The humid Cuban air wrapped around him like a heavy blanket as Duke Knight stepped off the plane onto the tarmac. The scent of rich tobacco leaves, mingled with the saltiness of the nearby sea, hit him before anything else. This was Havana—vibrant, wild, and untamed. Nothing like the cold, industrial streets of Cleveland, where business deals were sealed in dark boardrooms with numbers and stiff handshakes.

Here, the cigar business felt different, more intimate. It wasn’t just about profits. It was heritage, culture. And that’s what he had to learn if he was going to seal the deal of a lifetime.

Duke adjusted his tie, loosening it just slightly, already feeling overdressed in his American suit. He had been warned about this—Cuba had its own rhythm, its own rules. He’d have to learn to adapt.

At the edge of the airstrip, a sleek, black car waited for him. It wasn’t until the door swung open that he saw her. Isabella Martínez. The woman he had only heard about in hushed tones. The daughter of the famed Martínez cigar family, the last of her line after the untimely death of her father.

She stood with effortless elegance, dressed in a pale yellow dress that contrasted with her dark, wavy hair. Her brown eyes locked onto him with a cool, calculating gaze—one that told him she was more than just a pretty face. There was steel beneath her beauty, and she wasn’t about to let an American businessman walk all over her family’s legacy.

"Mr. Knight," she said, her voice low and steady, holding out a hand. "Welcome to Cuba. I hope you find our country... agreeable."

Duke took her hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. "Miss Martínez, it’s a pleasure. And I’m sure I will."

But as they shook hands, both knew this was no simple business transaction. They were playing a dangerous game—one that went beyond cigars and contracts.

The car hummed softly as it rolled down the narrow streets of Havana, weaving through the vibrant city that pulsed with life. From the open window, Duke could hear the distant strum of guitars and the laughter of children playing in the alleys. It was a city on the brink of change, and yet it felt timeless. A blend of old-world charm and a restless energy that he couldn’t quite place.

Isabella sat across from him, her posture relaxed yet guarded. She wasn’t the type to fill the silence with small talk, and Duke appreciated that. He’d been in enough business meetings to recognize a negotiator sizing him up, silently calculating his next move.

“How long have you been managing the estate?” Duke asked, breaking the silence but choosing a neutral topic.

Isabella’s eyes flickered toward him, a subtle hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Since my father passed two years ago,” she replied. “Though I’ve been involved in the business for much longer than that.”

Duke nodded. “I’ve heard your father was one of the finest cigar producers in Cuba.”

She turned her gaze back out the window, watching as the city gave way to open countryside, tobacco fields stretching out as far as the eye could see. “He was,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of loss that Duke recognized but didn’t press.

After a moment, Isabella spoke again, her tone shifting to something more businesslike. “I’m curious, Mr. Knight, why Cleveland? Of all places to trade with, why focus on a market like Ohio?”

Duke smiled slightly. He had expected the question. “Cleveland’s not the center of the world, I’ll admit that. But there’s a demand there—a taste for authenticity, luxury. Cuban cigars are more than just tobacco; they’re a symbol of something... unattainable to most. The market might not be as obvious as New York or Miami, but it’s there, and it’s ready to grow.”

Isabella raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not convinced. “And you believe my cigars will be the ones to fill that demand?”

“I do,” Duke said, meeting her gaze without hesitation. “You’ve got something no one else has, Miss Martínez. Your family’s cigars carry history. That’s what people want.”

The car turned onto a long, private road, lined with rows of towering palm trees that swayed gently in the wind. In the distance, the sprawling Martínez estate came into view, a grand old mansion surrounded by fields of tobacco plants. It was beautiful, serene even, but Duke could sense the weight of tradition pressing down on the place. This wasn’t just a business; it was a legacy.

The car came to a stop at the foot of the grand estate, and a servant opened the door for Isabella. She stepped out gracefully, casting a glance back at Duke. “My cigars have always spoken for themselves, Mr. Knight,” she said coolly. “But you’ll have to prove to me that your Cleveland clients are worthy of them.”

Duke chuckled softly as he stepped out of the car. “I suppose I will. But trust me, once they’ve had a taste, they won’t be satisfied with anything less.”

Isabella smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Together, they walked up the stone steps of the mansion, the distant sounds of workers tending to the fields filling the air. The weight of their unspoken thoughts followed them into the house, where business, culture, and desire would soon collide.

The estate’s dining room was grand, the dark wood-paneled walls lined with paintings of the Martínez family’s long history. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and spice as plates of Cuban cuisine were set before them, but Duke’s mind wasn’t on the food. His eyes kept drifting to Isabella, who sat at the head of the table with a quiet grace, guiding the conversation toward business.

Duke had spent years perfecting the art of negotiation. He could read people, predict their moves, and manipulate deals to his advantage. But Isabella? She was a different challenge entirely. There was a pull, an undeniable magnetism between them, but he had been down that road before. And it had cost him.

He focused on her words, reminding himself that he was here for one reason: cigars. Not romance.

"My father always believed in slow growth," Isabella said, her voice smooth, with just a hint of pride. "He never rushed deals. He thought it was important to build trust first."

Duke nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Your father was a wise man. I believe in trust, too.” He leaned back in his chair, choosing his words carefully. “But I also believe in seizing opportunity when it comes.”

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, more intimate. Isabella smiled slightly, but it didn’t hide the sharpness in her gaze. “Opportunity,” she repeated, almost teasingly. “You Americans are always in such a hurry to grab what you want.”

Duke forced a smile, though his mind raced. Was she talking about cigars—or something else? He needed to rein this in. He was here to close a deal, not get caught up in something he couldn’t control.

He cleared his throat, setting down his glass. “Business comes first,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I think we can both agree on that.”

Isabella’s smile faltered just a fraction, but she recovered quickly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she was re-evaluating him. “Of course,” she said coolly. “Business always comes first.”

But Duke could sense the shift in the air. She wasn’t used to being turned down, not in business, and perhaps not in other matters either. The tension between them simmered just beneath the surface, and Duke knew it wouldn’t be easily ignored.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Martínez estate, Duke stood on the balcony, overlooking the sprawling tobacco fields. The scent of fresh cigars lingered in the warm evening air. It should have been peaceful, but Duke’s mind was far from at ease.

From behind him, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Isabella’s voice carried through the open balcony doors.

“We have a guest tonight. I hope you don’t mind some company,” she said, her tone clipped, as though she herself wasn’t thrilled by the prospect.

Duke turned, eyebrows raised in question. “A guest?”

Before Isabella could respond, the sound of footsteps grew louder, and a man strode confidently into the room. Gabriel Santos, Duke guessed immediately, by the way Isabella’s posture stiffened. He was tall, well-dressed in an impeccable white suit, and carried an air of entitlement that Duke had seen all too often in business. Gabriel smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, the famous Duke Knight,” Gabriel said smoothly, his accent thick with Cuban charm. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Duke forced a polite smile, extending his hand. “Gabriel Santos, I presume?”

Gabriel’s handshake was firm, his grip lingering a beat too long. “The pleasure is mine,” Gabriel said, his eyes flicking briefly toward Isabella. “I hear you’re interested in the Martínez cigars. I’ve been doing business with the family for years.”

Duke didn’t miss the emphasis on the word “family.” It was a subtle reminder that Gabriel had deep roots here—roots Duke didn’t have. But Duke wasn’t easily intimidated. “I’ve heard your name mentioned,” Duke replied coolly. “Cuba’s a small island, after all.”

Gabriel chuckled, though his gaze was sharp. “Indeed. Small, but full of opportunities. Some of us have been here long enough to understand them.”

Isabella stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. “Gabriel was just passing by and thought he’d join us for dinner. I didn’t think you’d mind,” she said, though it was clear she hadn’t had much choice in the matter.

“Of course not,” Duke replied, his eyes not leaving Gabriel’s. “The more the merrier.”

The dinner that followed was a test of wills, a battle fought with veiled words and careful glances. Gabriel played the perfect gentleman, charming Isabella with stories of Havana’s nightlife and the political undercurrents stirring the city. But every word felt like a challenge, a reminder that he knew this world better than Duke ever could.

Duke remained quiet, biding his time, studying his opponent. It was clear that Gabriel wasn’t just after the business—he wanted more. He wanted Isabella, and he was using every opportunity to remind her of their shared history, their ties to the island.

At one point during dinner, Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his smile lazy but his eyes calculating. “Isabella, you know as well as I do that these are dangerous times. The winds of change are coming, and your family’s business needs protection.” He glanced at Duke. “Protection that only someone who understands Cuba can offer.”

Duke clenched his jaw, the unspoken jab clear. Gabriel was positioning himself as the only viable partner for Isabella—both in business and in life.

Isabella looked between the two men, her expression unreadable. “I appreciate your concern, Gabriel,” she said smoothly. “But I’ve always believed that the future belongs to those who are willing to take risks. That’s what my father taught me.”

Her words were neutral, but Duke could sense her carefully weighing her options. Gabriel offered security, but Duke offered something different—independence, a chance to expand beyond the confines of Cuban tradition.

As the evening wore on, Gabriel finally excused himself, leaving Duke and Isabella alone in the fading light.

“He’s persistent,” Duke said, breaking the silence.

Isabella sighed, her hand resting on the back of her chair. “He’s always been like that. My father trusted him... but I’m not so sure.”

Duke studied her face, trying to read her thoughts. “And what about you, Isabella? Do you trust him?”

She met his gaze, her dark eyes searching his. “I trust that Gabriel will always do what’s best for Gabriel,” she said quietly. “But what’s best for my family? I’m still trying to figure that out.”

Duke nodded, his attraction to her intensifying with every conversation. She was more than just a businesswoman. She was smart, capable, and loyal to her family. But he couldn’t let his emotions interfere—not yet.

“Just know,” Duke said, his voice steady, “I’m here for the business. Nothing more.”

But even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure if he believed them.

The days passed with a strange quiet over the Martínez estate, the calm before an inevitable storm. Duke had spent the last week touring the cigar operations, discussing logistics and pricing with Isabella, but beneath every conversation, the tension lingered. Not just between him and Isabella, but between the old world and the new. Cuba was changing, and everyone could feel it.

On the morning of the third day, a commotion stirred in the fields. From his window, Duke could see a group of men arriving on horseback, their faces shadowed by wide-brimmed hats. Their arrival sent a ripple of unease through the workers, and Duke quickly made his way downstairs to find out what was happening.

By the time he reached the courtyard, Isabella was already there, speaking in rapid Spanish to one of the men—an older worker, his face weathered by years in the sun. The men on horseback waited, their eyes scanning the estate with quiet intensity. Duke approached cautiously, picking up fragments of the conversation.

"... asking for protection money?" Isabella's voice was tight, her hands clenched at her sides.

The old worker nodded gravely. “The revolutionaries are moving closer, señorita. They say they want a ‘donation’ from the landowners, to fund the fight against Batista. If we don’t cooperate... there will be consequences.”

Duke stepped forward, his presence immediately drawing attention. Isabella glanced at him, her expression unreadable.

“What’s going on?” Duke asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

Isabella took a deep breath, composing herself. “Some of the revolutionaries are demanding money from landowners to support their cause. It’s becoming more common, especially in the rural areas.”

“And what happens if you refuse?” Duke asked, his voice low.

The old worker’s eyes darted nervously to the men on horseback. “They burn the fields. Destroy everything. They won’t hesitate, señor.”

Duke’s jaw tightened. He had come here for a business deal, but now it felt like he was walking into a war zone. “Have they made any demands of the Martínez estate?”

“Not yet,” Isabella replied, though her voice was tense. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

Duke nodded slowly, his mind racing. This was more than just a business deal now. The stakes had risen dramatically, and he wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go.

As they spoke, one of the men on horseback dismounted and approached, his boots crunching on the gravel. He was younger than the others, his face stern but not unkind. He tipped his hat to Isabella, his voice calm but firm. “Señorita Martínez, I am here on behalf of the revolutionary cause. We ask for your support in our fight for freedom. All we need is a small contribution from your estate. A gesture of goodwill.”

Isabella’s eyes flickered with frustration. “And if I refuse?”

The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “We will take what we need by other means.”

Duke took a step forward, his voice steady but edged with steel. “You think threatening her is going to win you support?”

The man glanced at Duke, his expression indifferent. “You are an American, sí? I would think you’d understand the value of fighting for independence. After all, your country did the same.”

Duke met his gaze without flinching. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

The man’s smile faded, and he turned back to Isabella. “Think carefully, señorita. We will return in a few days for your answer. We hope you choose wisely.”

With that, he mounted his horse and rode off with the others, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Inside the estate, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Isabella paced the room, her mind racing through the implications of the encounter. Duke stood by the window, his arms crossed, watching her.

“You can’t pay them,” Duke said finally, breaking the silence.

Isabella stopped pacing, turning to face him. “What choice do I have, Duke? If I don’t pay them, they’ll destroy the fields. Everything my father built will be gone.”

“And if you do pay them, what then?” Duke pressed. “You’ll be seen as supporting the revolution. The government won’t look kindly on that. You’ll be caught between both sides.”

Isabella’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. “I know,” she said quietly. “But what else can I do? Gabriel has connections with the government. He’s offered to help, but...” She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Duke’s chest tightened at the mention of Gabriel. “Of course he has,” he muttered. “He’s using this as leverage, isn’t he? To get what he wants.”

Isabella didn’t deny it. “Gabriel’s always been good at playing both sides. He’ll survive, no matter what happens. But I’m not sure I can.”

Duke took a step closer, his voice softer now. “You can. You don’t need Gabriel, and you don’t need to bow to those men. We’ll find another way.”

Isabella looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty. “And what if there is no other way, Duke? What if this is the end of everything?”

Duke hesitated, the weight of his own words sinking in. This wasn’t just a business deal anymore. It never had been. “Then we fight,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”