DEVIL IN DISGUISE: A Russian Mafia/Second Chance Romance (Saints and Sinners Book 3)

by Sophia Henry

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he greets me. “I’ve been looking for you since you dashed away. Am I that heinous?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No.” I whisper, then glance at the front of the room where our professor just entered and placed his suitcase on the desk.

  “Maybe I can get your digits.”

  “No,” I whisper again before turning around and ignoring any other attempts to get my attention.

  Over the next few weeks, I try to avoid him, but it feels as if we’re meant to meet again because we keep running into one another. To make things worse, we share two of the same classes and he lives on the floor above me in the dorm.

  One time, he even tried to send messages through the vent in the ceiling.

  When my roommate found it, she tossed it to me, saying, “I’m pretty sure this is from the dude in three-oh-seven who won’t stop trying to get your attention.”

  I unfolded the paper, laughing when I saw a note straight out of elementary school—written in handwriting that looked like it was from the same time frame.

  Do you want to hang out?

  Check yes or no.

  It was cute, juvenile, but cute. Still, I crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash. Harris knows what I used to do—how I made my money to get here. It’s a big school with plenty of fish in the sea, I don’t have to interact with him.

  One day after Lit class, he walks toward me with purpose and fire in his eyes. If I bolt, I’ll come off as a mega-bitch, so I opt to stand my ground and see what happens. It is not like he’d do anything to embarrass me in public.

  Would he?

  “Is something wrong?” he asks me straight up without observing any sort of nicety. I can’t help but respect someone who gets straight to the point.

  “Don’t you take no for an answer?”

  He holds his chin with his thumb and forefinger, as if thinking. “In certain circumstances, yes.”

  I swallow back the urge to run because we’re going to have to get this conversation out of the way sometime. Might as well be now. “Don’t you remember me?”

  “Yeah, you’re the hot, mysterious girl from registration who shot me down and embarrassed me royally,” he winks, but I don’t see any other sort of recognition register on his face.

  I look around, lowering my voice before saying. “We met this summer at Mangione’s—with Beau and Waylon?” Maybe pushing that button will kick start his memory.

  “Oh Lord, that guy! If I never saw that dude again it would be too soon.” He grimaces as if he just passed through a garbage chute. His eyes light up. “Wait! You’re the lady in red. Katrina, right?” he asks, as if unsure of his answer.

  “Sorry, I was a tad hammered,” he continues apologies quickly and I can’t help but laugh at him.

  “Yes, I am Katrina—Kat,” I answer with a laugh, though I should be on alert and wary of the potential threat. “What is your deal with Waylon Harding?”

  “Harding. Ugh. I can’t stand that creep,” he says with a shudder and sour look on his face. “And his stupid arrival interrupted a conversation with one of the most beautiful and intriguing women I’ve ever met,” he adds in a flirty tone.

  “I thought he was a buddy of yours,” I add, throwing out one more feeler. His contempt for Waylon is quite apparent, but you can never be too careful.

  “Nah. He’s one of my father’s business associates, but I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid. Barely even remember him. I just think it’s so disgusting that he was always after young girls,” Harris says. Then he looks up at me. “Oh shit. Katrina, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. He’s not my cup of tea, either. He creeped me out, too.”

  Together, we walk toward the door and into the hallway.

  “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks, holding the door open for me. “Because I was there that night?”

  “Yeah, well, that night was a bad run-in with him, and I didn’t want to be friends with anyone associated with him,” I confess, surprising myself.

  “Never. That guy’s a huge piece of shit. I’m sorry my brother introduced you to him.”

  September in North Carolina is an absolutely perfect month. Temperatures are lower, but still warm and comfortable. The wind glides across my cheek, and rustles color-changing leaves hanging from the trees above us.

  “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the blue Tupperware bowl in his hand, sidestepping his comment.

  “Oh, just some cookies from Mama’s second care package,” he says, looking a bit embarrassed.

  “Second?” I ask. We’ve only been at school for three weeks.

  “Yeah, she’s a bit much. But she makes phenomenal oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Want some?” he offers.

  It’s a simple gesture but I can't help but feel happy. Harris is a total sweetheart.

  Stan crosses my mind, but I shove the thought away easily. Stan had been raw and lust-filled and I don’t even know if I will ever see him again. Stan abandoned me.

  Being with Harris feels different, like my heart is doing backflips and butterflies are fluttering in my stomach, just as it felt the night we met.

  “Yes, please,” I accept his invitation. Harris points at a huge rock close by and we sit. He opens the lid earnestly and passes the entire bowl to me. The bowl is filled with bigger-than-average cookies—definitely homemade.

  I haven’t had a homemade cookie in years. Dre used to bring me a few whenever his mom made them, but she’s been so busy recently, baking fell by the wayside.

  Harris watches my face as I pick one up and begin to chew on it. The chocolate melting in my mouth makes me feel like I’m in heaven. I stop, finishing chewing slowly, and swallow, uneasy at being watched as I eat. I pause before taking another bite.

  “Don’t stop, please. It’s cute how much you love those cookies. My mother keeps sending them to me in care packages from home and I can’t stand the taste of them,” he says making a face and I giggle, careful to not choke.

  I toss the last piece into my mouth. “I happen to think they’re delicious. Thank you for sharing,” I say with a grateful glance.

  “I’ll bring you the entire batch next time. Glad to see a girl who eats. Most of the girls around here are so worried about their waistline,” he says with an irritated look on his face. All of the sudden, his eyes widen as if remembering something. “But, I’m not talking about you. You’re perfect. Your body, ya know? Eat what you want.”

  I laugh. “Don’t worry, Harris. I didn’t take offense.”

  “Good. I felt like a major dickweed for a minute there.” He runs a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “So, how’d you get the name Kat?”

  “I don’t know, I think someone said it one time and it just sort of stuck.” I shrug. “I never really liked it, but it’s kinda cool to have a nickname.”

  “I can’t call you Kat. It’s too—" he pauses to think—“edgy. Kat sounds like a feral creature who skulks through alleys hunting for food in trash cans.”

  I swallow hard remembering how I’d said the same thing to Stan about his name and nickname. Now I realize how rude it was.

  “I get your point,” I reply tightly.

  “Oh Lord, that’s not what I meant,” he apologizes immediately. “What’s my deal? I finally get the chance to talk to the girl I’m crushing on and I can’t say anything right.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks at the thought of being the girl he’s ‘crushing on.’

  “Don’t worry. I actually like it when people are brutally honest with me. I’m the same way.”

  He laughs and glances down at the Tupperware. Then he shakes it as if he’s got an idea. “How about Cookie?”

  “One is enough, but thank you.”

  “No! I mean, you can have another if you want.” He pushes them toward me. “Maybe I can call you Cookie. You like them and it’s cute.”

  “I see what you did there.” I poke him in the side playfully.

  He stops my finge
rs by grabbing my hand and holding it. “Cookie it is then?”

  I nod, ecstatic to have my hand in his. This is what flirting and getting to know someone with no expectations feels like. This is ‘normal.’

  “Want to get dinner sometime, Cookie?” he blurts out suddenly.

  “Absolutely.”

  My answer has him grinning like an idiot. It’s cute. Wholesome.

  His smile could almost make me forget the sins my past and believe that I have the chance to start over. His smile could almost make me forget what I did to get here.

  Not the prostitution; the theft.

  Two days before I moved to Chapel Hill, I drained Stan’s bank account and set up my own at a different bank here.

  My stomach growls, showing its dissatisfaction at being teased with one cookie. Thankfully Harris doesn’t hear it.

  Everything about the exchange and my time with him today has my heart flipping out. Never in a million years did I think Harris Commons would be interested in me.

  This is my chance at happily ever after, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him.

  10

  Cookie

  Harris knocks on my door at eight o’clock on the dot, which I appreciate. I believe time is one of the most valuable gifts you can give someone, and I like when people understand that. Dressed in a white, button-down shirt and black slacks, he looks more like a young business owner than a college student. He exudes an aura of confidence and calm that makes him even more handsome. My belly turns to mush.

  “You look amazing,” he compliments, kissing me on both cheeks. He smells like citrus mingled with a hint of woodsy aftershave. I don’t think there’s anything phenomenal about my outfit; a simple Carolina-blue dinner dress and black flats.

  He opens the door for me to climb into his car. The black Volvo 700 series looks like it was taken straight off the showroom floor, all black with black leather interior.

  I knew he was from a wealthy family, but this car screams status. Harris must be the son of some rich industrialist or a bank executive, I’m not sure, but I’ll find out more about him tonight. The idea of him coming from a rich, well-connected family makes him even more attractive, and I don’t plan on letting him go.

  The restaurant he picked is beautiful, not too upscale but not cheap.

  “Harris Commons. Reservation for two.”

  “Of course. Right this way, sir,” the waiter says before leading us to our table. Harris holds out a chair for me to sit first.

  “Seriously, are you always this nice?” I ask, remembering how I asked him the same thing the first time we met.

  “Mama raised me to be a gentleman,” he replies with a grin.

  “So, Cookie,” he begins after the waiter takes our orders and pours us some wine. Harris tells him to leave the bottle. I’m surprised the waiter didn’t card us, but maybe they know him or his family. Probably one of those perks of being wealthy that others don’t receive.

  “What part of Charlotte are you from?” he asks.

  I can’t tell Harris I’m a dirt-poor girl from Villa Heights. He’ll never see me again, no matter how intrigued he is. So, I do the thing I do best; I lie. I’ve rehearsed the story multiple times in my head, but lying to someone I actually care about makes me nervous. Thankfully, I manage to keep my cool on the outside, even as my mind races.

  “I stayed with my aunt in Plaza Midwood until I turned eighteen and had access to a small inheritance.”

  “By inheritance, I take it both of your parents have passed away,” he asks, his voice filled with empathy.

  My heart lurches. By inheritance, I mean the money I stole from my Russian Mafioso former lover. But I’m not telling him that.

  “Yes,” I say, lifting my wine glass and taking a small sip.

  “I’m sorry, Cookie,” he says, rubbing his thumb over my left hand as he encases it in both his hands. He drops the topic immediately, and I’m relieved.

  “It’s okay. I was really young.”

  I change the subject quickly, which makes both of us more comfortable.

  Throughout dinner, we talk about different things ranging from music—Harris loves Classic Rock like Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones—to movies and books. Having a normal, fun conversation with a man is a first for me. Since being at NCU, it seems like I’ve had so many “firsts.”

  First time living with roommates. First time going to a college party. First time going to a football game.

  “What do you want to do after college?” Harris asks.

  First time being asked what I want to do with my life after college. The question catches me off guard.

  “I don’t know exactly,” I say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “But I could see myself running a business. High-powered executive by day, wife and mother by night.”

  When I look up, there’s a spark in Harris eyes and a smile on his face. “I can absolutely picture that.”

  “How about you?” I ask as heat rises in my cheeks. “What do you want to do?”

  “My family owns a property development company, and I’m supposed to work there after graduation,” he says after he finishes chewing a bite of steak. He poises his fork over another piece. “But I want to do my own thing. Blaze my own trail and knock everyone’s socks off, ya know?”

  I nod as if I understand what it means to be part of a family that has high hopes for me.

  He continues, “Beau’s going to take over the company when Daddy retires, and I don’t want to be the Captain’s second in command.”

  “The Captain?” I interrupt him with a chuckle.

  The creamed spinach we got to share is so good I want to pour the entire bowl down my throat. The entire meal is better than any meal I’ve ever eaten.

  He laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I call my brother because he’s so freaking bossy. Loves being the leader—even when everyone knows it’s the crew doing the work.”

  “So that’s why you don’t want to work with him,” I say slowly as if putting puzzle pieces together. “You’ll do all the work and he’ll get all the credit.”

  Harris looks at me as if he can’t believe what I said. He’s silent for so long it starts to make me uncomfortable.

  “Sorry, I—” I begin to apologize thinking I overstepped my boundaries.

  “No!” He grabs my hand. “Cookie! You get it! No one understands. They think I’m an ungrateful jerk for not wanting to accept the amazing opportunity in my lap. But I have ambitions of my own. I want to shine.”

  “I do understand. I want to shine, too.”

  “People are gonna need sunglasses when they walk by us,” he teases.

  “Is this the first date of a future power couple?” I jest, going along with the joke.

  “I hope so, Cookie. Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the first time we met.”

  “Wait a minute!” I hold up my hand. “You just said you haven’t stopped thinking about me since the day we met, but you didn’t even recognize me when we re-met here. Sounds like you’re telling lies, Mister.”

  “It’s not a lie! I swear! I didn’t recognize you because you’ve had a makeover since then.” He wiggles his finger around his head.

  My hand flies to my new shorter ‘do. “Whoops!” I laugh. “I’d forgotten about the change.”

  “For the record, you did seem familiar to me, I just couldn’t place you. Harris Commons doesn’t forget a beautiful face.”

  Harris Commons.

  My head swirls with the information I’ve learned tonight, putting the pieces together. Harris Commons. His family owns a property development company. Commons Property Development is well-known in Charlotte.

  The Commons are one of the oldest and wealthiest families in North Carolina.

  Hot damn, I struck absolute gold with this one.

  After dinner, Harris drives me back to our dorm; opening the door to the car for me to get out. He makes me feel like a princess, and I will make him my prince.
Harris is my key to money, power, and connections—the things I’ve always wanted. Him being an amazing guy is icing on the cake.

  Harris walks me to the front door, but doesn’t follow me in even though he lives here, too.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” I ask.

  He glances at his car. “Gotta run her over to the Freshman parking lot. I’ll walk back.”

  I nod in understanding. He leans in, placing his lips on mine. I don’t shy away from his soft, full lips. The kiss is slow and intense, almost electric, with the way he brushes his lips against mine.

  So, this is what a kiss feels like when you’re both into one another, I think breathlessly as I pull away.

  “I’m glad we crossed paths again, Katrina McIntyre,” he whispers, running his thumb across my lips and it feels like a million volts charge through my body, teasingly. “Goodnight, gorgeous.”

  The new experience sets my soul on fire and overwhelms me with emotion. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before. I can’t control it when the unexpected happens—I start to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” Harris asks, confusion and concern twisting his face. “Was the kiss that bad?” he continues, making me laugh through my sobbing.

  “No, you big goat,” I say, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “I just—” I pause to gauge whether or not I’m making the right decision by opening my heart so quickly.

  “Go ahead, Cookie,” Harris urges me to go on. “You can talk to me.”

  “You’re just so perfect,” I say and I mean it.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth because so are you,” he says, brushing the tears away from my eyes. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  I nod happily, my heart pounding so hard, I’m afraid it might come out of my chest.

  He leans in and pecks my cheek before bounding down the stairs and back to his car. I watch as he pumps a fist in the air before getting in as if celebrating a victory.

  That true enthusiasm—reciprocated enthusiasm—is monumental.