Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
The call was still connected. Odd. He pressed the phone back and tried again to speak, this time louder, “Boss… can you hear me?”
Finally, Vincent’s voice could be heard from the other side, “Are you trying to joke with me, Dylan?”
Vincent’s tone was cold enough to make Dylan shiver. “That’s not funny.”
The tension feels heavier than before.
“B-Boss…”
“Stop spewing nonsense,” Vincent snapped, his voice rising. “And get back here. Now!”
…
Royal Apex Hotel.
Dylan slipped his key card into the lock and stepped into the presidential suite, quietly closing the door behind him.
The sound of the ocean filtered through the half-open balcony doors, waves crashing in a lazy rhythm against the shore.
The scent of rich espresso drifted through the air, and there was Vincent Moretti, already dressed to perfection in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Dylan’s entire year’s salary.
Vincent stood near the balcony, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee cup with effortless poise.
He didn’t look at Dylan at first; instead, he stared out at the blue horizon like a man surveying an empire.
When his gaze finally shifted, it landed on Dylan with all the subtlety of a knife. Vincent’s lips curved into a dry, mocking smile.
“Well,” Vincent said with a smirk, “…look who’s decided to crawl back. Tell me, Dylan, did you have a wild encounter with a hurricane on your way here, or do you just like to look like hell when we’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes?”
Dylan glanced down at his untidy slim-fit shirt and crooked tie, realizing just how disheveled he looked compared to his boss.
He straightened quickly but didn’t let himself flinch under Vincent’s stare.
“I’m sorry, boss. I came straight here because… because I found her.”
Vincent didn’t react. He took another sip of his coffee before answering with calm and composed annoyance. “Found who?”
“Helen Tupper,” Dylan said carefully, almost in a whisper, as if saying the name too loud might break the fragile reality of it.
The silence that followed was sharp.
Vincent didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even set down his cup.
After another dozen seconds finally passed, Vincent turned toward him, his expression unreadable.
“You’re joking?”
Dylan shook his head. But Vincent didn’t believe him.
“For God’s sake, Dylan! Tell me you didn’t come barging into my suite, half-dressed and drinking cheap coffee, to throw that name around like you want to humor me?”
“Vincent, this is not a joke…” Dylan firmly answered. It’s rare for him to call Vincent by his name; he only does so when he has no choice but to speak to his best friend, not his boss. “I saw her… just now before I called you.”
Vincent frowned as he saw how serious Dylan was now.
Still, it’s hard for him to believe it. A light chuckle escaped his lips, but there was no humor in it.
He shook his head and placed the coffee cup on the glass table with a soft click. His eyes stayed fixed on Dylan.
“Do you know how many leads we’ve tracked in the last four years? How many times have people sworn they saw her, only to find out it was just smoke and mirrors? And now you expect me to believe that Helen Tupper magically appears to hand you your morning latte?”
Dylan’s eyes widen slightly as he asks, “Yes, Boss… she is the one who gave me this latte. How do you know?”
Vincent’s brows rose. He gave a slow, incredulous shake of his head.
“That’s the best you’ve got? You vanish for half the morning, and you come back telling me Helen Tupper is suddenly a barista?”
“Not just a barista,” Dylan said carefully, hands clasped behind his back in his usual posture of deference. “She was working at a cafe. She… looked different, but it was her. Same eyes. Same face. And when she saw me, I could tell she recognized me too.”
‘Is he telling the truth?’ Vincent stared at him for a long moment, his jaw tightening.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to search for someone, Dylan? For years, to tear apart cities, burn through investigators, and still come up empty-handed?”
“Yes, Boss,” Dylan let out a long, deep sigh. “I’ve been with you the whole time.”
That response gave Vincent pause. His eyes narrowed.
“So let me get this straight,” Vincent said slowly, the sarcasm returning to coat his words.
Dylan’s eyebrow furrowed, but he said nothing, simply listening to what Vincent was about to say.
“Four years of failure. And just as I decide to let go of her ghost, you wander off to get a coffee, then BAAM! You see the woman whose very name I vow to forget. And she was serving muffins and foaming milk to make you a latte like she never disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“Wow! Boss… How do you know? Well, boss… That pretty much sums up what I’m trying to tell you,” Dylan repeated, firmer this time but still respectful.
Vincent let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.
“God, if you’re wrong about this…” His voice dropped to a near whisper, deadly calm. “If you’re wrong, Dylan, I’ll make you pour coffee for the rest of your life. No boardrooms. No meetings. Just aprons and name tags. Do you understand me?”
Dylan nodded once.
“I get it, Boss.” He hesitated, then added in a low voice, “But I’m a hundred percent sure I’m right.”
Something flickered in Vincent’s eyes, an emotion too quick to pin down before he masked it with another smirk. He straightened his cuffs and picked up his watch from the table.
“Well then,” he said smoothly, slipping it on, “let’s see if the universe really does have that twisted sense of humor.”
Dylan exhaled in relief, though he kept his posture stiff. He knew Vincent wasn’t convinced yet, but he also knew his boss well enough to recognize the truth: Vincent Moretti was going to see Helen Tupper with his own eyes.
They took the car.
A few minutes later, the vehicle slowed and came to a stop in front of the Beach Side Cafe.
Vincent leaned back against the seat, his sharp eyes narrowing as he asked, “Does she work at this cafe?”
Before Dylan could answer, the door of the cafe swung open.
Vincent’s world stopped.
A woman stepped out. At first glance, he thought it was just someone with a familiar face.
But the longer he looked, the tighter his chest felt. Her hair, once long and flowing, was now shoulder-length, framing features that had matured and hardened over time, but he recognized her.
Helen Tupper.
No doubt.
His pulse hammered, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next.
She wasn’t alone.
In her arms, she carried a child.
Vincent’s sharp gaze instantly caught the dark stains spreading across her clothes.
Blood.
“Boss… she has a son. And he’s injured.”
Dylan’s voice snapped Vincent out of his frozen trance, but the words struck harder than any blow could.
Without thinking, Vincent pushed the door open and stepped out, his long strides eating up the distance between them.
And then, her eyes lifted to his.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Her gaze was glassy, rimmed with unshed tears; her face was pale, as if every ounce of strength had been drained from her.
He had imagined this moment a thousand times; what he would say, how he would confront her. But not like this. Never like this.
“A-Vincent…?” Her voice cracked, trembling on the edge of despair. She stopped in front of him, clutching the small boy in her arms as if she could shield him from the world.
“I need your help, Vincent…” Her lips tremble. “Oliver… he… he’s injured. Please… help me.”
Vincent said nothing as he opened the car door, his movements precise, deliberate, like a man who had trained himself never to falter.
He extended the space for her, allowing Helen to slide in with Oliver pressed desperately against her chest.
The moment the door closed, Helen felt as if the world was collapsing around her. Oliver was unusually quiet, utterly unlike his typically charming and talkative self.
He was too pale. His tiny body sagged against her arms, his warmth slipping away with every second.
Blood, so much blood, was soaking through her trembling feet, staining her brown culottes, trickling down to her lap.
