Who Is The Author Of Raging Bull: My Story?

"Do I make you wet, Catherine?" ******* She was the girl he never forget and he was the boy she couldn't remember. Catherine Meyer's life has been that of mystery, she couldn't remember anything from her childhood except for the ones she was told. At seventeen she was already living with an uncle she doesn't remember, when her uncle was transferred to New York she had to start at a new school. Her first day in Riverside High School was something she would always remember: She was claimed by a boy she doesn't even know, worst past is... She was attracted to him immediately she saw him.

Dalia is in a dire need of money. To prevent being kicked out and living on the streets, she responds to an ad promising one million dollars. The only requirement? The applicant must be a fertile woman. Though Dalia is cunning and intelligent, she never thought she would fall for the man behind the ad. But is he even capable of loving her back?

On my eighteenth birthday, the boy I'd secretly loved for years kissed me first. After a night of passion, I traced the marks on my skin and thought it was all a dream. I was ready to make it official. But the next day, my nude photos were plastered across the entire school. When I confronted him, Damien Ashford laughed with bloodshot eyes: "Blame your mother. If she hadn't turned a blind eye while those girls destroyed Rosalie, Rosalie would never have killed herself." "Now let's see — when her own daughter becomes the school whore, will she still just sit back and watch?" That was the moment I understood. Every tender word from the night before had been a weapon. In the end, my mother slapped me hard across the face and dragged me away. Years later, we met again. He had become the Don — the most powerful man in the underworld. And I was a dealer in his brand-new casino. He offered me up like a chip for other men's amusement, then claimed me himself after the game — the winner taking his prize. I didn't resist. Didn't struggle. Obedient as a puppet. But he froze. His eyes locked onto the stretch mark across my stomach.

Valeria Romano was nineteen when her father was murdered. For five years she trained, sacrificed and bled ... building her entire life around one name. Lorenzo De Luca. The mafia king she believed gave the order. When she finally gets her shot at him, he doesn't run. He sits her down and shows her a photograph. The man responsible for her father's death was never Lorenzo. It was her uncle Marco. The man who handed her the wrong name the morning after the murder and watched her chase the wrong target for five years while he rebuilt his empire on her father's grave. Lorenzo proposes a contract marriage ... a strategic alliance that puts them both inside striking distance of Marco before he buries the truth permanently. Valeria agrees. Not because she trusts him. Because Marco Romano just became her real target. What follows is a race against a closing window. Spies inside the estate. A bought witness. A dead man who turns out to be very much alive. Two people who came together as enemies slowly building something neither of them has a name for. And a summit where Valeria must stand before the five ruling families with five years of truth ... and finally make it count. Marco goes to a cell. The war ends. But war leaves marks. The real question driving this story is never whether Valeria can destroy the man who killed her father. It is whether she can survive who she became in the process ... and whether the man she married to win a war is the same man worth staying for when it is over. Some revenge stories end with justice. This one is just getting started.

Ten years of marriage, and my husband slid the divorce papers across his mahogany desk. "You contributed nothing to this family. Under the prenup, you walk away with nothing." "Consider this a courtesy. Ten thousand a year. A hundred grand for a decade of your youth." "Don't even think about touching a cent of family money." I smiled and signed. I'm the kind of woman who's already died once. The next day, I took that hundred-thousand-dollar check and walked straight into the territory of his most dangerous enemy—Dominic Salucci. The man who controls half the East Coast underworld looked at me like I was inventory he hadn't ordered. "Why should I help you?" I leaned in close. "Because I know every decision Vincent Moretti is going to make for the next ten years. Every property. Every shipping route. And I know about the son he's hiding in Zurich." He studied me for a long moment. Then he smiled. "Interesting." What he doesn't know—what Vincent doesn't know—is that in my last life, men like them buried me without a second thought. This time, I'm going to watch every last one of them kneel.

On the night of our anniversary, I had prepared a new set of lingerie for my Mafia husband Joey, but he had prepared divorce papers for me instead. A Cuban cigar was clamped between his teeth, a look of pure entitlement on his face. "Adriana, we need to divorce. Vivian's father is a capo. If I marry her, my future's set." "Look, sweetheart, you're just a broken family's leftover daughter. You should be grateful I kept you around this long." "Once I have the family ring, maybe I'll throw you a few scraps, let you be my little side piece." Everyone expected the daughter of a fallen family to step aside for his ambition, to be the loyal dog I'd been for the past seven years. But that night, I made a deal with the devil. I accepted a match arranged by my family and married the true king of New York's underworld. I vanished from Joey's world completely. Three years later, I returned to New York on my husband's arm. We were there on family business. Dante was called away for something urgent, leaving me to wait for him at his private club. I never expected to run into Joey, the man I hadn't seen in three years. "That's enough, Adriana. Stop with the childish tantrums." "Our son Angelo's almost six. He needs care. I'm being generous, offering you a position as his nanny." I laughed. What was this idiot talking about? He was calling the most feared and revered Donna in all of New York a nanny?