Page 7 of Forbidden Sins

The music gets louder as I reach the staircase, and I pause at the top, my hand on the banister.

I can see the guests milling around downstairs, the uniformed staff moving through the growing sea of them with trays of champagne and appetizers.

The French doors at the far end of the ballroom that lead out to another part of the gardens are thrown open to let the warm summer air in, and when I breathe in, I can smell the scent of the flowers from outside.

I can almost imagine that I can hear the trickling of the fountain, but of course I can’t really, not over the music.

As I glide down the stairs, graceful as any princess in a fairytale, the attention of the room turns toward me.

I catch a glimpse of my father off to one side, speaking to Dimitri Yashkov, and he pulls away, coming to stand at the foot of the staircase as I reach the bottom of it.

He takes my hand, offering me a broad, proud smile, and turns us both to face the crowd of guests.

“My lovely daughter, Estella Gallo! Thank you all for coming to celebrate her twenty-first birthday with us. Happy birthday, Estella,” he says the last as he turns back to me, leaning in to kiss me once on each cheek before pulling away.

“Thank you, papa ,” I manage, feeling heat crawl up my neck at how many eyes are on me. The room feels overly warm and overly packed, and I bite my lip, glancing around for both a glass of champagne and my brother. “Is Luis back yet?”

My father frowns. “No. They were delayed, I’m told. But I’m sure I’ll be informed that they’re returning any moment now,” he assures me.

“Of course.” I feel a flicker of apprehension, but he’s right. What could possibly have happened, anyway? Luis is late for some reason, but he’ll be here. I know my brother—and he would rather die than disappoint me by not being here, especially after he promised.

I feel affection for my father, and I respect him, but I love Luis, and he loves me. We’ve always been close, and I know he won’t let me down.

“I’m sure your brother is just tying up some loose ends,” Sebastian murmurs to me as I move away from where my father is standing close behind me. “He’ll be here.”

“I know.” I glance around the room, stepping forward to snag a glass of champagne off a passing tray. I take a quick, bracing sip of it, savoring the dry taste of it on my tongue and the pop of the bubbles against my lips.

“I’m going to go check in with Brick,” he says, still standing just off to the side. “And do a sweep of the ballroom. Are you alright?”

I know the reason for his question. I won’t see much of Sebastian for the rest of the night—as part of the security for a Gallo party, even in the position of my personal bodyguard, his job is to blend into the background and stay unnoticed.

No one should even realize he’s there. He certainly shouldn’t be close by my side, distracting friends or possible suitors who might come and talk to me.

But if there’s a problem, if something unthinkable were to happen, like an attack, he would be there in an instant.

He’ll be watching me, as he has been for the past three years. The thought is comforting, but tonight, there’s something else to it, too. A shiver that runs down my spine, sending a faint bloom of heat along my skin.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, taking another sip of the champagne. “I’m just going to go see if I can find my friend from college who RSVPed—Marilee.”

Sebastian nods, and then I see him slip away into the crowd, no doubt looking for Brick.

I bite my lip as I watch him go, and then turn my attention back to the guests as I snag an appetizer off of another tray—a small piece of baguette toast with a layer of goat cheese and an herbed shrimp set atop that.

I see a tall, dark-haired, very pregnant woman standing next to Dimitri Yashkov with a flute of what’s probably sparkling water in one hand, saying something to the gorgeous blonde woman standing next to her—who is also pregnant.

I recognize them immediately—Evelyn and Dahlia Yashkov, the former married to the pakhan of the New York City Bratva, Dimitri, and the latter married to his brother and enforcer, Alek Yashkov.

Alek is probably somewhere around here, although from what I hear, he doesn’t particularly enjoy these kinds of parties.

Ironic that I have something in common with a Bratva enforcer . I couldn’t be more different from that kind of person if I tried, and yet, if we chatted about it, I imagine we’d probably have some of the same things to say about tonight’s festivities.

I head toward the buffet table, catching a glimpse of copper hair on the dance floor as I look for Marilee.

Rowan Gallagher—dancing with his recent bride, a former prima of the New York City Ballet, Genevieve.

She’s in his arms, dancing gracefully across the floor, and I feel a stab of envy.

I know how to dance, but she looks like a swan, her steps so fluid and enchanting that just watching her is like looking at art come to life.

Glancing around, I can see that Sebastian has completely melted out of sight.

I do see Marilee, in a dark green evening gown with the skirt swept up and gathered at her hip on one side, opening into a slit that shows off her long, tanned leg.

Her dark honey-blonde hair is pulled up in an elaborate updo, and she’s wearing pretty pearl jewelry.

She blends in remarkably well with the rest of the guests, and I wonder if I’ve been wrong to avoid my college friends by assuming that the gulf between us would be too wide now.

“Marilee!” I wave, and she catches sight of me, setting down the small plate that she’s holding with a variety of finger foods on it.

“Estella!” She steps forward, giving me a quick hug. “Happy birthday. This party is insane .” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she says it, and I can’t help but laugh.

“It’s more my father’s party than mine,” I admit.

“You’re the only friend I have here.” Other than Sebastian—but that hardly counts, does it?

I try to imagine telling Marilee that my other closest friend here is a man paid to protect me, and it seems too pathetic to say out loud.

“My brother is supposed to be here, but I think he’s running late. ”

“Your brother?” Marilee raises an eyebrow, reaching for her plate again. “Is he handsome?” She gives me a mischievous grin, and I manage a smile back — as suddenly that gulf between us opens up again.

“He is,” I manage, unsure of what else to say.

He’s handsome and charming and would probably sweep you off your feet—but it would never be more than a fling, because one day he’s going to marry someone my father picks out for him?

That wouldn’t make any sense to Marilee, and rightfully so, because who does that anymore?

It’s not as if I can tell her that my family is mafia, either.

To an outsider, we just look like ridiculously rich members of New York high society.

There’s nothing to hint at the darker side of our family’s wealth and influence, all of it carefully gilded over.

Marilee certainly doesn’t suspect anything.

She swipes a cocktail shrimp through a puddle of sauce, glancing over at me as she nibbles at it.

“I can’t imagine having a birthday party like this,” she says, and my stomach twists a little. “I think Cora, Rachel, and I are going out bowling for mine? With their boyfriends. You could come,” she adds, frowning a little. “I’m sure I texted you about it.”

She didn’t. I bite my lip, quickly taking a bite of a cracker with goat cheese and duck prosciutto on it, a dollop of macerated blueberry on top.

I want to avoid answering as long as I can, because the truth is that while I can think of nothing I’d like more than to go to Marilee’s party and see my college friends, I wouldn’t be allowed to go without Sebastian.

And how on earth would I explain my bodyguard to these friends?

In college, he always managed to stay out of sight.

But he'd hardly be able to do so completely at a bowling alley.

Or maybe not. I glance at Marilee, who has a hopeful expression on her face as she waits for my answer. Maybe Sebastian could blend into the background, like he always does, and everything would be fine.

“I’ll try to make it,” I tell her impulsively, reaching for a cocktail shrimp too. “You came to my birthday, how could I not?”

“Oh, perfect!” Marilee exclaims. “I seriously can’t wait, ‘Stel. It’s going to be so much fun.”

I press my lips together, nodding. I’ve never been bowling, but I’m sure I can figure it out. And it does sound like fun.

It sounds normal. Like the kind of thing I should be doing for my twenty-first birthday.

“We’re going to get so drunk,” Marilee adds with a laugh. “And you’ll be able to drink too, now! This place has specials on Fridays, so we were thinking that’s the perfect night…we can get a bucket of beer, and?—”

I nod along, unsure of whether she means a bucket of beers or a bucket full of beer, which sounds disgusting. Either way, I’ve never had a beer, and my stomach twists again as I wonder just how out of place I’ll be at this party.

Too out of place, my logical brain says.

You shouldn’t go. But if I don’t, will I lose Marilee as a friend permanently?

She won’t understand why I wouldn’t come, unless I lie and say I’m sick—which makes me feel awful just considering it.

She’ll either think I’m too stuck-up for her bowling party, or that I just don’t want to be her friend any longer… neither of which is true.