by Pam Crooks
“We’re hoping you can help us with some information,” Creed said.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of information?”
“We must find the Sokolovs,” Gina said.
“Nikolai? Alex?”
Creed nodded. “They’ve got some explaining to do.”
Sebastian’s expression turned guarded. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
Frustration snapped inside her.
“The fire!” she said. “Nikolai is responsible.”
“I cannot say that for sure,” he hedged.
“What?” It was all Gina could do to keep from throttling him. “You see him with his cigarettes. You see him smoke them. You know he is angry at Mr. Silverstein. He starts the fire, Sebastian. You know that he did!”
“He needs to be held accountable,” Creed said in a hard voice.
From the time she’d met him, Sebastian had been her friend. Charming, flirtatious, fun. But always, he was cautious, avoiding trouble. Why couldn’t he be a little more fearless?
“Think of what he does,” she said, impatient that she must explain everything to him. “Do you forget you barely escaped the fire with your life, like the rest of us?”
His nostrils flared. “I do not forget.”
“He’s an anarchist, isn’t he?” Creed demanded.
Sebastian’s eyes darted to Gina. Her chin lifted. She didn’t feel guilty for revealing the information or that Creed knew it was Sebastian who’d told her.
“Yes,” he admitted finally.
“Where does he hold his meetings?”
“They are secret. Nikolai will be angry if I told you.”
“He’ll never find out from me that you did.”
Still, Sebastian hesitated.
“You want him to hurt more people?” Creed demanded.
“No, no.” He shifted uneasily. “The meeting was supposed to be held last night, but with the fire—he will have one tonight instead.”
“Tonight.” A muscle moved in Creed’s jaw. “Where?”
“There is an abandoned warehouse outside of town. The old Swanson place on First Street. Nine o’clock.”
Creed nodded. “Good.”
“You know this because he asks you again to come to the meeting?” Gina asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you decide to go?”
He appeared offended that she asked. “After what he has done, no. I have already told him I would not be there.” He hesitated. “Stay away from him, Gina. He is a dangerous man.”
“Yes.” More than she ever suspected.
“I do not like the way he looks at you.”
Many times, she’d noticed him staring but until now, she hadn’t given it much thought. She shivered. “I do not think he comes back to Premier.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Creed muttered.
Sebastian centered a cold glare on him. “And what makes you think he will listen to anything you have to say?”
Creed matched the glare with a hard one of his own. “I’ve made it a habit to rid the world of vermin like them.”
His dark eyebrow arched mockingly. “Oh, you have?”
“And I’ve got a strong appreciation for the freedoms in America. The Sokolovs are a threat to them that must be stopped.”
Sebastian seemed to recognize the truth in Creed’s words and could find no argument for them. He retreated and reached for Gina’s arm.
“Come. I will take you home,” he said.
“She’s not ready to go back,” Creed said.
Again, the glares came between them.
“She is in mourning for the loss of her mother. She should not be in public like this,” Sebastian said.
“I do not mourn!” Gina grated. “Not yet.”
His expression turned imploring. “You should go home and wait for word from the authorities. They will not be able to find you if you are out on the streets.”
She understood he had her best interests in mind, yet the thought of returning to her empty apartment with nothing to do but worry was more than she could bear. She laid her palm against his cheek. “When it is time for me to go to the apartment, then I go.”
His glance flickered toward Creed, and hurt shadowed his handsome face.
“He is a stranger,” Sebastian said, as if Creed was not standing there, just a foot or two away. “You have only just met him.”
“But I am safe with him.” She couldn’t explain the feeling of certainty, yet it was there, deep inside her, like it had been last night, after the fire. “You must not worry for me.”
“How can I not?”
“We have a few errands to run first, that’s all,” Creed said quietly. “I’ll make sure she gets home. You have my word on it.”
Again, their gazes locked, but this time, there were no glares. Finally, Sebastian nodded in resignation, then pressed a kiss into her palm. “If you hear anything about Louisa, you must promise to send word. I will do the same.”
“I promise,” Gina said. “Grazie, Sebastian.”
He took a step back, his glance flitting over Creed one last time before he turned and walked away.
Her heart squeezed. Sebastian had always made his attraction for her obvious. He was very flattering, and she couldn’t deny she enjoyed his attentions. But was she in love with him? Had she ever been? More confusing, had being with Creed ruined the relationship she and Sebastian once shared?
“Are you doing okay?” Creed asked, guiding her away from the infirmary and down the sidewalk toward his horse, hitched just across the street.
“I am not sure,” she murmured, truthful.
Nikolai Sokolov was responsible for tearing her neatly arranged life apart. Because of him, her future had never been so bleak. She didn’t know what would become of her treasured dream of one day having her own dress shop. Or her job, and oh, Mama—
“Watch out!” Creed barked.
Her thoughts scattered. He snatched her arm and jerked her back to the sidewalk when she would have stepped absently off the curb toward his tethered palomino.
The frantic clang of the bell on a flat-topped ambulance warned of its approach as it careened around the corner, narrowly missing them. The horses thundered past in a cloud of dust, their haste driven by the urgent needs of the patient they transported.
Gina pressed a hand to her breast in reaction. She would have to be more careful! If Creed hadn’t been with her, she would’ve been trampled and in need of the infirmary herself.
More observant this time, she checked both sides of the street before leaving the sidewalk. Deeming it safe, Creed beckoned her forward in his low voice, his hand clamped firmly on her elbow. As they crossed, her gaze lifted to the tall Premier Shirtwaist Company factory building, several blocks down, the scorched roof towering over the others around it.
Deeply, she had prayed to the Madonna to help her seek revenge against the Sokolov brothers. Now, knowing they’d be at their anarchist meeting tonight, perhaps her prayers would be answered, and she would find a way to make them pay for all they had done.
Nikolai did not know the man she was with.
He did not wear the drab clothes of the common laborer at Premier. Nikolai might have recognized him if he had. This one was different. American, not of the city, and he carried the air of the world about him. Tall, proud. He walked with confidence, a man with money to spend, power to flaunt.
A man of authority.
Nikolai’s lip curled in contempt.
The kind of man he had grown to despise.
It had been the ambulance speeding by that yanked his attention from the fragrant Kulich he just bought, the bread still warm from the bakery’s ovens. Only after the vehicle raced by did he see them at the curb.
He moved backward, deeper into the doorway. He had not expected to see Gina Briganti this morning, and her beauty reached out to him, even with the street and half a block separating them. The olive skin, the bla
ck eyes, so different from the fair-skinned women of his native Russia, haunted him. The memory of her voice, too, intriguing with its Italian accent, soft, filled with spirit, with passion.
Many times, he had lusted for her. Seeing her now, he lusted again.
But she knew too much about him, that it was his lit cigarette which started the fire in the scrap bin on the eighth floor of the factory. She would not understand why he had to do it. She would think it was wrong. She would be righteous, angry, and tell the police what she knew.
Maybe she already had.
They would find him and put him in their filthy jails. Forbid him from doing his work against the injustices of society. They would not understand the need which always burned inside him—to destroy the authority found in all levels of the American government and free the laborer from organized hypocrisies.
Nikolai had no regrets about what he had done or the lives he had cost. Abraham Silverstein fired Alex for the flimsy reason of poor workmanship. He did not care that Alex was young and did not yet have the skills Nikolai possessed. Silverstein thought only of the money he saved from not paying the wages Alex had rightfully earned. Nothing else.
Silverstein had to be punished. His greed and tyranny against all the employees at his factory had to be stopped. Burning his factory was only the first step of Nikolai’s scheme for revolt in America.
The bakery door opened, and Alex stepped out, a small loaf of the Kulich in his slender hand. He was only fifteen, not yet a man. But he had Nikolai to take care of him. There was no one else.
They were raised in Russian poverty, deprived of affection throughout their lives. Nikolai had grown to crave the love Alex unabashedly gave him. The admiration.
The trust.
Alex had been born frail, their mother often too drunk, too depressed, to care for him, their father abusive and cold. Many years, Nikolai planned their escape. When the time was right, when he managed to scrape together enough money for their passage, he took Alex and left for America.
Alex almost died on the long, arduous journey. If not for Nikolai’s devotion, he would have. But they were here now, in California. Together, they had survived.
And they would triumph.
“She works at Premier,” Alex said, his blue gaze on the couple, like Nikolai’s had been. “I remember her.”
His thoughts returned to Gina and the man she was with. “Yes.”
“She came down to the eighth floor to talk to your friend Sebastian.”
Nikolai nodded in approval as the couple stopped next to a horse, a fine-blooded palomino. “It is good you remember so many details, Alex. You must always be aware of what is happening around you.”
Gina said something, and the American lifted his broad shoulder in an easy shrug. He untied the reins, but neither of them climbed into the saddle.
“Do you think she knows?” Alex asked in a hushed voice.
She began walking with him, the horse trailing behind. They appeared in no hurry, as if they had the whole day to stroll together.
“Yes. She knows.”
Alex said nothing, and Nikolai dragged his gaze toward him. Sunlight glinted on the blond hair hanging long and shaggy beneath his woolen cap. Crumbs from the Kulich had gathered on one side of his mouth. Pale fuzz grew above his lip, the moustache he struggled to grow, a sign of the man he tried to be.
“What are we going to do, Nikolai?” he asked.
His worry moved Nikolai, as it never failed to do.
“I will take care of her.”
“So she will not go to the police?”
He refrained from explaining she may have already done so. Possibly last night, after the fire, when the police were everywhere. Maybe she told the American, too.
“So many questions, Alex.” He gave him a gentle nudge on his shoulder, thin even through his coat. “Eat your bread, and you will be strong.”
“Like you?” he asked with a grin, tearing off a chunk and stuffing it into his mouth.
“Like me.” Nikolai thought of the bulk on his six-foot frame, how Alex would never match it, no matter how much bread he ate. “I am strong for both of us.”
Alex made a sound of agreement around the food he chewed, his worry clearly gone, his trust in Nikolai absolute. His attention strayed from Gina to a pair of noisy starlings feeding on an apple core carelessly thrown into the gutter.
The sight struck Nikolai. So much like himself and Alex, the little birds. The lowest of laborers, they lived without respect, hungry and dirty, always the pests of society.
Bitterness roiled through him, and his gaze found Gina and the American again, now farther down the street. He took a bite of his Kulich, savored the taste of its nuts and raisins, the butter on the crust.
She knew of his guilt in setting the fire. She had no proof, no evidence, but with the American’s help, she could destroy his dream of freeing the oppressed laborer, the work he had only just begun.
Nikolai knew it, deep in his gut.
The beautiful Gina Briganti must be stopped before she did.
Chapter Ten
“You should not buy me the horse,” Gina said with a frown. “It is—how you say?—too extravagant.”
She remained seated in the saddle beside him, though they’d finished with their errands for the day and had returned home to the tenements. The hitching posts were right in front of them.
A corner of Creed’s mouth lifted. It was as if she was afraid the big bay would disappear if she got down and went inside.
“I only rented him for you,” he reminded her for the dozenth time. “He’s yours to use for as long as you need him. When you’re done, we’ll take him back to the livery. It’s that simple.”
“But he is expensive to rent.”
“The liveryman gave me a good price.”
“You should not spend your money on me.”
“I wanted to.” He guessed it’d been awhile since anyone had given her anything. A damn shame it was, too. He swung his leg over the cantle, dropped to the ground. “Now let’s go inside.”
She bit her lip and didn’t move. Easy to tell it went against everything she stood for to keep the mount.
With a mix of amusement and exasperation, he set his hands on his hips. “Look. You can’t walk everywhere. Los Angeles is too big a city. Until things settle down for you about your mother and all, it’s just easier to have a horse.”
She sighed. “Yes. Maybe.”
“No maybes about it.”
After eyeing him dubiously, she finally dismounted and faced him, her gaze no higher than his shirt button. That pride of hers, making it hard to accept his gift.
“I am happy to have the horse. Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he responded drily, thinking of Graham’s fancy runabout. What would she have done if he’d rented one of those instead?
A quick glance at the sky from beneath the brim of his new Stetson showed dusk would be settling in soon. He gauged the number of hours he had left before the Sokolovs’ meeting started. He intended to be there. It would be the first step in setting up the brothers’ arrest.
He had time to eat with her before he left, and the prospect appealed to him. He untied the smallest of the bags of groceries from his saddle and handed it to her.
She clutched the bag to her chest and lifted her chin. “There is no reason for you to stay.”
He regarded her. “You shouldn’t be alone yet.”
“I have food. Now, a horse. I am fine.”
His inspection caught the fatigue in her expression, the worry and grief in her eyes.
“Do I have to go through this with you all over again?” he demanded in a low voice.
“Maybe your family waits for you. Maybe your job. I think you do not have so much time to spend with me.”
Family? Creed forced back a smirk. Pa and Markie didn’t need him. Mary Catherine sure as hell didn’t, either. No one needed him, except Graham, maybe, and he didn’t c
ount.
“I’m all yours, honey,” he drawled. “For as long as it takes.”
She seemed uncertain at what he might mean, and her mouth opened to protest. Then, as if she thought better of it, it closed again.
“Many times, you tell me this. You try hard to make me believe you.” She sighed. “So I do, a little bit.” She eyed the heavier bag of groceries he held in the crook of his arm. “We have a feast tonight, then, eh?” She settled her bag on her hip and headed toward the front door of the tenement. “You cook breakfast this morning. I do the supper. You like orecchiette with sausage? Or I make the veal cutlets and roasted peppers.”
He held the door open, and she went through. She knew how to make a man’s belly gurgle in anticipation for sure. How long had it been since he’d had a full-course home-cooked meal?
“Doesn’t matter to me. Just slide it hot under my nose, woman, and I’ll eat it,” he said. “You won’t have to tell me twice.”
Gina tossed him an amused smile over her shoulder. The rarity of it struck him, the way it showed the whiteness of her teeth and all but transformed her face. He wondered what it’d be like to hear her laugh out loud or to see her completely relaxed and happy.
Would he ever?
Thoughtful, he joined her in the center hall. The passageway was deserted, the apartments on the front side of the building quiet. Must be the time of day when folks were gone or getting ready to settle in for the night. Either way, he couldn’t see himself living in a crowded place like this—ever. Didn’t matter how desperate he got to have a roof over his head.
From inside one of the apartments, someone pushed their door closed, and the scrape of the latch reached them in the stairwell. Gina paused on the step.
“Mrs. Sortino,” she whispered with an annoyed roll of her eyes. “Always, she watches.”
“The old buzzard doesn’t have anything better to do?” he whispered back.
“I do not think so. She knows everything about everyone.”
How could Gina stand it? His jaw clenched with some pretty strong annoyance of his own.
On the third floor, Gina halted outside her rooms and fished the key out of her coat pocket. But before she inserted the metal in the lock, she froze.
