Chapter 2: The sprit of Havana

The party downstairs had faded into a low hum of clinking silverware and distant laughter, but the silence in the house felt heavy. Nico moved through the hallways with a slow, deliberate grace, his hand trailing along the mahogany banister. He had checked the library—Mary’s usual sanctuary—but the velvet armchairs were empty. He’d knocked on her bedroom door, only to find her bed perfectly made and untouched.

He knew exactly where she was. Some habits were written in the DNA.

Nico climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the attic crawlspace and pushed open the heavy skylight. The night air was crisp, smelling of jasmine and the faint, lingering smoke from Yuki’s grill. There, perched on the edge of the shingles with her knees pulled to her chest, was Mary Eliza.

She didn't turn around. She didn't have to. The air between them hummed with a specific frequency—the Havana fire. In Nico, it was a protective, simmering heat; in Mary, it was a restless, emotional tide.

"It’s a long way down to be thinking such heavy thoughts, mi vida," Nico said softly, settling himself onto the flat part of the roof a safe distance from the edge.

Mary Eliza wiped her face quickly, her eyes reflecting the distant city lights. "I just needed to breathe, Papa. The air downstairs... it felt like there wasn't enough room for me to take a full breath."

Nico sighed, the sound catching in his throat. He felt the flutter of the new life beneath his ribs—the very thing causing his daughter such grief. "Aunt Estella has a way of sucking the oxygen out of a room. She thinks legacy is a matter of counting sons. She’s wrong."

"Is she?" Mary Eliza finally looked at him, her expression raw. "Everyone is looking at you and Dad like you’ve finally achieved something perfect. Like I was just the prologue to the real story. I feel it, Papa. That Havana connection you always talk about? Right now, it just feels like I’m burning up from the inside because I don't know where I fit anymore."

Nico reached out, taking her hand. His skin was warm, radiating that steadying heat. "Listen to me. When I was young, I felt that same fire. I felt like I had to scream just to be heard over the De Anya name. But look at me, Mary. I am who I am because I am a father. Your father."

He guided her hand to his stomach, letting her feel the quiet, rhythmic life there.

"This baby is a gift," Nico whispered, "but you are the one who taught me how to love something more than myself. You have the Havana soul—the passion, the depth, the strength. A thousand sons couldn't replace the way you see the world. You aren't the prologue, Mary Eliza. You are the foundation."

Mary Eliza leaned her head against his shoulder, the fire in her chest cooling into something manageable. For a moment, the whispers of the relatives were silenced by the steady heartbeat of the family she already had.

"Does the burning ever go away?" she asked quietly.

Nico pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "No. But you learn to use it to light your way, instead of letting it scorch you. And you have Mateo. And Yuki. And us. You are never, ever going to be a ghost in this house."

Days later at the gala

The air in the ballroom felt like it was thickening, turning into a heavy, suffocating heat. As Mary Eliza turned to walk away, the "Havana fire" she had discussed with Nico felt less like a glow and more like a blinding light. The gold trim of the room began to blur, and the sound of the orchestra distorted into a dull roar.

"Mary?" Mateo’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.

She tried to reach for the marble railing, but her legs felt like lead. The room tilted sharply. As her eyes fluttered shut and she began to collapse, Nico, who had been watching her from across the room, let out a sharp cry. He dropped the glass of sparkling water he was holding—the crystal shattering against the floor in a spray of droplets—and started to run.

But Nico was several yards away. Mateo was right there.

With a reflex born from years of looking out for her, Mateo dropped to one knee and caught Mary Eliza before she could hit the hard floor. He braced her head against his chest, his face pale with worry. "I've got her! I've got her!"

Nico reached them seconds later, dropping to the floor beside them despite his own physical state. His eyes were wide with terror as he checked Mary’s pulse. Once he saw her chest rising and falling, his fear curdled instantly into a white-hot protective rage.

He looked up. Aunt Estella was standing a few feet away, looking more annoyed by the "scene" than worried about her niece.

"Look at what you’ve done," Nico hissed, his voice vibrating with a power that made the nearby guests shrink back. He stood up slowly, the Havana fire in his own eyes burning brighter than anyone had seen in years. "You come into our home, you eat our food, and then you stand here and tell my daughter she is a 'serviceable' placeholder? You whispered poison into her ear until she couldn't breathe."

"Nico, don't be dramatic," Estella began, pulling her shawl tighter. "The girl is clearly just overwhelmed by—"

"The only thing she is overwhelmed by is your cruelty!" Nico interrupted, stepping toward her. "If I ever hear you speak of my daughter as anything less than the heartbeat of this family again, you will find out exactly how 'delicate' a De Anya can be when they are protecting their own. Leave. Now."

Mikael was there then, his hand on Nico’s shoulder to steady him, while Yuki appeared from the crowd to help Mateo lift Mary Eliza. The "happier" generation was hurt, but the elders were closing ranks.

The chaos of the ballroom was muffled behind the heavy oak doors of the private library. The air here was cooler, smelling of old paper and the rain that had just started to beat against the tall windows.

Mateo hadn't let go of Mary Eliza’s hand for a second. He was sitting on the edge of a velvet chaise lounge where they had laid her down, his face a mask of concentrated worry. Nico paced a small circle nearby, his hand resting on his stomach, his breathing finally beginning to even out after the confrontation with Estella.

"She’s waking up," Mateo whispered, his grip tightening slightly as Mary Eliza’s eyelashes fluttered.

Mary Eliza groaned, the "Havana fire" in her chest now feeling like a dull, heavy ache. As the room stopped spinning, she saw the two most important men in her life hovering over her.

"Papa?" she croaked, her voice paper-thin.

Nico was at her side in an instant, kneeling on the floor so he was at eye level with her. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. "I’m here, mi vida. You’re safe. We’re in the library. The gala is staying on the other side of that door."

"I... I ruined it," Mary Eliza murmured, her eyes filling with tears. "The photographers, the guests... everyone saw."

"You didn't ruin anything," Mikael said softly, stepping in from the hallway with a glass of cool water. He handed it to Mateo, who helped Mary take a small sip. "If anything, you reminded everyone in that room that the De Anya family doesn't bow to gossip. Especially not yours."

Nico took her other hand, his expression fiercely protective. "Estella is gone. I’ve made it very clear that she isn't welcome near you—or this family—until she learns that your worth isn't up for debate. I don't care about the gala, Mary. I care about the fact that you were carrying all that weight alone."

Mary Eliza looked from Nico to Mateo. Mateo gave her a small, lopsided smile—the one he only used when they were kids and she’d fallen off her bike.

"I told you," Mateo said quietly. "If they try to forget you, I’ll make enough noise for both of us. But you don't have to fight them today. We’re going home."

For the first time since the news of the pregnancy, the silence didn't feel like she was being erased. It felt like a shield. She was the firstborn, the one who carried the fire, and as she leaned back into the cushions, she realized she didn't have to be perfect to be seen.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***