Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

THOMAS

I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I got the call from Mary Quinn’s assistant inviting me to her home for tea. The assistant informed me that Mrs. Astrid would like to discuss how the Astrid family could further contribute to the winter programs held at the church.

It made perfect sense that was the excuse she would use.

Between Mary Quinn’s currently slightly bruised reputation and my new assignment at the church of the New York elite, the call should have come moments after I stepped off the plane. But Mary Quinn, ever the strategist, wanted to make it seem like she didn’t need me. Or, better yet, that she would pretend that she had only just heard through the grapevine—and not her spies—who the new priest was, and she felt the need to reach out and offer a helping hand.

I couldn’t wait to take that hand and use it to drag her through hell and back again.

There was no doubt in my mind that Mary Quinn wanted a look at me, to bask in what she thought was a personal triumph. Her ruin would be all the sweeter for it.

Or maybe she really wanted to help. Not for altruistic purposes, of course, but I had heard from other priests and the maids employed at my father’s house that Mary Quinn’s reputation had taken almost as much of a beating as her ego.

Things started falling apart publicly for her a few years back. One daughter leaving her fiancé at the altar to marry another man was one thing. For that embarrassment, she could be forgiven—mostly because it provided entertainment and gossip.

But to then publicly announce the engagement of her son to a society woman, just to have him dump her and immediately marry a girl who came from nothing?

Worse than that, he snubbed that socialite for his paralegal. Which, in the minds of other society women, might as well have been Harrison Astrid publicly marrying his secretary and thereby implying that it was acceptable for their husbands to leave them for the tarts that blew their husbands for “stress relief” at work.

No, that could not be tolerated.

Then for them to find out in a press release from that very same man that the indignity came from a bastard. Again, insinuating that their husbands’ bastards should be claimed and the legitimacy of their legitimate children tested. After all, if an upstanding woman like Mary Quinn could cuckold her husband and pass off another man’s child, who was to say she was the only one?

Mary Quinn’s actions, and the actions of her children, made them look bad. That would not be tolerated.

Any other woman would have been destroyed, and Mary Quinn should have been. So, really, I was just setting everything right with the world.

Ever in love with her power games, Mary Quinn tried to send her car, but I took my own, wanting to make sure that I left on my terms, not hers. I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of bullshit Mary Quinn was about to pull, but I knew to expect anything.

My driver pulled up to the estate, and I looked out the window at the multi-million-dollar address. I had been here before, of course, usually tagging along with my brother when he came to hang out with Harrison, but it had been years. I had forgotten how little taste Mary Quinn really had.

Such a beautiful classic building, its appeal stunted by modern touches like the security camera on the gate and the big black digital call box. One would think with all that money, she would at least hire the right people to add modern security features but install them to blend with the building, or at least appear a little less obvious. Maybe she just didn’t understand that a home had to be more than expensive and old to be stylish.

The added tacky features ruined it. It felt empty and cold.

However, I had to admit there was the chance that maybe that was what she was going for. Maybe she told the designer to make it look like her, expensive but tacky. Old but full of modern features that just didn’t quite fit. For the house it was the new cameras. For Mary Quinn, it was the new nose.

Or maybe my time in Rome had given me a different appreciation for what was and wasn’t art. There was no greater show of majesty, taste, and opulence than the Catholic Church. After living in the Vatican for so long, everything modern just felt dead.

As I walked up to the door, the excitement almost had me vibrating with anticipation. I thought being back here, ready to face the beast, would fill me with anger or dread. But I was almost drunk with a wild nervous energy.

My plan would work. I was going to play the game with more skill than she knew was possible and I was going to destroy her. She spent the last several years living like a queen ruling over her petite kingdom, a benevolent ruler to her friends and an overbearing tyrant to everyone else. Whereas I spent the last several years in Italy, learning from the true masters of the game.

The maid greeted me at the door, and the poor girl looked like she was shaking. Jesus, what kind of PTSD-inducing trauma did Mary Quinn put these poor girls through?

The butler was immediately behind her and shooed her off to go do God only knew what, while he led me to wherever Mary Quinn was. My first guess would have been a bathtub somewhere in the basement, soaking in the blood of young girls, trying to recapture her youth in vain.

I hoped she enjoyed it, because soon she wouldn’t be able to afford terrified maids or snobby butlers.

I was going to take what was left of her reputation first. Isolate her from those who could help her. Once she was truly alone, then I would do what no one else had the balls to do. I was going to deal with her once and for all and ensure she was no one else’s problem ever again. I was going to take her money. The true root of all power was money. Since the dawn of currency, he with the money had the influence. I was going to take it from her. Every single dime. She was going to be destitute.

When I was done with her, the only beauty treatments she should be able to afford would be an anti-aging cream from the local thrift store and a facelift by a surgeon’s intern, but only if she had a coupon.

Mary Quinn was going to pay for everything she had taken from me, and she was going to pay dearly. Then, just for fun, I was going to make her pay for everything she had done to my sisters and the frustration she put my brother through. Although I didn’t really know or particularly care about my sister-in-law, I had heard the stories of the things Mary Quinn had put Amelia through as well.

So, while I was at it, she could pay for that too.

I wanted to take in her home and the riches that she was going to lose, but as the butler led me through a no doubt roundabout way to get to wherever Mary Quinn was, to show off her wealth, my mind flipped to Rose.

Where was my little angel? Was I going to see her today? Would she say anything about what happened?

How did she explain her clothing to her mother when she got home yesterday? Had she found some way to sneak in and out of her home so Mary Quinn never saw her less-than-appropriate attire?

There were so many questions I wanted to ask my little angel, and I couldn’t wait to see how she answered. If she answered. Would she be as shy and timid as yesterday? Or would the shock of her attack have worn off, and she had regained her bite? Would her cheeks glow with a fresh blush as she remembered how I touched her and how I made her body tremble in ecstasy?

Finally, we got to the conservatory which, as I thought, was just down one hall from the door. We could have taken a much more direct route. It was all part of her little mind games, to let people gawk at her little trinkets and collection of tacky art to show her wealth.

It was predictable and boring. I was a little disappointed.

Mary Quinn was seated on a ridiculously large, regal-looking chair in the center of the room. Ever the focal point, she sat like a queen.

There were couches and other chairs, but they all sat much lower. This narcissistic bitch had set up the room the way a man with a small dick would set up his office. With him sitting at least four to five inches above everyone else to make it seem like he was in a position of power.

She may look like a queen on the throne, but her asinine and obvious tactics spoke more of a woman who was losing her influence and knew it.

“Ma’am, Father Thomas Manwarring has arrived,” the butler said in a fake British accent, and I had to stop from rolling my eyes, because of course he did.

Mary Quinn lifted her teacup to her mouth, taking a slow sip to give herself a moment to take me in before properly greeting me. I tried not to roll my eyes, instead keeping my features perfectly still. That was how this game was played. I was not about to show my hand early.

“Thomas, dear,” she said, her mouth dripping with nothing but sugar. No, not sugar—God knew that had too many calories. Probably Splenda. Or monk fruit? Whatever the chosen artificial sweetener of the month for these rich society women was.

“It’s Father Manwarring,” I said calmly as I took a step inside the bright room.

Another maid, much younger and far prettier, came out of nowhere to pour my cup of tea. I wondered if this poor child would be the next victim of Mary Quinn’s “youth treatment.”

“Oh, but we go back so far. Our families have been close for so long that we’re even related by marriage now. Surely I can still call you Thomas.”

“It’s Father Manwarring,” I repeated, with a smile. “Speaking of our families, have you met my father’s new bride?”

“I have. It’s such a tragedy what happened to her family, and so suddenly. It makes one wonder why they appointed a guardian for their grown daughter, and then for that guardian to suddenly marry her when she’s so young and in a fragile state. And with such a large inheritance.”

“Well, who’s to say.” I shrugged. “The heart wants what the heart wants, and apparently my father’s heart wanted that young, beautiful, still-fertile woman.”

My barb couldn’t have hit more dead center if I aimed it with a bow. Her fake smile that was always plastered on her face fell just a little for a moment, no small feat considering the amount of Botox that was regularly pumped into her face.

“Yes, well. Won’t you have a seat?” she asked, motioning to the lowest of the couches.

“Thank you, you are too kind,” I said, taking a seat, not really minding the lower cushion since I was already so much taller than her.

Sitting on the unforgiving couch was uncomfortable but was made all the sweeter when her smile faltered again, seeing that even with her higher chair, we were still eye to eye.

Why did people who pulled these stupid power moves never actually consider the person they were pulling them against? She may not have seen me in nearly a decade, but I was still my father’s son. Did she think that my height would top out at a measly 5’10”?

“So I hear you’re back in New York for a long visit, or is this a permanent position?”

“As always, I wait for God’s divine messages to tell me where I’m needed, but I am in New York for the foreseeable future.”

“What brought you back to the city?”

“Assignment,” I said, picking up my teacup like I was actually going to take a sip of this vile liquid.

Then I leaned forward like I had a secret, and of course Mary Quinn leaned forward as well, hanging on my every word. “From what I hear, the cardinal of the area is worried about certain members of his church having gone astray. He had the idea of bringing in a priest who knew the area, the congregation, and all their dirty little secrets. He felt I might be better able to relate and find out why so many of his flock seemed more hung up on the constant indiscretions coming from certain houses than they are on the word of God.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I have heard rumors of the Dubois family having some skeletons in their closet that they should atone for.”

“Yes, I believe many, many families have skeletons they would like to rid themselves of. Perhaps it is the Duboises. The cardinal didn’t name names to me, but he did mention a specific family getting into bed with the Irish mafia to kidnap a young girl. Apparently, that same family was involved in some sordid tale of taking advantage of a young man in crisis. Instead of leading him into the Lord’s light, they manipulated him into almost destroying another family’s business and then kidnapping their oldest daughter. Can you believe the scandal?”

“No, I can’t.” She sat back, her lips turning down enough that there was almost a wrinkle showing through the plastic surgery.

“Oh yes, it is quite the scandal. There are other things, of course; broken vows, children that are products of adultery, allegations of a particular woman — I don’t know who, of course—actually trying to manipulate stock trades by servicing heads of the companies. Apparently, she likes to do it under their desks while they speak to their wives on the telephone. The worst part is, the cardinal wasn’t relaying information that he had heard in the sacred confines of confession— he would never. These are things he’s hearing whispered in the pews of the church.”

“Oh, that is quite scandalous,” she said, her face turning a little pale.

“I know. It’s a complete mess. I mean, for one sheep to go astray and be led by the devil himself, well, as tragic as that is, it happens. The cardinal wasn’t even surprised at the actions of this woman. After the rumors of her beating her staff and even coercing them to have intercourse with her, it’s truly shameful, but it happens. What’s worse is that the entire congregation feels the need to speak out of turn against this poor soul instead of helping them come back to the light.”

The cardinal, of course, said absolutely none of this to me. He wouldn’t. That decrepit old man did not know what was going on in congregations around New York. I knew this because I was still a Manwarring, and the first skill we were taught was how much money to put into the right hands.

I was sure I had more dirt on Mary Quinn than even my father did.

“You’re right, that is terrible. I will correct those wagging tongues and send them to the confessional should I hear it.”

“That is so comforting to hear. After all, you are such a leader in this community. I know so many families look up to you. The pressure to never let them down must be... excruciating.”

“It can be.” She smiled. “Much like I’d imagine being the black sheep of the family would be.”

“I would hardly call myself the black sheep of the family. I may not have gone into trading stocks or running the family business, and my work with the church may have taken me from home for quite a while. But I am back now, and I intend to reconnect with my family, and make sure that I am in touch with my roots and be a beacon for the community that I left behind. I mean, I left a scared teenage boy, not sure what I wanted to do with my life. But I have returned a man who has found his mission.” I left the unsaid threat hanging, but the slight wrinkles forming around her eyes told me she picked up on it. Or maybe she just had a gut feeling there was more to what I was saying.

“Yes, since you brought up when you left, I wanted to make sure that our little misunderstanding in the past is just that. In the past. I would hate for rumors of misconstrued deeds to resurface. Such altercations should be left in the past, don’t you agree?”