Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Martha could see the worry in Helen’s gaze. She reached over and gently patted Oliver’s small hand. Her voice was warm but firm. “Darling, why don’t you go read your book for a bit? Granny will bake a muffin for you once I finish talking with your mommy.” Her smile flashed through her eyes.
Oliver’s face lit up instantly, his earlier suspicion forgotten as he heard about muffin.
His lips curved into a bright, beaming smile. “Yes, Granny! Muffin!” He bounced on his feet, turned to Helen with his grin, and added, “Don’t take too long, Mommy. I’m hungry already.”
Helen, holding a laugh, heard his words. “We’ll be quick, sweetheart. Promise.”
With a dramatic little nod, as if he was the one granting permission, Oliver walked to his playroom. The soft click of the door shutting behind him brought Helen a rush of relief so intense her shoulders slumped.
Finally.
When Helen turned back, Martha’s gaze was waiting for her; steady, curious, and full of unspoken questions. She swallowed hard.
Her lips trembled as she spoke the words she had feared for so long. “Oliver’s father is Vincent Moretti.”
The room went silent. It was as if the world itself paused, holding its breath with them.
Helen’s pulse pounded in her ears, and for one ridiculous moment, she found herself praying that Martha wouldn’t have a heart attack right there on the sofa.
If she did, she would have no choice but to rush her to the hospital again. And she wasn’t sure her nerves could take that.
Martha blinked, and her gaze was stern but difficult to interpret. Then she blinked again. Her lips were sealed tight, without a sound or breeze escaping. And unbeknownst to Helen, Martha’s mind is anything but calm. Her mind was clearly scrambling to process everything she just heard.
Despite living tucked away from the city’s chaos, she read enough news to know precisely who Vincent Moretti was. Everyone knew. His name carried weight like a thunderclap.
His face always appears whenever she opens a browser on her cell phone. And all those articles always bring shame. Suddenly, she feels worried about Helen and Oliver.
“Vincent Moretti?” Martha’s voice cracked with nervousness. She pointed shakily toward the silent television in the corner, as though confirming if Helen meant that man. “That Vincent Moretti?”
“Yes.” Helen’s answer came out barely above a whisper. “That Vincent Moretti.”
Martha’s shoulders shrug, a soft gasp leaving her lips. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. But no words came.
Her hands fluttered on her lap as if her body wanted to speak, but her voice had failed her. She worries that what she will say will hurt Helen. And she didn’t plan to do so.
Helen’s heart clenched, aware of what Martha might think now.
She quickly stood, moved to sit beside Martha, and reached for her hands.
“Aunt Martha… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you. But it is what it is. He’s the man.” Her voice wavered, but she managed a faint smile, fragile as glass.
Martha tightened her grip on Helen’s hands, grounding herself before she spoke.
“Oh, dear Elle… I’m happy for you. But…” Martha’s words faltered as her eyes grew moist. “Forgive me if I sound harsh, but isn’t that man… a red flag? You’ve read what the gossip news says about him, haven’t you? What if… Will he hurt you? Will hurt Oliver… Oh dear…”
Helen’s heart tightened.
She forced herself to meet Martha’s gaze, even though her chest felt heavy… Martha wasn’t accusing her; she was genuinely worried, deeply concerned. And that almost hurt her more than judgment ever could.
“I know,” Helen admitted softly, her smile turning bitter. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears spill. “I know who he is. What he is. But I can’t deny it, Aunt Martha. He’s Oliver’s father.”
Silence settled again, thicker this time.
But it wasn’t cold.
Their hands were clasped tightly together, and though no words were exchanged, everything was clear.
Finally, Martha’s shoulders rose as she took a deep, shaky breath. She spoke, her voice steady but trembling with the weight of experience.
“Elle, I’ve lived a long life. I’ve seen people chase happiness, and I’ve seen people run headlong into misery. My only advice, dear, is this: follow your heart, but keep wise. You only live once. Put joy in your path, not sorrow. You’ve already endured so much in these last four years.”
Martha’s voice trembled at the end, her composure breaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she patted Helen’s hand with trembling fingers.
Helen could no longer hold back her emotions. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on Martha’s shoulder.
“I know… I understand what you’re saying. Thank you, Aunt Martha.”
Martha wrapped her arms around her, holding her close like a mother would. Her warmth and acceptance were exactly what Helen needed, the one thing she feared losing when she confessed the truth.
And yet, deep down, Helen knew this was only the beginning. Martha’s support was a blessing, but the storm outside these walls, Vincent’s world, and the shadow of her past still loomed, ready to swallow her whole.
For now, though, she allows herself the rare luxury of peace. Just a moment, sitting with the only person who had never judged her, who loved Oliver as if he were her own.
Martha stroked Helen’s hair gently and whispered, “Elle, remember what I always told you… No matter what, you and Oliver will never be alone. You have me.”
“I know, Aunty… That’s why I feel grateful to you,” Helen said, but gradually she felt like something stabbed her heart again. The thought of moving out of this town made her hesitant to share the news just yet.
After drowning in her own thoughts, Martha asked again, “So, what do you really feel about this Vincent Moretti?”
Helen stiffened instantly as she sat up straight. Her cheeks heated, and she looked away, pretending to adjust a cushion that didn’t need it.
“Wh-What do you mean, A-Aunty…?” she asked, her voice sounding too casual to seem convincing.
Martha wasn’t fooled for a second. She chuckled softly, shaking her head.
“Oh, come now. Don’t act with me, Elle. A woman doesn’t keep the father of her child a secret for four years unless the story is… complicated.” Martha arched a brow, leaning closer.
“So tell me… what is he to you? Beyond the scandal, beyond the newspapers, beyond the fear. What does your heart say?” Martha continues.
Helen swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding faster, as if it wanted to leap out and confess everything for her. But she wasn’t ready to voice her feelings. She’s also unsure of her feelings toward the father of her son, Vincent Moretti.
However, watching how Martha patiently waits for her response, she finally says, “My heart says I should be careful. I should think of Oliver first.”
She hopes Aunt Martha no longer asks her. She didn’t want to think about Vincent right now.
“Of course,” Martha agreed softly. “Oliver must always come first. But don’t hide behind little Oliv, Elle. I asked about you. What you feel.”
Helen’s lips parted, then closed again. She was speechless.
She wanted to say she didn’t know, but that would be a lie. She knew precisely what Vincent Moretti stirred inside her; fear, yes… but also longing. The kind of longing she shouldn’t be feeling after everything that had happened.
Finally, she whispered, “He terrifies me.”
Martha’s brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.
“And yet,” Helen continued, her voice shaking, “when he’s near… I feel very safe. I have never felt that safe before. Isn’t that ridiculous? The man who should be the greatest danger in my life is also the one who makes me feel protected.”
Martha’s expression softened. “That doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. It sounds like the truth.”
Helen let out a harsh little laugh, then turned her gaze away from Martha, looking at the tightly shut door of Oliver’s playroom.
Then she took a deep sigh before turning to look at Martha again and expressing her thoughts, “The truth is dangerous. Being involved in his world will be dangerous. But he promised to protect me and Oliver. So…”
Martha leaned back casually and spoke thoughtfully, “Elle, maybe it’s just complicated…” She paused, waiting for Helen’s response, but the girl only looked at her with a smile.
“Tell me… when you think about the future, do you see him there? With you and Oliver?” Martha asked again.
Helen froze. The answer, as clear as day in her mind, was YES. However, her throat feels so dry, and for a long moment, she couldn’t speak.
Since Vincent came to this town, from day one, they have crossed paths again, and her mind has been filled with thoughts of him.
She saw him at Oliver’s side, teaching him to ride a bike, taking him to the park, laughing at his little mischiefs.
She saw him sitting at a table with her, sharing quiet dinners.
She saw him everywhere.
But admitting that felt like stepping off a cliff with no safety net.
“I…” She shook her head quickly, pushing the image away. “I can’t think about that right now. It’s too dangerous to hope for something like that.”
Martha sighed, her smile wistful. “You remind me so much of myself when I was your age.”
That startled Helen.
“Me? How?”
“When I met my late husband,” Martha said, her eyes softening at the memory, “he wasn’t exactly the safe choice either. My family thought I was mad. He was brash, impulsive, and always in some kind of trouble. But he loved me, Elle. Fiercely, completely. And that love carried us through everything else.”
Martha reached out and squeezed Helen’s hand again. “Sometimes, dear, the safest choice is not the one who looks proper on paper, but the one who makes your soul feel alive.”
Helen’s chest tightened.
She wanted to believe that. God, she truly wanted to. But Vincent Moretti wasn’t just some reckless young man from the city. He was Vincent Moretti. A name that carried weight, danger, and power. And, he was her family’s greatest enemy.
Still… Martha’s words settled into her bones, soothing and terrifying all at once.
Before Helen could respond, the sound of little feet pattering across the hall broke the heavy silence.
A moment later, Oliver burst through the door, holding one of his picture books above his head.
“Granny… Granny…” his cute voice announced proudly. “I read it all by myself!”
Martha laughed, quickly wiping at her cheeks before Oliver could see her tears.
