Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Inside, though, a storm raged. His mind churned with questions that clawed at him.
Would Oliver hate him when he learned the truth?
Would Helen fight him with everything she had to keep their son hidden in this quiet, insignificant town?
Probably. She was stubborn enough to try. But Vincent had already decided. He wouldn’t let either of them slip away again. Not Helen. Not Oliver. Never again.
…
Not long after, the light above the surgery room door flicked from red to green, a small signal, but one that made Vincent’s chest unclench in relief.
He didn’t move, though.
His posture remained straight, commanding, his sharp eyes fixed on the door as though he could pull the doctor out with sheer force of will.
Then, the door opened, and the doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask.
“Mr. Moretti,” he said respectfully, his voice brisk but reassuring, “…the surgery was a success. The boy’s condition has stabilized. He’s unconscious for now, but he will wake up soon. We’ll be moving him to post-operative observation, then later to his ward room.”
Vincent gave the slightest nod, as if he had been expecting the doctor’s words all along. But inside, his lungs finally let out a full breath. ‘He’s safe…’
“Thank you…” Vincent said.
The doctor excused himself, bowing slightly before returning to his duties.
Vincent turned to Dylan, his expression all business once more.
“Double the security. I don’t want anyone unauthorized near that room. Handle the transfer of medical files under my name. No leaks.”
“Yes, sir.” Dylan bowed his head, already pulling out his phone to execute the orders.
Satisfied, Vincent finally turned away and walked down the hall, his shoes echoing sharply against the polished floor.
When he opened the door to Helen’s VIP ward room, he stopped.
She had just stepped out from the bedroom, changed at last. Gone were the blood-stained clothes that had clung to her trembling form earlier.
Now, she wore a knee-length black dress that shaped her figure modestly, paired with simple white sneakers. Her hair was tied back, loose strands brushing her cheek.
She looked… beautiful. Too beautiful, in a way that irritated him.
Vincent’s sharp gaze softened just a fraction, though his face betrayed nothing. He stood there, silently drinking in the sight of her, unwilling to admit, even to himself, that relief coursed through him not just for Oliver, but for her.
Their eyes met.
Silent, hanging in the air.
The air between them grew thick and tense.
But not long after, finally, Helen broke the silence, her voice trembling, “Oliver…did they say anything about him? How is he? Is he…?”
Her eyes searched his face, trying to find any answer she could extract from him. But she saw nothing.
For a moment, Vincent wanted to soothe her, to tell her everything in the gentlest way possible. But gentleness was not his way.
“He’s fine,” Vincent replied, his tone sounding cool. Yet the way his eyes lingered on her gave him away. He cared, even if he buried it beneath indifference.
Helen exhaled shakily, closing her eyes for a moment as tears of happiness threatened to escape.
Relief swallowed her, making her knees weak. She quickly steadied herself, refusing to break down in front of him.
“I want to see him,” she said quietly, staring him in the eyes.
Vincent’s lips pressed into a thin line, unreadable. “Then let’s go.”
They walked side by side down the sterile corridor. Helen’s hands fidgeted nervously against the fabric of her dress.
At the same time, Vincent was walking calmly and confidently, his presence so strong that even the nurses seemed to fade into the background as he passed.
Inside, Helen couldn’t control her thoughts.
‘Why is he walking like… this is his hospital!? Oh, right, because he’s Vincent Moretti, Mister-I-Own-Everything…’
She silently chuckled, remembering this hospital, once one of his, too.
‘Ugh. Helen, keep your head down. You’re not here to be dazzled by his stupid broad shoulders. Focus on your son. Your son is what matters,’ she tries to remind herself.
However,
Her eyes darted sideways at him, and she bit the inside of her lower lip when she caught the severe angle of his jaw, the absolute focus in his gaze.
‘Great. He even looks charming and heroic in hospital lighting. How unfair is that?’
Helen quickly turned forward again, masking her expression.
The last thing she needed was for Vincent to know what she was thinking.
He already had a talent for reading her with just one look, and she wasn’t about to give him more reasons to do so.
When they reached the post-operative observation room, a nurse guided them inside.
Her heart tightened as she saw her poor baby Oliver lying in the bed, small and pale beneath the sheets, wires and monitors attached to his tiny body.
And before Vincent could react, she rushed forward, clutching her son’s hand gently, as if he might shatter at her touch.
“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Her voice trembled, full of fear and love.
…
Vincent stood a few steps back, his expression locked in its usual mask, but his eyes betrayed him. They softened as they rested on Oliver, his son. His blood. His heir.
This boy, barely a child, carried the very thing Vincent never thought he wanted but now couldn’t imagine losing.
Yet Vincent’s feet refused to move.
He stood near the door, his back against the wall, watching Helen as if she were a scene from a dream he wasn’t entitled to touch.
Her figure trembled gently as she hunched over the hospital bed, her forehead softly resting near Oliver’s hand. A gentle, broken whimper slipped from her, tender and raw, conveying her delicate pain.
At first, the sight warmed him. A strange, foreign warmth; his heart swelled for the first time in years.
Helen wasn’t perfect, far from it. Still, she was here, holding their son as if her entire existence depended on his small heartbeat.
For the first time, Vincent allowed himself to imagine what it might have been like if things had been different, if they’d raised Oliver together from the beginning, if he hadn’t had to find out this way.
But that fragile warmth twisted into unease.
His gaze lingered on the wires and tubes that covered Oliver’s body, the steady rhythm of the monitor beside him. Each beep was both a reassurance and a threat.
And now Helen was clutching their son so tightly, he feared she’d accidentally tug something loose.
His mouth parted, the warning on his tongue, but he swallowed it back. He didn’t want to shatter her fragile composure with his cold voice.
So he let her cling. He let her whisper prayers against their son’s skin.
Until she moved.
Her knee pressed against the edge of the mattress, her arms moving as if she planned to climb onto the bed and pull Oliver into her lap.
Vincent’s entire body went rigid. In a heartbeat, his chest seized with a surge of panic he couldn’t control.
“Helen!” His voice echoes through the room. “Stop! Don’t climb onto the bed. Oliver could be in danger!”
The words snapped her back instantly, causing her to stumble off the mattress. Her hands trembled as she pulled away, hovering in midair.
She turned to him, wide-eyed, her face pale with fright.
“Will he be okay?” Her voice was nothing but a whisper. “When will he wake up?”
“He will.” Vincent forced his tone to sound calm, even though his pulse hammered against his ribs. “As long as you don’t mess with those machines and make them malfunction.”
Helen froze, her lips parting in disbelief. Slowly, her expression crumpled. Her gaze flickered to Oliver, then back at Vincent, as if he’d accused her of something terrible.
Her eyes glistened as she looked at Vincent. “I wasn’t…” Her voice slightly trembled. “I wasn’t touching anything. I would never hurt him.”
He stifled a laugh. “I believe you,” he said with a flat expression.
She narrowed her eyes on him as she expressed her stress, “God, you always assume the worst of me,” she said with trembling but sarcastic words. “Like I came here just to sabotage your precious medical equipment. Relax, Mr. CEO, I’m not that reckless.”
Her words stabbed sharper than she probably intended.
Vincent’s gaze hardened, but inside, guilt twisted in his chest. He could see the raw edges of her fear, the way her fingers hovered near Oliver’s tiny hand but didn’t dare touch it again.
Silence lingered between them once again.
