Page 21 of The Devil's Deal

My parents both loved to bake. It was something they did together all the time. Oftentimes, my brothers and I would help, and it would be this family thing we did.

Then, one day, my mother’s car was hit by a drunk driver. She was dead on impact. And nothing was the same. Not for my brothers, and definitely not for my father. The love of his life was gone.

Some piece of shit was drunk at two in the fucking afternoon and smashed right into her. My father didn’t give me the details then because I was so young, but the boys and I found out years later.

Our home was broken from that day on, but my father did his best to raise us without her, continuing to work hard, to bring us up into the men he knew my mother would want us to be.

But if she saw us now, she wouldn’t be proud. She’d hate everything we’ve become. The crimes we’ve committed, the lives we’ve taken, all in the name of retribution.

It’s worth it, though.

I hope she can understand that. They took her baby boy. That has to matter.

After my brothers and I ran from Faro, hitchhiking our way across state lines, I swore one day I’d find a way to kill them all.

We spent a year living on the streets before going to shelters, keeping faith we’d somehow become rich as fuck so we could find some guns, hire some people, and kill every motherfucker who had a hand in our brother’s and father’s death.

We dreamed big. We had to. It was all we had left. We didn’t see any other way. And after two years in a crummy shelter and working side jobs, I hit a lucky break, changing our entire life.

I was only sixteen when I met the man who helped secure our future. I was working at a small coffee shop, mopping floors every damn day, when he saw me. Powerful gray suit, coffee in his hand. When he tapped me on the shoulder, I thought I did something wrong at first. Worry over getting fired ran through me. I couldn’t lose my job. We needed the money. I was saving everything to make a life for us. Being the oldest, I was their protector, and I took that job very seriously.

Tomás Smith was his name. The man who saved us. He asked me why I wasn’t in school. I lied, saying I was homeschooled, and that was partly true. I used books from the shelter we were at and taught my brothers what I knew.

Contemplating my answer, Tomás then asked if I wanted a better job. At first, I wasn’t sure what the fuck he wanted. Some creepy-ass dude talking to me, asking if I wanted work…it felt slimy.

He must’ve seen my hesitation, so he pulled out a card and handed it to me.Royal Onyx Resort & Spa,it read. I looked back up at him, not understanding what a kid like me could do there.

He told me he liked hiring young kids to work for him, to give them a path to something more. I assumed it was the cheap labor, but I was wrong. He paid everyone well.

He explained that he ran a hotel chain, five locations in total, and was looking to expand his cleaning crew. I would’ve been stupid not to try it out. The money was way more than I was getting at any job I had.

I told him I didn’t drive and would have to figure out how to get there by bus. He waved off the idea, offering a driver to take me back and forth.

I didn’t know what the hell to say. I had no home. I had brothers to take care of. It wasn’t going to work out, and I told him why. Instead of leaving, he made me get our stuff from the shithole, as he put it, and offered us a room at one of his hotels free of charge, plus a teacher for all three of us.

I couldn’t believe it. I even asked if it was a joke. He laughed, saying he was just a man who had a rough start at life and wanted to repay the good that someone had done for him when he was young. It was his way of giving back.

After my brothers and I moved to the hotel, we realized he was telling the truth. Some of his staff had been with him since they were our age, telling us how much he helped them.

Tomás had everything: money, power, women. But he was lonely as hell. I could see it. He lost his daughter and his wife five years before we met. They both died in a house fire while he was on a business trip. He never forgave himself for it, he told me one night while we drank a little too much whiskey.

Maybe that was why he treated me more like a son than a stranger. Maybe it was the loneliness. And maybe that was why he left his CEO position to me when he died a year ago, and ensured my brothers had a seat on the board as well. He believed that his legacy would live on with me, and I haven’t disappointed him yet.

Tomás knew everything about our past and helped shape our future. Within a year of working for him, we became very close, and I confessed about what happened back home.

In a week, we had new identities created. This allowed us to have a life.

Finally.

Then, a year after that, he asked to adopt us.

We were no longer the Cavaleri brothers. We were the Smiths. I was Brian, Dante was Chris, and Enzo was Patrick.

We have our true identities back now. Tomás ensured a way for that to happen through his lawyers if we ever needed it, and he secured our positions within his company, no matter which names we decided to use.

When he was diagnosed with stage four rectal cancer a year before he died, I confessed of my plans for revenge. He wasn’t an evil man. I never thought he’d bless my decision, but he did. All he asked was my promise I wouldn’t get myself or the boys killed.

Of course I promised him that, even though we both knew I might break it.

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