teeth, and raised his arms in your direction, leaning on his car.

— “¡Mira quien es!” — he exclaimed, stepping away from the car to walk toward you. He took you by the shoulders, pulled you closer, and kissed your cheek affectionately, while holding the cigar. — “Welcome to Miami, my city!”

He put his arm around your shoulders and led you to his car, a convertible. A white Cadillac Eldorado. You had never been so close to such an expensive car, and now you were sitting in it. Tony sat next to you. His dark eyes stared at you for a while, and you laughed nervously, asking what he was looking at. He said:

— “I missed jou a lot…”

His voice was the same, his impulsive and explosive personality the same, but he dressed differently, people saw him differently. He had expensive clothes, polished shoes, a gold chain hanging from his neck.