Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Helen’s heart sinks as she quickly thinks, ‘Oh god. Abort mission. Stop right there, young man. Don’t you dare to say anything.’
She shook her head quickly, eyes wide, shooting him every desperate signal she had, pleading glances, tiny shakes of her hand, even a sharp glare that said, ‘Oliver Taylor…one more word and you’re grounded until college.’
But Oliver, sweet innocent Oliver, was blissfully immune to his mother’s panic.
“…you said he’s a boring man who wears boring suits and does boring things…”
Helen wished the ground would swallow her whole.
‘Fantastic. Out of all the conversations to remember, he picks this one? How smart my son is…’
Oliver, beaming with pride as he cheerfully corrected her, “…but Mommy, Mr. Vincent Moretti is not boring. He’s kind. And funny, too.”
The little guy paused for a giggle before turning his gaze to Vincent. “He tells me so many jokes, and I like him a lot, Mom. Uncle Vincent… do you like me too?”
Vincent’s lips curved, not into his usual dominating smirk but into something subtler. “Of course…I like you, buddy,” He answered.
Oliver giggled again and innocently said, “See, Mom, Uncle Vincent, like him…”
Helen was left speechless. These two are beginning to make her nervous.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she silently expressed her frustration. ‘Perfect. Just perfect. My child has now found his partner in crime to drive me insane…’
Vincent didn’t laugh outright, of course, he wouldn’t, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he were savoring her frustration.
But later,
Vincent moved closer to her and whispered, “I didn’t like to hear him call me, sir… Or uncle…”
Helen’s eyes twitch in surprise upon hearing his words. She narrows her eyes at him.
Before she could say something, he added, “Do you want me to tell him?”
Instantly, Helen shot him a glare sharp enough to peel paint off the walls. “Don’t you dare!” she whispered furiously.
“Relax… I haven’t said a word,” Vincent replied smoothly, straightening to his full height. His tone was casual, but his eyes sparkled with the victory of a man who didn’t need to speak to win.
Oliver, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air, tugged at Helen’s sleeve.
“Mommy, can Mr. Vincent stay with us? Please? Please Mommy… I like him.” He said, worried that his mother would ask Vincent to leave.
Helen blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth, about to politely turn him down, but no words came out. She looked at Oliver’s hopeful eyes, then at Vincent’s cool, unreadable stare.
Her son had already chosen sides, and apparently, she was the one outnumbered.
“Of course,” Vincent replied smoothly before Helen could. “I’ll stay as long as you want, buddy…” He raised his hand and gave a fist bump with his cubby hand.
Helen gaped, and she glared at him again.
‘Oh, look at him. Mr. Moretti in shining armor, hijacking my parental authority like it’s a boardroom takeover…’
But when Oliver beamed and squeezed her hand, whispering, “Thanks, Mommy…”
Helen’s heart softened. She let out a sigh, feeling defeated.
“Of course, dear… but remember, you can’t make him stay if he has an urgent work matter. Can you promise me you’ll understand?”
Helen smiles at Oliver, but deep inside, she’s satisfied because she sent Vincent a message reminding him that he’s not someone who is unemployed and can stay longer. He has a company to run. Perhaps he forgot about that.
Vincent’s lips curled just a little, his silence confident, as if to say: ‘I’m winning, Helen!’
And Helen knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this man was going to be the death of her sanity.
…
And just like that, Vincent Moretti stayed with them in the hospital.
By the next hour, his people arrived, bringing a few of his personal belongings and placing them in the room directly opposite Oliver’s ward.
That short night somehow stretched endlessly for Helen.
The three of them spent it together, talking with Oliver about cartoons and the most ordinary things.
What struck Helen most was the silence surrounding the truth. No one mentioned Vincent’s real identity.
Not once.
Either Oliver deliberately avoided the question, or her little boy was far too clever and gentle for his own good, sensing what shouldn’t be said.
The atmosphere flowed so naturally that she almost forgot the weight pressing down on her chest.
Eventually, Oliver drifted off, his breathing soft and steady, leaving Helen alone with her restless thoughts.
When Vincent finally rose from his chair, Helen exhaled, convinced he would retreat to his new wardroom across the hall. She needed the break.
But she was wrong.
Instead of leaving, Vincent’s voice broke the awkward silence. “Come with me.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“The living room. Now.” His tone left no room for refusal.
Her heart tightened. A thousand unspoken words flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t ignore the look in his eyes. This wasn’t casual.
Helen’s pulse quickened. She already knew where this conversation was headed, and it terrified her.
“Vincent, can we just talk here?”
Helen’s voice broke the silence as Vincent’s long strides carried him toward the door. His intent was clear; he wanted her to follow him into his VIP ward room, away from Oliver.
Yes, there were nurses and Vincent’s people stationed outside the VIP ward room. Still, the idea of leaving Oliver alone, even for a short while, made her uneasy.
Vincent stopped. Slowly, he turned. His cold gaze locked onto hers.
“Do you want Oliver to overhear our conversation?” His tone was casual, but the words landed like a blow.
Helen froze. It was such an obvious truth, yet hearing it out loud felt like a warning. She pressed her lips together, saying nothing more, and followed him.
He briefly glanced back, a soft chuckle escaping him as if amused by her hesitation. He held the door open for her.
Moments later, they were seated across from each other.
The setup felt familiar, just as it had this morning, but now it was different. Even though Helen’s nerves were still there, this time she wasn’t so easily intimidated.
Taking a breath, Helen begins to express her worry, “I know what you want to talk about, Vincent.”
His brows furrowed, and his intense stare seemed to silently urge her to keep going.
Helen’s heart tightened. Her fingers curled tightly in her lap, nails digging into her palms. Nervous. Still, she forced herself to speak.
“You know, I’m still reluctant to move to the capital with you, right, Vincent…?”
She asked, her voice steady at first, then trembling as she pushed through.
“And you can’t… must not… take Oliver away from me. If you ever try, I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you. Even if I have to sell my soul to the devil himself.”
She paused to take a deep, silent breath.
“Don’t think for a second that you can separate me from my son. He’s all I have left. The only family I have now…”
Her words cracked near the end, her breath shallow. She bit her lip, fighting the burn in her eyes, but the glimmer of tears betrayed her.
She expected anger from him. Or perhaps cold indifference. Maybe even a threat.
Helen didn’t expect the low sound that followed. Vincent chuckled.
The sound was soft, deep, and utterly out of place.
Helen blinked at him in disbelief. Her mind raced.
‘Did he even hear me? Did he understand how serious I am? Or is he so heartless that he can laugh at this?’ Her chest tightened, her hands curling into fists.
She wanted to lash out, to demand an answer. But something about the way he leaned back on his couch, watching her with that infuriating calm, kept her rooted in place.
His eyes sparkled; not teasing, not scornful. Something else flickered there, but it was gone before she could name it.
“You think I want to take Oliver from you?” he finally spoke. His voice sounds calm, which surprised her.
“Don’t you?” she asked, puzzled by his reaction.
For a beat, Vincent said nothing.
The silence lingered, heavy enough that Helen’s pulse thundered in her ears. Then, at last, he started to speak again.
