"Mi Promesa" – The Story of
Robert Louis Cardenas
People see the cigar, the brand, the polished look. But what they don’t see is the pain, the process, and the promise behind it all. My name is Robert Louis Cardenas—a husband, a father, a son, a brother. And every cigar I craft tells a story. A story of family, of fire, and of faith.I’m a first-generation American, born to an Ecuadorian mother and a Colombian father. My mom, Sarita, was a force—strong, loving, never backing down. Raising two boys on her own wasn’t easy—especially with me being a hyper, headstrong kid who needed a lot of guidance. She did everything she could, but even the strongest women need a village. That’s when God stepped in and sent backup. Titi Angie, my mom’s best friend and her husband, Papa Louie, stepped into our lives—not out of duty, but out of pure love. Papa Louie became the father figure I never had. He wasn’t loud or flashy, he simply showed up day after day working hard, loving hard, teaching me what it meant to be a man. By example, loyalty, humility and consistency. Those values live in me because they lived in him.
I grew up between Queens and Orlando—two places that shaped my rhythm, hustle, and my resilience. I saw it all. The struggle, beauty, and the grind. Puerto Ricans blasting salsa next door, Italians yelling over Sunday sauce, Dominicans playing ball, Haitians, Cubans, Jamaicans, Jews, Asians. All blending together --- like the perfect filler tobacco. Each one bringing their own flavor, their own fire, their own leaf to the roll.
At the time, I was working in engineering at Tempra Technology—focused, driven, trying to make my way. I looked up to my CEO, Mr. G. I respected the way he moved—calm, collected, always in control. Every time he stepped outside with a Montecristo No. 2, I noticed. Not just because of the cigar, but because of how he carried himself in that pause. Even in the chaos of business, he made space for presence --- for stillness. That sparked something in me. I found myself drawn in, I wanted to understand the leaf behind the craft, the tradition, the meaning, the process. I submerged myself in every book I could find. I studied like my life depended on it—because in many ways, it did. It wasn’t just about cigars, it was about finding myself in something that felt honest, steady, and real.
Then everything started moving faster than I could handle. My mother’s health began to decline, and with it, my sense of direction. Just as I was finding my rhythm, life shifted beneath me. I tried to stay strong—for Jimmy, for myself—but deep down, everything felt like it was coming undone. Then one day, Jimmy and I lit a cigar. No words. No plans. Just smoke, silence, and presence .For that hour, everything slowed, the chaos quieted. We weren’t trying to fix anything—we were just being. And somehow, that was enough. The weight of life, the pressure building inside, the things we couldn’t say—it all eased. Cigars gave us peace—not just from what was happening around us, but from what we were carrying within. It brought me back to what first drew me in: That stillness. That sacred pause. The sense that even in the middle of uncertainty, there was space to breathe, to be grounded, and to feel like ourselves again.
But when my mom passed… the flame went cold. For years, I couldn’t bring myself to light one again. Until 2021, on a trip to Cancún with my wife, Niurka—The woman God handpicked for me. We were walking along the beach just the two of us, when we came across people selling cigars. She didn’t know why I had stayed away from them for so many years. But she noticed the way I looked at them—quietly, curiously—every time we passed. She didn’t push or ask, she just watched. Then gently she said: “You should buy one.” It was a simple gesture—but it came from love. That was the first time we shared a cigar together, and as we sat in silence, I finally opened up. I told her why I hadn’t lit one in years. How, after my mother passed, the flame went out—not just in my hands, but in my spirit. How cigars reminded me of peace I no longer felt.
That night, in the smoke, something shifted. And it became the beginning of everything. My wife always told me about a promise God whispered to her heart— long before I ever saw it for myself: that I was meant for something greater. That I would rise and my purpose would stretch far beyond the struggle I came from. After that trip, that promise clicked into place. The spark became a brand, a calling, a movement.
T.A.C.T. USA – Tru Alpha Cigar & Trust.
Born not from luxury—but from love. But this was never just about cigars. It’s about the sacred pause, peace in pressure, stories shared in smoke. It’s about honoring my mother’s strength. Titi Angie’s heart and sacrifice, my brother’s loyalty, Papa Louie’s work ethic, and my wife’s faith in me—even before I had faith in myself. I didn't build this to sell something, but to stand for something. For the men out there trying to hold it together, for the mothers who gave everything, the brothers bound by unbreakable fire, for the wives who knew exactly when to speak life, for the families who fight for each other, the ones who just need five quiet minutes—to breathe, reflect, and remember who they are.
This isn’t just my story. It’s La Promesa. And if you’re holding a Tru Alpha in your hand— you’re holding proof that the fire still burns. This isn’t just my flame. It’s yours too.
