BWWM Dark Mafia Romance | Forced To Submit | The Amalfi Coast Brotherhood Book #3
An age gap romance that will leave you soaking wet and morally confused. Matteo’s a true Italian alpha male who falls hard for his son’s ex-girlfriend. This twisted story flashes back six months before the last chapter of Forced to Marry, the second book in the series. Zara, a mysterious young black American woman with a troubled past lands on Matteo Doukas’ doorstep desperate for assistance and traumatized from her latest encounter with the Albanian mob…
This is a dark romance with potentially offensive content. If you’re curious about the sizzling hot mafia romance story, you can read the entire first chapter FREE on this blog.
I recommend checking it out if you enjoy BWWM interracial romance stories between black women and white men, if you enjoy mafia romance stories with twisted characters and a gripping plot.
Let me pipe down and just give you the dang chapter! Strap in for our darkest and most cruel hero yet.
Romance Novel Excerpts | Forced To Submit (BWWM Dark Mafia Romance) | Book #3
ZARA
6 ΜΟΝΤΗS BEFORE EDDIE’S DEATH
I haven’t spoken a word in three months. It’s the only way to survive in Albania. Say nothing. Observe. Obey. Never let anyone in. Never give them any fuel to fuck with you.
Every night of my captivity, I prayed Eddie would show up to save me. I believed he would show up to save me. I didn’t expect the first face I saw after all those months to be this one.
His men keep me blindfolded on the car ride over to the castle. I say nothing. I expect nothing. I think these men are going to kill me, honestly. I don’t expect the car to stop and for a kind voice to say to me in English.
“I’m sorry for the secrecy. Soon, I promise you’ll be safe.”
He speaks very good English, this strange man. I nod, but I can’t hide my fear anymore. I don’t cry or anything, but my body shakes with terror against my will. I can’t endure another rape. I can’t live with more rips and tears. I can’t live with more of these horrific nightmares.
“You’re Zara, right? They have the right girl?”
My teeth chatter, but I don’t say a word yet. I just nod. The man’s hand touches my shoulder gently, but I yelp in terror. I hate feeling like a caged animal. His warm hand curves slowly around my shoulder and my terror yields to the warmth from his hand. Who is this man?
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll be safe soon. I’ll have them take the blindfold off when you’re inside.”
His hand falls away from my shoulders and my trembling returns. He barks commands in Albanian and then more in Italian. I can understand a few words. Touch. Kill. Keep. My son.
My Italian could be better. Eddie tried teaching me, but he would always hit me when I got a word wrong, so I hated practicing.
Two men gently take my forearms and guide me down a path, helping me over the stones, but refusing to remove my blindfold as they force me to walk with them. I feel the sun disappear when I enter a building that smells like running water and stone. There’s the sound of running water too. Indoor fountain? The men make me turn right and walk me down a long hallway to a room at the end of the hall. Instincts tell me I’m going to a bedroom.
The men always bring me to a bedroom.
I feel nervous entering a bedroom with these men, even if they’re Italian. They could be friends of Eddie’s, not friends of Van’s. Hell, they could be from Rome or Florence or any of the other mafia cities in Italy. I hold my breath as I hear them close the door behind me. I wish I could tell the differences in accents. I could be in Sicily, but I doubt it. The air here doesn’t smell Italian, even if the men are.
“Don’t worry, kid. We won’t hurt you,” one says in low, guttural English. His voice sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I’ve been through a lot the past few months and my memory of names and voices shakes considerably. I still don’t respond to the men.
“Once we leave the room, you take the blindfold off and wait, okay?” I nod to show I understand them and they leave me in the bedroom alone. I rip the blindfold off as soon as I can. What the fuck? I’m in an old and very cold gothic castle that looks like it was ripped straight out of Dracula. There’s a giant king-sized four poster bed and a fireplace right across from it that looks like it actually works. There are large, stone windows… I hurry to the other side of the room and look out the windows.
Where am I? Probably still in Albania… but I’m far away from the basement where these men found me, and I don’t have a clue if I’m really safe or not. They could have hurt me and they didn’t, but that doesn’t mean a thing in this world. Men can be patient when they want to rip your heart out. Or do other things.
I hear footsteps approaching and based on the echo, it sounds like whoever is here is walking on stone. I bite my lower lip and face the door. I don’t want to show weakness. I’m tired of being the victim. Enzo was right when he called me “ditsy”, but I’m not that girl anymore.
I’ve been through too much shit and I’m 100% done taking it. I fold my arms and try to puff myself up. It’s not easy. I barely clear five feet tall.
The door to the bedroom thrusts open and I see a man who looks dangerously familiar standing in the doorway. He has long, thick black hair that falls to his shoulders and a broad, muscular chest that stands out to me immediately.
He’s tall, probably 6’8” and he looks… like my ex-boyfriend. They have eyes the same shade of brilliant, alluring blue.
My throat tightens and my heart beats faster than a hummingbird’s wings. This can only be one person, but I know enough about him and his fucked up son to know that I don’t want to be the one to speak first. I don’t want to speak at all, actually.
“Fuck, you look thin,” he says. “Is it true you haven’t spoken in weeks?”
I give him wide, curious eyes but I don’t say anything to him. I don’t indicate a response. What will this man do when I don’t obey? Will he make me? Will he try to hurt me? I watch for his reaction.
“I suppose it’s true,” he says calmly. “I’m Matteo. You’re going to be safe from now on, Zara. I want you to understand that I’m nothing like my brothers and I’m nothing like my son. I am strict. I am clear. You must not disobey me. Now nod if you understand.”
He commands respect, I’ll have to admit. I nod, but only because complying this once will give me a chance to learn more about him. He’s unrealistically handsome for a guy his age. I recall Enzo mentioning that his brother was in his late thirties, which must make him forty years old now.
He has a stern face. He looks like ice.
“Good,” Matteo murmurs. “Do you know where Eddie is?”
I shake my head, closely observing Matteo’s tattoos. He has a long dagger on his forearm with a barbed wire tattoo around his wrist. There’s a tally on his other wrist. People he’s killed, maybe? If he’s anything like his son, that’s probably the case. I have to remember that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Eddie’s fucked up mentality had to come from somewhere. I don’t bother saying anything because I don’t know where Eddie is anyway. I can’t say anything honest, so I choose silence and observing the hulking man standing in front of me.
He could hurt me easily if he wanted to, bending me over his leg and snapping me like a twig. I don’t know what he wants from me, but I have to be careful with him. He’s dangerous…
“Okay,” Matteo says. “For your safety, I cannot have you leave the confines of this place alone or without my company. If you have any places you wish to visit, you may make a request 24 hours in advance. I work four days a week and I expect you to accompany me. I won’t leave you in the castle alone. Not after what I’ve heard. Does that sound satisfactory, Zara?”
He pronounces my name with a thick, Italian accent and a low, thunderous voice.
I nod. I still don’t want to speak. I’m not ready.
“I’ll bring you some clothes in a few minutes along with some espresso. Are you hungry?”
I shake my head and Matteo smirks. His smile sends a chill through me. He looks like Eddie. I don’t want to look into a terrifying face like that every day. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but I know any demonstration of fear won’t work in my favor. I have to be stronger than I feel. Jodi would want me to be strong.
“Of course not,” he murmurs, a hint of frustration in his voice. Fuck. “I believe you need to eat. You look dangerously underweight. I’ll bring cheese, olives and bread from the kitchen. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. You’re under my direct protection, no one else’s.”
What’s the difference between protection and captivity? I would want to go home if I had any home to return to. The closest place I had to home was when Van and Jodi put me up so I could work at Jalousie.
I nod and he shuts the door. I tiptoe closer as he shuts it and I hear him turning a key. The little knob on the door handle flips. I’m locked in, but I can get out if I need to. He’s preventing anyone else from entering the room. Weird. I can’t tell if I’m a prisoner here or under Matteo’s protection. Both, perhaps? And why does he think I know where Eddie is?
With Matteo gone, I walk to the window again and try to observe what I can. There are thick, dense woods surrounding the vast acreage of Matteo’s property. It’s beautiful, really. I lean against the window and stare at the carpet of dark green. I could disappear into those woods and never come back… I could.
There’s a pang in my abdomen and I wince as I double over the window sill. Fuck, it hurts. I know something they did to me damaged me, but I don’t know what it is. I certainly won’t be telling Matteo, so I have to hope the pain goes away on its own. Tears prickle my eyes as another jolt of pain surges between my legs.
I want to throw up. I can’t, despite several seconds of dry retching, so I carry myself to the bed in the center of the room and lie flat on my stomach. The pain immobilizes me, and within a sport span of time, I either pass out or fall asleep, I’m not quite sure which, but footsteps in the castle hallway wake me again.
Groggily, I try to sit up. My hair feels glued to my face with sweat and my clothes are sticky. I smell like I haven’t showered in five days, which is probably true. The key turns in the lock and Matteo enters the room again, this time with his black hair swept into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Wow, that man has a thick neck. Everything about him is hulking and enormous. Eddie definitely didn’t take after his dad’s height.
“I brought you clothes and food,” Matteo says, entering the room with paper bags. “Sit up.”
I sit up and rub my eyes. The pain between my thighs subsides enough for me to walk to the little kitchenette in my suite and sit at the table while Matteo unpacks one of his paper bags. The larger bag sitting on the floor has fabric peeking out of it. I wince as I sit down, but try to hide it from Matteo. Everything about my situation is humiliating enough. I don’t want to tell Eddie’s dad that I have something horrible going on down there. I’ll have to take a look tomorrow or something.
Matteo spreads cheese and olives on bread before handing me a plate, slowly sliding it across the table and watching me expectantly. He’s one of those people who doesn’t think short, skinny girls eat. I eat just fine. I’m just a little thin from all the travel and the bullshit.
I feel like a little kid. I can spread my own cheese…
“Will you eat that?” He asks. He could command me to eat if he wanted to and I wouldn’t have a choice, so I appreciate that he asks at least after his minutes of staring. I nod. It’s hard to make yourself take that first bite when you haven’t had food on your stomach in a while.
“Good.”
He makes a piece of cheesed up bread for himself and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. Big guy. I guess he has to eat a lot.
“You’re very little,” he says. “When was the last time you ate?”
I stare up at him. Doesn’t he get it? I’m not going to talk.
“You’ll have to talk to me eventually,” he says.
That’s where he’s wrong. I don’t have to talk to him. Maybe I don’t have the fifth amendment in Italy, but I have my personal right to remain silent. I gaze down at the bread and pick off an olive, enjoying the salty zing when I place it on my tongue.
Matteo walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I flinch from the contact, but he doesn’t move his hand. He just curves it over my shoulder.
“You have nothing to fear,” he says. “Nothing. I know I look like a monster and I know what stories you must have heard, not to mention the fact that you know my son, but I’m not so bad.”
I continue eating.
Matteo continues. “Think of me like a father or something. I heard what you’ve been through and believe me, I’ll put a stop to it. I just need you to talk to me, Zara. I need you to trust me.”
How the hell can he ask me to do that?
“I know you were hurt before you came here,” he says. Blood rushes to my head. I want to upchuck the food I just put down. I want to curl up into a ball and forget all the things that happened before, but I can’t. There’s a man touching my shoulder and he smells like all other men — dangerous.
I inhale more sharply than I wanted, my chest heaving anxiously. Matteo removes his hand from my shoulder, but he keeps talking in a soothing voice.
“There,” he murmurs. “It’s okay to be frightened. It’s okay not to want to talk about what happened yet. But you must, Zara. You must be strong. I promise you that no matter what happens, I won’t allow anyone to hurt you again. Understand?”
I nod slowly.
“I’ll leave you to eat,” he says gently. “Take a nice bath and put on some clothes. I’ll expect you downstairs for a proper dinner at eight p.m.”
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