Page 51 of Sinfully His

Still, she ranted and raved, claiming that I had clearly brought shame upon the family. That I was just as much of a disappointment as my siblings, and that I would regret whatever I had done.

Her threats were short-lived.

That afternoon, she had gone to the bank for items in her safe deposit box. When she got home, her hair was wild, her face showing more emotion than I thought was physically possible given the Botox injections that she’d had over the years. She was enraged—screaming and ranting that whoever had stolen from her, whoever had emptied her safe deposit box, was a dead man.

Wanting to avoid her war path, I locked myself in my room and stayed there. I considered for a moment calling Father Manwarring, telling him that Mother had lost her mind, and I needed somewhere safe to hide out so she couldn’t hurt me again.

Then I remembered I told him about the safe deposit box.

It had to have been him.

The timing was too coincidental. That made me think about Raul again. He died the day after I told Father Manwarring about him. He questioned Raul the very night he died.

At first, I thought maybe Father Manwarring killed him, but I completely disregarded that option. Sure that it was sacrilege to think such things of a man of the cloth. I assumed maybe Raul realized I was going to learn his secrets, or he thought maybe I would tell about him and my mother, so he committed suicide.

Tragic, but not murder.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I needed to know.

We had a bit of time before mass started, and Mother was unsuccessfully trying to talk to people and getting mostly cold shoulders while Dad was happily chatting with some of his business associates, having absolutely no idea anything was going on. Mother kept shooting me dirty looks, still convinced that whatever had happened was all my fault. I needed to know if it was or not.

I needed answers.

Father Manwarring was standing off to the side speaking to a few members of the congregation, so I walked over to him, stopping just far enough away to keep a respectful distance, but close enough that he knew I was waiting for him.

It only took him a moment to make his excuses and come over to me.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“Did she hit you again?”

“No, but I would like to talk to you in private, if I may?”

“Of course.” He kept his tone professional and polite, and then made small talk as he led me to a small room in the back of the church. It was a walk-in storage closet really, but for what we needed to speak about it was perfect.

“How could you?” I asked.

“How could I what?” He crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow at me. I hated when he looked at me like that. It somehow made his eyes brighter, causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach.

Fuck the butterflies. I needed answers.

“You are a priest. How could you do that? How could you lie, steal, and kill?”

“What lies am I telling? What have I stolen? And who did I kill?”

“I know you stole from my mother’s safe deposit box. No one else knew about it. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that I tell you about it and suddenly it’s emptied. And what about Raul? I know you killed him.”

He smirked. He actually smirked at me; he wasn’t denying it.

“Okay, so that covers what you think I stole, and who I supposedly killed. What lies do you think I have told?”

“Whatever you said that got Mother kicked off of every single board she served on.” I threw my hands up in annoyance, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I did not tell a single lie. I merely suggested that she was not fit to lead the community, and the board members took it from there. Your mother might just be the most hated woman in all of New York City, if not the state. She has scratched and climbed her way to the top, and do you know what they don’t tell you about being at the top?”

“The only place to go is down?” I asked, confused, because everybody said that.

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