Page 3 of Forbidden Sins

Even so, after three years, it’s hard for him not to factor into those fantasies sometimes.

The kitchen is just as chaotic. The moment we walk in, heading toward the back door, we’re hit by a flurry of voices filling the room—the housekeeper barking out orders to staff, going over the menu with the cook, discussing the ins and outs of everything that’s meant to be served at the party tonight. I canfeelthe stress in the air, and I bite my lip, wincing as I look at Sebastian. He shrugs, smirking, and we both dart out of the back door and into the warm summer morning.

“Glad to get out of that racket,” he says with a grin as we pause on the grassy lawn. “It’s a madhouse in there.”

“Isn’t it?” I wrinkle my nose. “You’d think the President was coming to visit instead of it being my twenty-first birthday party.”

“Nothing but the best for the princess.” Sebastian grins at me, stretching one arm over his head and then the other in preparation for our run, and my mouth goes dry once again when his shirt rides up and I catch a glimpse of the taut, tanned sliver of flesh beneath it.

What is wrong with me?I tear my gaze away, turning so that I’m not looking at him as I run through my own stretching routine. When we’re both limbered up, we start off down the path at a slow jog that will shortly turn into a run.

“You should try to enjoy yourself,” Sebastian says as he jogs easily alongside me, making it clear that any worries I had about him being too tired were misplaced. “This is probably the last big party like this. It might seem overblown and chaotic right now, but your father isn’t going to be throwing big galas for your twenty-second or twenty-third birthdays, and so on.”

“Until I get engaged. That’ll be a big blowout. And my wedding.” Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Sebastian flinch. I glance at him, worried he might have tripped on a rockor something, but he seems fine. He’s keeping pace with me as easily as ever. Actually—I frown. It seems like he’s slowing himself down to stay next to me. Like he could take off ifIweren’t holding him back.

A bit of my competitive nature takes over, and I speed up a little sooner than I’d meant to. Just as I’d thought, Sebastian matches my pace easily, making it seem effortless.

“Do you ever get tired?” I demand, and Sebastian chuckles.

“I told you I could go as long as you need me to, princess.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I can feel my ponytail starting to cling to the back of my neck, more strands of it sticking to my skin every time it bounces. “Seriously. I think you could lap me right now if you wanted to.”

He shrugs. “That’s not my job.”

I almost shoot back a retort, but I bite my tongue. I know I’m prickly today because of the party, and I don’t want to bicker with Sebastian. Aside from my brother—and as sad as it probably is—he’s my closest friend.

But then again, we’ve spent so much time together over the past three years. He’s seen all of my life, the ins and outs, all the things that happen day to day. I made some friends at college, but I’ve always felt like an outsider with them. I’ve lived all my life so far with more money and privilege than most of them will probably ever have. And it’s not like I can talk about being the younger child of a mafia don. That’s not exactly the sort of thing you bring up during the icebreaker in class… or ever, really.

My brother has always been my closest confidant, because he, too, lives with the pressures of being the child of a powerful mafia kingpin. As the heir, he has pressures even I don’t have to deal with. And Sebastian knows what this life is like. The highs and the lows, the good and the bad. He’s never judged me for being frustrated with it sometimes, even though I have so much money and luxury all around me.

“I think your pace is improving,” Sebastian comments as we round a corner and run through a stand of trees, getting a bit of welcome shade. The air is a bit cooler here, and I let out a sigh, brushing the damp hair away from my neck. “We’d have to time you, but I think we made it here faster than last time.”

“Doesn’t really matter if I can’t enter a race.” I shrug, trying not to sound as bitter about it as I feel. I’d broached the idea with my father of starting to train for a half-marathon and then a marathon, but he’d said it was too dangerous, being out in the open around so many other people all on my own. Too much of a chance for someone to take a shot at me, or enter the race just to grab me.

I think he just doesn’t want me mixing with the riff-raff. He doesn’t see any value in trying to interact with the things ordinary people do. He likes being on his metaphorical golden throne, overseeing Manhattan like a king. I know he sees himself as above the other bosses, Dimitri Yashkov and Rowan Gallagher. And maybe he is. From what little my brother Luis has told me about the family business, the Italian mafia holds the most territory and the most wealth in New York out of the three crime families.

My family is the closest thing that there is to royalty here in New York—albeit criminal royalty. But if there ever was a king, a prince, and a princess, it would be my father, my brother, and me.

At least here in this state. There are plenty of other mafia families as close as Boston or Chicago, and I’m sure a lot of them think just as highly of themselves.

“We should probably loop back,” Sebastian says, glancing at his watch as we come out of the stand of trees. “It’s past breakfast now. If you’re not careful, with all that chaos going on, they’ll forget all about bringing you something.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” I laugh, but I veer back toward the mansion anyway, taking the fork in the path that will lead us on a shorter route back. Part of me would rather have a shower first, after how hot the run was, but I’m starving.

We come in through the back entrance to find the noise in the kitchen somewhat quieted down. The cook and the other staff barely glance at us—they’re so busy working on the menu for tonight. I think I catch a glimpse of some kind of birds being taken out of brine, and I wonder what exactly the housekeeper came up with for a party menu. My father definitely wouldn’t have had a hand in it, and no one asked me.

Yet another reason why it doesn’t really feel likemyparty. More like a Gallo event, where I’m expected to be in attendance.

“I’m going to go up and shower and change,” Sebastian says, glancing at me. “While you eat. I’ll come find you later, princess.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I shove playfully at his arm, and I could swear that for just a moment, I feel the muscle flex and stiffen under my touch. The hair on my arm prickles, like an answering charge to a static jolt. “No one is going to slip in and carry me off while I have breakfast and putter around doing whatever I feel like this morning. Take all the time you need.”

“I like keeping you in my sight.” Sebastian looks at me for a moment, and I feel that prickle again, down the back of my neck and sweeping down my spine in a burst of warmth. “It’s what your father pays me to do, after all.”

The warmth dissipates. I hate being reminded that he’s here because it’s a job, and because he gets a paycheck. It feels like my best friend is someone my father bought and paid for. I know it’s irrational, that Sebastian’s feelings for me run deeper than that, just as mine do for him. But still… I hate it.

“I’ll see you later,” I say casually, veering off into the dining room. Moments after I sit down, a maid sweeps into the roomwith a tray that has a glass of orange juice, another one of water, and a cup of coffee that I already know will be made exactly how I like it—cold with a generous splash of white mocha raspberry creamer.

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