Can I Read Once A Gun Runner...: The Efraim Diveroli Memoir Online For Free?

On the day I signed the divorce papers, I was ordered to leave with nothing. When I walked out of the Crane estate, I had twenty-six dollars in my wallet and nowhere safe to go. My phone was nearly dead when a message from an old classmate appeared on the screen, linking to a discreet placement notice. 【Seeking a live-in maternal figure for three children. Room, board, salary, and protection provided.】 I stopped at the word protection. A roof, a meal, and a place the Cranes could not reach me were already more than I had that night. The address led me to the iron gates of an old mansion on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Only after the butler opened the door did I learn who had placed the notice. Dante Bellandi. The Don of Chicago’s oldest Italian crime family. I had only wanted a place to stay. Somehow, I became the legal mother of the three Bellandi children and the contract wife of Dante Bellandi himself. Later, my ex-husband, Sebastian Crane, stood before me with the same careless arrogance and asked, “Do you realize you were wrong now?” Before I could answer, the triplets stepped in front of me. Little Livia clung to my leg, her eyes red. “My mom wasn’t wrong!” Her two brothers stood on either side of her, staring Sebastian down. Dante placed one hand at my waist, his voice calm enough to make the air turn cold. “Mr. Crane, my wife owes no explanation to a man who lost the right to speak to her.”

Antonio Rivera finally finds out that I haven't asked him for money in a week. For once, he sends me a text message to compliment me. "Darling, you've finally learned how to become a good Donna. I've had my men deliver this week's worth of miracle drugs to your mother's ward. As long as you remain docile and don't be greedy, I'll give you anything you want." What he doesn't know is that I'm printing out a divorce agreement when I receive his message while wearing an old dress from three years ago. No one will believe that I, the Donna of the Rivera family, have to ask Antonio's Consigliere, Elena Gallo, for money even when I need to buy myself some tampons. Hell, I have to apply for a leave request three days in advance if I wish to leave my home. Antonio keeps telling me that he's doing this to protect me. "It's too dangerous outside, sweetheart. All you have to do is stay at home like a good girl you are." But one week ago, Mom's illness took a turn for the worse. I begged Elena to skip the request and let me out of the villa. Elena, however, dragged out my request for seven long days. Only when Mom died did she finally permit me to leave. Miracle drugs? My mom is already dead. I'm no longer tolerating anyone or anything anymore.

Her father put him in prison, and she let him out. Italy’s most notorious criminal, Emilio Vitale, has criminal charges that are enough to put him in prison for life. That all changes when Chiara is given an assignment to interview him three years after her father puts him in jail. Things go south, and Emilio escapes from custody. Chiara thinks she will never see him again, but she can’t be more wrong. Emilio has other plans, and he is far from done with rocking Chiara’s boat and punishing her father by using her as a pawn. Somewhere along the way, they forget they are supposed to hate one another, and they break the laws of attraction. Their attraction is magnetic and impossible to ignore. Can these two weather storms find happiness where there isn’t any? In a world where it’s impossible for them to find love, they find each other. *** He backed me into a wall, putting his hand above my head to cage me in. “This isn’t original, Vitale. Stay away from me, or I will call the cops on you.” I threatened, ignoring how wildly my heart was beating against my chest. His scent was intoxicating and I hated how my body reacted to him. He used his free hand to brush a strand of my hair out of my face and leaned in like he was about to kiss me. Embarrassingly enough, I closed my eyes in anticipation. “Does that little boyfriend of yours get your body in a frenzy like I do? I bet he doesn’t let you cum.” He asked as he traced his fingers down my waist to my hips. “I bet I would have you screaming my name in seconds. Will you let me?”

"You have the hands of a goddess," he rasped, his blood staining my operating table. Even with three bullets in his chest, his grey eyes held nothing but command. He was Damian Volkov, the Bratva's heir, and I was the off-the-grid surgeon who just saved his life. "And you have a bill to pay," I told him, tying the final suture. His laugh was a dark, dangerous sound. "Oh, Doctor. I don't deal in cash." His hand closed around my wrist, not with force, but with the chilling certainty of ownership. "You belong to me now." He dragged me from the shadows of my clinic to his gilded cage high above the Vegas Strip. He thinks he's claimed a simple doctor. He has no idea I'm Evelyn Reed, daughter of a murdered senator, hiding secrets that could burn his entire world to the ground. He wants my submission. My skills. My body. But in this game of secrets and seduction, the most dangerous weapon isn't the gun in his hand. It's the scalpel in mine.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.

My best friend breaks down and accuses me of skimming family shipments, which cost us billions. Without hesitation, my fiance, Don Scarpa Falcone, points a gun at me. The bullet grazes my ear. He sends me to prison himself, then gets engaged to my best friend instead. Before I'm taken away, the family butler begs him, "You raised her yourself. She's your fiancee. You can't just ruin her life like this!" "Break the rules, and pay in blood," he says, polishing his gun. "As for her future, I'll decide that later." Five years later, I walk out of prison. The entire Falcone family is waiting at the gate with him, as if my freedom were a handout. "Looks like you've learned your lesson. It's time to return and get back to work. Don't do anything stupid again," he says. I ignore him and walk straight to the stretch Lincoln behind him. The door opens. Chris Corleone, the king of the Aurelian underworld, raises his glass to me. "Welcome back, partner."