Page 26 of Forbidden Sins

SEBASTIAN

T wo days after the party, I find myself with Brick in Antony’s office, going over security details with them both.

I stand a foot back from where Brick is delivering his weekly security report, hands clasped behind my back as I listen, trying to keep my thoughts from wandering. These days, it’s hard to do.

In the last two days, no fewer than four of the interested men have stopped by to have lunch with Estella, walk around the gardens with her, or talk with her in the library.

One of them I know by sight and name—Vito Bianchi, the underboss for the Italian mafia in Boston.

It’s impossible for me to imagine the man with Estella.

He’s in his mid-forties, balding, with a paunch and marks left from bad skin, probably in his younger years.

There’s nothing remotely attractive about him, although he’s wealthy enough that I imagine he doesn’t lack for women.

The thought of him touching Estella makes my skin crawl.

“The new men that we have on the perimeter are proving to be excellent additions to the team,” Brick says, jolting me out of my thoughts. “And we’ve gotten the upgraded camera systems installed. The blind spots that you were concerned about have been resolved.”

“Good.” Antony looks over the diagrams that Brick hands him. “And Estella is having dinner tomorrow with Adamos? Is that all arranged?”

He looks at me, and I manage to keep my face carefully neutral as I speak. “Yes, sir. We’ll have three extra men in the restaurant, positioned to keep an eye out, and two extra men in a following car. I’ll be close by, of course.”

“Perfect.” Antony sets the diagrams down. “And what do you think of Mr. Adamos, Sinclair?”

I start a little at the question. “You want my opinion, sir?”

Antony looks at me coolly. “You are the man who protects my daughter, yes? I would like to know your opinion.”

I choose my next words carefully. “Competent,” I say finally. “He seems to surround himself with men who are well-chosen. His security is impeccable. I can’t say that he’s not an intelligent and discerning man.”

“Discerning enough to take an interest in my daughter,” Antony grins. “Is there anything else, Sinclair?”

I swallow hard. “I think it’s not my place to comment on anything else, sir. Your daughter’s suitors are her business and yours.”

“I’m making it your place,” Antony snaps, his good mood souring as quickly as it came. “I asked you a question. You’ve been her shadow for three years now, Sinclair. Your job is to watch those around her. I want your read on Nico Adamos.”

I pause as any number of answers run through my head.

I could tell Antony about the way I saw Nico looking at other women when Estella wasn’t around, but I doubt he’d care about that.

Mafia men aren’t known for their fidelity.

I could tell him that I saw Nico bark at a waiter who didn’t refill his champagne glass quickly enough, but I doubt that would stick either.

“He seems genuinely interested in Estella,” I say instead, forcing the words out one at a time. “From the information we pulled on him, his background check and references, he seems solid. His business connections are what he says they are. On paper, he’s excellent for her, sir.”

Antony’s eyes narrow. “There’s a ‘but’ in there, Sinclair,” he says flatly, and I clear my throat.

“I think your daughter finds him boring,” I say simply. “Predictable and boring.”

Antony chuckles. “Boring, hm?” He shuffles the papers that Brick handed him, setting them to one side of his desk.

“That sounds like Estella. But boring is what she needs, I think. A wealthy, connected, boring husband to care for her and for my empire. To spoil her as she deserves and keep her in the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed. ”

Something you can’t do. I don’t know if Antony meant to drive that dagger home, but it sinks into my chest all the same. “Of course, sir,” I manage with a nod.

Antony waves a hand at us both. “That’s all. Oh, and Sebastian? Estella mentioned to me this morning at breakfast that she wants to visit Luis’ grave. Arrange extra security for that trip, please.”

“Of course.” I nod, turning to follow Brick out of the office. He veers off in one direction and I go in another, heading to find Estella where I think she’ll be, in the sunroom.

She’s sitting there, looking out at the gardens, but there’s no painting in front of her or brushes in her hands. She looks melancholy, in a black sundress with thin straps and a loose skirt that’s split up one side, and I clear my throat gently as I step into the room.

She looks around sharply at the sound of my footsteps. “Sebastian.” There’s something soft and melancholy in her voice, and it takes everything in me not to go to her.

“Your father said you wanted to go to the cemetery. To visit Luis.”

Estella nods. “Can we go now?”

“Of course. I can have a few men follow us. For additional protection.”

She doesn’t argue, just stands up, smoothing her hands over the silky skirt of her dress.

The split parts for a moment, showing a long strip of her smooth, pale leg, and my jaw tightens.

I can’t look away for a second, transfixed by the sight of something as simple as Estella’s leg, imagining how smooth it would feel against my palm, how I could hitch it up around my hip, pressing her back into the wall so that she could feel me against her?—

“Sebastian?”

I blink back to awareness, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation of my cock lengthening along my thigh. I’m in a near-constant state of arousal around her these days, and it feels impossible to slake. “I’ll send a text now,” I tell her quickly. “Follow me, I’ll have the driver bring a car around.”

Forty-five minutes later, we’re parked outside the gates of the cemetery.

Estella is pale and quiet as she gets out of the car, a bouquet of white roses that she stopped to buy clutched in her hand.

Her black dress flutters ominously around her ankles in the warm wind that springs up as she moves down the path through the tombstones, and I glance up at the cloudy skies, concerned it might rain.

I gave the other men instructions to stay back by the cars, for Estella’s privacy. It would have been smarter, I think, to have had them follow us. To keep me from saying or doing anything I shouldn’t.

I’m finding it harder and harder to trust myself around her.

To keep my head clear. That’s the last thing I should do, as a bodyguard.

I should be focused on one thing, and one thing only—her safety, her security, at all times.

If I really meant my vow to her, I reflect as I follow her to Luis’ small plot of earth, I would find a way to push these feelings aside for good.

I follow at a respectful distance, scanning our surroundings as Estella walks straight toward her brother’s grave. I hang back as I watch her kneel in front of it, still close enough to hear her as she sets the roses down on the still-fresh earth.

“I miss you,” she whispers softly. “Everything’s falling apart, Luis. Nothing feels right anymore.”

I press my lips together, staying several feet back, enough to give her an illusion of privacy while still keeping her within my sight.

I’m tense and watchful, my hand lingering near the concealed weapon at my hip.

I doubt there’s any real danger here, but still, I’m prepared.

There’s not a chance in hell I’ll allow anything to happen to her. I’ll never let anyone bring her harm.

Even if that person were me.

I watch as she closes her eyes, and I see the tear tracks sliding down her cheeks. I want to go to her, to smooth them away, but I stay where I am, watchful but not interfering.

“I’m going to be married, Luis,” she whispers, and I feel my heart contract in my chest. “It’s all planned out, everything but which groom will sign on the dotted line. And I think Dad’s narrowed it down to four or five, now. He says it’s necessary, now that I’m the heiress.”

She takes a deep breath, reaching out to brush her hand over the roses. “It’s not your fault, of course. I didn’t come here to blame you, or anything like that. But it’s hard, Luis. I’m so scared. I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

I watch as more tears drip down her face, and my jaw tightens. I want to go to her so badly it fucking hurts.

“I wish you were here,” she whispers. “But if you were, it would probably be all different. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Estella goes silent, the only sound the faint rustling of the trees in the summer breeze. She stays there for a long moment, until she finally stands, dusting the dirt off of her skirt as she turns to look at me, an invitation in her eyes.

I walk toward her, coming to stand next to her at the gravesite. “I wanted to give you your privacy,” I murmur, and I feel Estella’s hand brush mine, ever so slightly.

“He was your friend,” she says softly. “You should get to visit, too.”

I press my lips together, looking down at the grave—the dirt, the stone, the roses lying there. “I prefer to think of him alive,” I say finally. “But whatever brings you peace, Estella. If visiting this spot helps you, then you should do that whenever you can.”

She bites her lip. “I don’t want to go to dinner with Nico Adamos tomorrow,” she whispers.

“I don’t want to have dinner with any of them.

Vito Bianchi was at the mansion yesterday.

He’s very interested, he said. The way someone would talk about a piece of property they wanted to buy.

” She almost spits out the last words. “I hate all of them.”

Estella wraps her arms around herself, and I have to stop myself from pulling her into mine. “I know,” I say quietly. “I do, too.”

Her lips twist together, and I let out a slow breath. “Your brother would be proud of how strong you’re being.”

Estella looks up at me sharply. “If I were strong, I’d figure a way out of this,” she says bitterly.

“There are different ways to be strong, princess.”

I can feel something crackle in the air between us, something taut and desperate, and Estella turns to face me. “I can’t do this, Sebastian,” she whispers. “I can’t marry one of them. I just can’t.”

I swallow hard. “You have to,” I say slowly, each word costing me. It feels like a dagger in my heart, saying it aloud. “Your father will disown you if you don’t. You know that.” My mouth tightens, and I see the pain in Estella’s eyes. It hurts, knowing that I’ve said something to put it there.

“My father,” she says slowly, “is selling me like real estate for his own gain. He doesn’t care about me.”

“He’s trying to protect you in the way that he knows how.” I pause. “Like I am.”

I can see the betrayal in her eyes at the idea of me defending him, even slightly. Her jaw tightens, and she turns away for a moment, her dress whipping around her legs as the wind picks up. I can smell rain in the air, and I wait for just a moment before sighing.

“Estella, we need to go. The weather?—”

She turns quickly, her gaze meeting mine with the bluntness of a cudgel.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything, Sebastian,” she challenges.

“Tell me you’re just my bodyguard, and I’ll pick one.

Maybe even Nico Adamos—he’s handsome enough, right?

Boring, but pretty to look at?” Her words dig in, and I know she’s trying to hurt me, the way I hurt her a moment ago.

Reminding me that before too long, some other man will be in her bed, undressing her, touching her, maybe even making her come.

On purpose, not by accident while she clings to him on a motorcycle.

God, just thinking about that night on the motorcycle gets me fucking hard.

But it ebbs as soon as I look at her defiant expression and realize how close we are to a terrible line, one where, if we cross over it, our relationship will become one of cutting jabs and barbed words, taking out the pain that we can’t salve on each other, until eventually, one or both of us are driven away to make it stop.

“I’m not imagining this,” she whispers, and the plea in her words cuts me straight to the bone.

God, I want to kiss her. I hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, and I see the dampness on her lips from where she licked them a moment ago, and I want to grasp her in my hands, pull her to me, and devour her.

I want to push her up against the nearest tree, bunch that skirt up in my hands, and fuck her right here and now, graves be damned.

I don’t say a word, and Estella’s face contorts briefly, as if she’s trying to hold back tears.

“You can’t lie to me, can you?” she whispers. “So you’re just not saying anything at all.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” I murmur, a repetition of the same words I’ve said to her before.

“Your father would have me killed for even thinking it. God help me if I touched you. This can’t exist, Estella.

Whatever I feel, whatever you feel, we need to bury it.

Here, if need be, right now.” The words sound bitter as they escape my lips. “What better place than a graveyard?”

Estella’s teeth sink into her lower lip, and I see her eyes well with tears. “So you’re just going to watch me marry another man?”

“I’m going to keep you safe,” I grind out, determination in every word. “The way I promised. I can’t do that if I’m dead, Estella. And you can’t live a life on the run from your father.”

She looks at me, and I know she understands, without my saying the words. “So what now?” she whispers, her voice trembling, and I feel my heart crack, fissures running through it as thunder rumbles through the graveyard.

“Now,” I say, as calmly as I can manage, as I offer her my arm. “Now, we go home.”