Page 35 of Forbidden Sins

SEBASTIAN

I manage to emerge from my room just in time to find out that Vito fucking Bianchi is moving into the Gallo household.

Healing from the beating that Antony and his men gave me has been absolute hell on earth.

There were moments, over the past several days, where I wished he’d just fucking killed me.

Just put a bullet in my head and finished me off, so I wouldn’t have to endure the suffering of healing from the wounds he inflicted.

Particularly the damage he did to my cock.

I’m still not a hundred percent sure I’m going to be able to use the fucking thing again, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that was his intent, after finding me with his daughter.

For the first few days, getting an erection was unthinkable, even though my cock looked swollen to full-size constantly, thanks to the beating.

I couldn’t touch my fucking balls without excruciating pain, but I had to, or risk getting an infection from not cleaning all of the wounds that Antony left me with, over every inch of my fucking body.

Then, yesterday, the swelling went down enough for my body to consider functioning again.

I woke up from a dream about Estella, nearly screaming in pain as my cock valiantly tried to get hard, only to send the second-worst pain I’ve ever felt ricocheting through my entire body.

This morning was pretty much the same. I’ve had morning wood every day of my goddamn life, and now it’s become just another method of torture.

Serves me fucking right, I think as I get dressed slowly and laboriously, taking inventory of my other injuries.

The bruises have started to turn an ugly green and yellow that covers basically all of my front and sides from my face down to my knees.

The welts have gone down somewhat, but the cuts are still ugly and healing, especially the two that I had to stitch on my own, sitting on the bathroom floor that night and alternating between stitching and nearly passing out.

I don’t know what would have happened if Estella hadn’t come to me that night.

I might have died for all I know, wallowing in my own pain and misery until a fever hit and took me off from sepsis or something like that.

No one was going to come take care of me, as far as I know, but maybe Antony would have called a doctor in the morning.

He said he wanted me to live to suffer through the rest of this, so maybe he just wanted me to stew in it overnight.

Whatever the plan, I’m still alive now, and I can’t stop thinking about Estella, kneeling beside my bed in that green dress, looking so much like an angel that I thought I actually died for a second.

I would never have expected her to take care of me like that. A part of me knows I should be angry that she put me at risk again, more than herself, but I can’t be. I know how afraid she must have been, how badly she must have needed to see if I was alive.

The house is chaos when I emerge, reminiscent of Estella’s twenty-first birthday.

I swallow hard, pushing that day out of my head as I make my way down the hall, looking for someone who can explain what’s going on.

The staff is moving too quickly for me to speak to anyone, and I turn down another hall, moving at a slower pace than I’d like…

and coming to an abrupt halt when I see Estella.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the night in the garden. She’s wearing running shorts and a loose t-shirt, her hair up in a ponytail, bits of it clinging to her face and neck with sweat. Her cheeks and neck are flushed, and she looks utterly fucking gorgeous.

“Sebastian.” She breathes my name, and the way she says it immediately dispels any thoughts I might have had that I over imagined what happened in the garden, or later that night when she came to my room.

She feels the same way I do. And that just makes what we both have to do that much harder.

“Estella.” I keep my voice as neutral as I can. “What in the holy hell is going on around here? Why is everyone running around like the President is visiting?”

Estella’s face instantly drains of blood, and I know the answer is nothing that I want to hear. She stands perfectly still for a moment, her jaw working as if she’s trying to speak and can’t.

“My father picked a husband for me,” she says finally. “Vito Bianchi. He’s coming to stay with us for a little while, to court me before the engagement is made official.”

Her voice sounds so empty, so hollow as she says it, that it feels like every word is a dagger to the chest. She sounds defeated, hopeless, and all I want to do is go to her and hold her, tell her that I’ll fix this, that I’ll protect her from it somehow.

But I can’t. And if I try, Antony has made the penalty for it very clear.

“Vito Bianchi,” I repeat it, and Estella nods slowly.

The choice horrifies me. The thought of that man marrying Estella, touching her—I feel my stomach twist with nausea, threatening to make me vomit up nothing.

Antony couldn’t have picked a worse one of the four for her, and a part of me wonders if it’s a punishment—if it’s her part of the punishment, for being caught out in the garden with me.

But just as quickly as I think it, I know it’s not true. Antony might be furious, but he wouldn’t stake his family and empire’s future on consequences for his daughter. He chose the man he thought would be best for the future of everything he’s built, and that man happened to be Vito.

A small, petty, selfish part of me is grateful that it wasn’t one of the younger, more handsome men lined up for her—especially not Nico, who looked like a fucking Greek god, even if Estella found his personality impossible to make up for.

She might not have loved any of them, but I could imagine her being attracted to Nico in the end, or even Matteo or Aleksi.

My jealous, possessive mind can imagine her rousing to them, finding pleasure in bed with them, crying out their names in the heat of passion when she finally came to terms with the inevitability of forever with one of those men.

That won’t happen with Vito. I both feel terrible for being glad that it’s someone she could never love or feel desire for, and horribly guilty for finding some silver lining in all of this, this awful man that she’s being forced to marry.

Estella looks at me, understanding dawning on her face. She knows me too well, just like I know her, after all these years. “You’re glad it’s him,” she whispers, her cheeks turning pale. “You’re glad it’s not Nico. Not someone I could want .”

My jaw tightens, and I swallow hard, giving her a warning look.

“I’m not glad , princess,” I hiss, looking over her shoulder to make sure that no one around can hear.

Several staff pass by, carrying bundles of flowers for floral arrangements for the house, and I grab Estella’s arm, yanking her into a darker corner of the hallway. She shakes me off, glaring.

“What’s gotten into you?” she demands. “You’ve never grabbed me like that. What the hell, Sebastian?”

“Don’t bait me, princess,” I warn, my voice dark and tight with hurt and anger.

“I’m not happy about any of this, and you fucking know that.

But God help me, yes, I’m glad you’re not going to bed with one of those other men.

That you’re not going to fuck Nico Adamos.

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make me sick that you’re going to have to go to bed with anyone else at all! ” The words come out in a vicious hiss.

“That’s not fair,” Estella whispers. “I don’t have a choice, Sebastian.”

“That doesn’t make it fucking easier. Don’t tell me you don’t think about it, too. That you don’t imagine me in bed with another woman and feel fucking murderous?—”

“Of course I do!” Her eyes well up with tears, bright and glittering.

“You don’t think I know that you’re not going to live the rest of your life like a fucking priest, Sebastian?

You’re going to fuck some other woman—lots of them, probably, gorgeous women who will get to do all the things I want to do to you.

Kiss you, and touch you, go down on their knees for you and?—”

“Stop.” I shake my head, cutting her off. I can’t fucking stand to hear another word. “Don’t talk about that, Estella. I can’t—I can’t think about that.”

“Why?” She tosses her hair back, glaring at me. “Because you’ll kiss me again?”

“Because I’ll get hard, and that fucking hurts right now,” I grind out between my teeth. “Goddamn it, princess—we can’t… we can’t do this. We can’t fight. It won’t help anything.”

“It’s what he wants,” she mutters. “It’s why he let you live. So we can both be tormented by what’s going on, but especially you. He’ll never let you leave, now. Not until he’s sure that you’ve been punished enough.”

“I’d endure it again.” My voice drops, and against my own will, against everything I know is wise, I reach out to touch the side of her jaw, turning her face toward me. “Estella. Do you hear me? I’d endure it all again for that kiss. But we can’t fight each other. I have to protect you from?—”

“What?” She presses her lips together, jerking away from my touch.

“What can you protect me from, Sebastian? From people who want to hurt me? You can’t protect me from my own husband, and he’ll be hurting me every time he touches me.

You can be damn sure that my father will make certain Vito keeps you on as my guard, so that you can know every time he fucks me.

So you can watch me carry his children and give birth to them, and have everything with him that we want with each other?—”

She breaks off abruptly, realizing how much she’s said. The words cut me to the core. To hear her say that so plainly?—

“I’m sorry.” She starts to twist away from me. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was just a kiss, I don’t know if you want—if you would?—”