Page 48 of The Deceptions
Cool. Guess my new roommate is a real fucking peach.
AKA, a real jackass.
This will be a wonderful year.
Something is coming.Something strange. It's in the air. A scent that floats on the breeze, tickling my senses. Like the scent of sweet rainwater flowing from the angry clouds twisting above us.
More rain? It's fucking odd for this time of year.Even in general. Thunderstorms aren't unheard of in our region, but they're far and few between. But lately? They’ve been occurring more often than not.
That means a storm is coming. In one way or another.
But what type of storm will it be? Rain? Hail?
I check over my shoulder, peering at the faces behind me, expecting to see a familiar one in the crowd. But it’s only the other students, peeking through their eyelashes, aching to catch a glimpse of the kings of campus.
Us.
A title we've carved out for ourselves from the moment we stepped foot on campus our freshman year. The year GreenwoodUniversity became ours and the rules changed. For better or worse? I haven't figured it out yet.
“Things will be different this year,” Franco says from the corner of his office overlooking the casino.
A crisp black suit molds to his frame, highlighting his muscles underneath. Neon lights flash through the window, painting his face in pinks and greens as the sounds of happy gamblers echo through the room. He turns on his polished heels, grinning victoriously.
My stomach churns. Something isn't right. College is our escape from it all. Him. This life. He insisted we get our degrees to further our family business, and so we are. But that grin on his chiseled face? It blares warning sirens in my mind.
“Yeah, they will! We're off to college,” Mack agrees with a grin, excitement thrumming through him.
He's been ready to leave the nest for over a year and get Franco off our backs.
“About that.” Franco points a finger at Mack, grinning more.
Yeah. There's something up his damn sleeve. Wonderful.
“We're still enrolled, right?” Mack asks cautiously, side-eyeing me like I might know something.
All the excitement and hope drains from him quickly. Mack was the most thrilled out of the three of us to get his degree, taking a step away from the life he was given. He's always wanted to do better for himself and put distance between himself and his mother's addictions.
I discreetly shake my head at Mack. Franco barely keeps me in the loop as it is. I have no idea where he's going with this.
“Two months ago, I made a sizable donation to Greenwood University. You're looking at one of the newest board members.” He holds out his hands like a ta-da moment, like this is some sort of magic trick he’s been hiding from us.
“Cool,” Mack retorts with less enthusiasm.
“What's your angle?” I ask, cocking my head, knowing the bastard has something up his sleeve. A long time ago, Franco instilled his ‘ask no questions, do as I say’ policy. It was hammered into our skulls the moment we started training under him and working for his cause.
But I’ve never been the kind of guy to follow the rules. Every step of the way–much to his annoyance–I question everything he does. Watch his every move, trying to figure out what’s coming next. I want reasons and answers for his calculated steps. Sometimes I get a frown or a pop to the jaw. Other times, he gives me vague answers that satisfy my need to know.
Franco nods. “Don't you trust me?”
Not at all, but I don’t say that out loud for him to hear.
Nothing he's ever done has proven we can trust him. He's put us through the ringer to become his heirs-in-waiting. Me more than JJ and Mack. They’re more like my second-in-commands. Well, in Franco’s eyes, anyway. They’re my brothers. My best friends. We barely keep secrets from each other.
Franco raised me from the moment I was born. His wife brought me home swaddled in a hospital blanket, crying about how I had been abandoned and needed them to raise me. Her, more than him. When I was two, she died unexpectedly. I don’t remember the specifics, and Franco never gives up the answers, but I know it was tragic. It sent Franco into a spiral, and he threw himself into his businesses, trying to expand, build, and grow.
The only sign that Mikayla Franco was ever alive is the pictures lining the walls of his office. She dreamed of filling her home with children’s laughter but was unable to produce herself. So, to fulfill her wishes, Franco became a foster father, raising me, JJ, and Mack when we had no other place to go. Orthem, more so. My origins are shady at best. Never knew who my real parents were or how I came to be.
“Greenwood University is the future,” Franco says, shutting down my rampant thoughts. “I've taken the liberty of reaching out to other crime families, gangs, and criminals eager for a higher education. We'll be the premier university for masterminds in the making. We’ll offer courses for their benefit. And ours.”
