By declaring war.
Little did the president at the time know that Emilio would devote all his blood, sweat, and tears over the next five and a half years to fulfill his sole promise of a better life. Claiming more cities, taking the lives of the thousands who stood in his way, and growing more powerful until he finally had no choice but to step down to stop the bloodshed.
Fucking pussy.
Emilio may have lost the battle on that day in 1953, but the failure was of no consequence to him or to us. All that mattered was he eventually won the fucking war.
The rest is fucking history.
“I wanted to write this speech to prevent the emotion stemming from this occasion,” Salazar professed in Spanish, glancing all around the vast space. Purposely making eye contact with people in the crowd, allowing them to feel like individuals instead of a sea of bodies. He created a profound connection no one could ever comprehend unless they understood that…
To his people.
To his men.
Especially me.
Emilio Salazar was God.
I couldn’t help but think of the last time I was standing here, only a few short weeks ago. A memory I would take to my grave.
The silence was deafening as the car sped down the vacant road to wherever the hell we were going that day. I just sat in the backseat beside Salazar as the chauffeur drove one of his personal, prestigious vehicles. His security team skillfully outlined the perimeter, driving in front and behind us with a few cars scattered alongside. Even though we were boxed in with armed guards, Pedro—a six-feet-four, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound brick fucking house—still accompanied us in the front seat of our vehicle.
Not to mention, I was fucking strapped too. I’d been carrying a gun since I was un chamaco, a twelve-year-old boy, which was far from fucking normal in Cuba. Salazar had made sure of it. His first order of business after his revolution was to strip every one of their firearms. It was easier to control the dissidents who were still against him, if they couldn’t fight back. I was the exception to the rule, given the high position my father held in Salazar’s regime. I had no choice but to carry. He was the captain of Emilio’s army, which made him just as much of a fucking target as Salazar himself.
My father always said I came into this world kicking and screaming, making my presence fucking known, a force to be reckoned with. A natural-born prodigy ready to fight for a purpose. Although there was a mandatory draft from the ages of seventeen to twenty-eight, which most men dreaded, I busted my ass making sure I graduated a year early. Willingly signing up to serve my country the day I turned of age. Most men only served their required two years, but I had made it clear to my father that the military was my career. Making him one proud son of a bitch.
“Damien,” Salazar addressed me, breaking the silence.
“Yes, sir,” I replied in Spanish, giving him my full attention.
“Relax, no need for formalities right now. There’s a reason I asked you to come with me, and it wasn’t for you to kiss my ass.”
I breathed out a chuckle, nodding.
“Do you realize I’ve known you since the day you were born? Your whore of a mother pushed you out of her pussy and abandoned you like you meant nothing. The heartless cunt left you, just like that, and walked out of the hospital hours after giving birth to you. Never looking back. Leaving you to be raised by your father, one of the few men I can truly trust.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out where he was going with this. My father didn’t speak of my mother very often, and I never asked about her. Salazar was as much of a role model in my life as my father, both honorable men to look up to. I would’ve rather been raised the way I was, than by the woman everyone claimed was a puta. But I still found myself listening intently as if his words were a piece of the puzzle I never knew needed to be put together.
“The only role a woman needs in a man’s life is in the bedroom. Men are what make the world go round. Men like us, we’re not followers, we’re fucking leaders—we take, we fight, and we kill for our own. We protect with our last breath, if necessary. That’s why other people fear Cuba. Fuck Yankee imperialists and their liberal bullshit. I know the right way of life, and so do you. I do this for my people, for my country. I owe it to you, to them, to everybody. America, with their greed and lack of social standards, isn’t a way of life. I take from the rich and give to the poor because it’s my fucking duty. Damien, one day, one fucking day, you’re going to stand where I am, and you’re going to show the world that Communism is the only way of life.”
As if on cue, the car came to a complete stop in front of the formidable yellow and white building. The Moncada Barracks. His security detail checked the perimeter, opening the doors to our vehicle once it was safe for us to exit. I followed closely behind Salazar, anxiously awaiting what was to come next.
“You’re eighteen now, eres un hombre.” A fucking man, he said. “The older you get, Damien, the more I see myself reflected in you. It is why I brought you here,” he addressed, nodding to the spot where we were standing. “I stood right here thirty-nine years ago with only a vision, a dream of what I could do with my country, and I want YOU to reenact that dream.”
I was frozen in place, staring him right in the eyes. Never expecting the next words that came out of his mouth.
He held his head up high and spoke with conviction. “Damien, I want you to be me.”
The sound of Salazar’s voice brought me back to the present and I shook away my thoughts, not wanting to disrespect my leader.