My great grandparents, James and Josephine Arnone, were married on December 4, 1915. My New York historical romance, FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, has been released with The Wild Rose Press, and my heroine Vita is based on her--a woman way ahead of her time. She left grade school to become a successful real estate investor as she married and raised 4 children.
FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET is Book One of the New York Saga.
It's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and
Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different
upbringings. Vita goes from sweatshop laborer to respected bank clerk to
reformer, helping elect a mayor to beat the Tammany machine. While Tom
works undercover to help Ted Roosevelt purge police corruption, Vita's
father arranges a marriage between her and a man she despises. When
Tom’s cousin is murdered, Vita’s father and brother languish in jail,
charged with the crime. Can Vita and Tom’s love survive poverty, hatred,
On her way up the stairs, she
glanced down the hall and noticed the closed parlor door. Maybe one of
the other boarders was in there with a beau. She smiled in the dark. Let
them enjoy themselves. All the girls here had beaux, and they needed
privacy without chaperones breathing down their necks during every stage
As she gathered her soap and towel, Madame Branchard tapped on her door. “You have a gentleman caller, Vita. A policeman.”
“Tom?” His name lingered on her lips as she repeated it. She dropped her things and crossed the room.
“No, hon, not him. Another policeman. Theodore something, I think he said.”
There can’t be anything wrong. “Thanks,” she whispered, gently nudging
Madame Branchard aside. She descended the steps, gripping the banister
to support her wobbly legs. Stay calm! she warned herself. But of course
it was no use; staying calm just wasn’t her nature.
something” stood before the closed parlor door. He’s a policeman?
Curious, she looked him up and down. Tall and hefty, a bold pink shirt
peeking out of a buttoned waistcoat and fitted jacket, he looked way out
of place against the dainty patterned wallpaper.
He removed his hat. “Miss Caputo.” He strained to keep his voice soft as he held out a piece of paper.
“Yes?” Her voice shook.
“I’m Theodore Roosevelt. I have a summons for you, Miss Caputo.” He held it out to her. But she stood rooted to that spot.
He stepped closer, and she took it from him, unfolding it with icy
fingers. Why would she be served with a summons? Was someone arresting
her now for something she didn’t do?
A shot of anger tore through
her at this system, at everything she wanted to change. It eclipsed her
fear, made her blood boil. She flipped it open and saw the word
“Summons” in fancy script at the top. Her eyes widened with each
sentence as she read. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
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