Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
“Oh, you manage to read by yourself? Come here, baby, show me.”
Oliver climbed onto the sofa between them, smiling happily as he dropped the book in Martha’s lap.
“See? That’s the doggy! And that’s the big red ball! And…” He leaned closer and softly said.. “That’s where Daddy will play fetch with me one day.”
Helen’s heart clenches.
Helen couldn’t leave Martha’s house early because, of course, Martha insisted they stay until dinner.
And really, how could she say no? The woman had practically her only family here; refusing was impossible.
Besides, if she went home and if Vincent was there, she was sure that man would find some new way to push her blood pressure into dangerous territory.
Even though she knew Vincent wouldn’t be home tonight, as he’d mentioned, he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. However, Martha’s house remained the safest place she had.
They cooked together, enjoyed dinner until Oliver’s belly looked like a balloon.
When the night stretched long enough, Helen finally managed to excuse herself.
And,
By the time her car reached the basement parking of their apartment, the place was eerily quiet.
Only four or five cars dotted the lot; none she recognized. She didn’t even need to guess; she knew those cars belonged to Vincent’s men.
She still remembers that he told her earlier that some of his people were moving in, and apparently, “some” meant “half the damn building.”
Out of ten apartments, only three had permanent families, including hers. The rest were tourist rentals.
But now?
Vincent had basically turned the place into his personal fortress.
Was she supposed to feel safe? Or just overwhelmed? Right now, she was leaning more toward feeling overwhelmed.
After parking her car and turning to Oliver, she was speechless. Her son looked unconscious, with his small chest rising and falling calmly.
“Gosh, little man, did you use up all your energy charming Granny?” she muttered, unbuckling her seat belt and stepping out.
She feels amused at how adorable her son was even in his sleep.
Her hands slid under him just as the low rumble of another car echoed through the basement.
The sound bounced off the cement walls until sleek headlights cut across her.
Helen froze. It was his car, Vincent’s car. She remembered seeing him use that car this morning.
‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘Why did he come? Did he say he will only return tomorrow?’
The car rolled to a stop right behind hers, and the door swung open.
Seconds later, Vincent Moretti exited the car.
Her heartbeat races.
This morning, he is wearing a black shirt. Now, he has on a tailored black suit. His tie is loosened just enough to appear annoyingly handsome. He looks like he’s exuding late-night confidence, as if he just stepped out of a boardroom after sealing a multi-billion-dollar deal.
Helen’s first thought was, ‘God help me, he looks like temptation wrapped in Armani.’
And her second thought was, ‘Damn it! I’m doomed…I won’t have a peaceful night now.’
Vincent shut the car door with one fluid motion and strode toward her. By the time he stopped in front of her, she had already forgotten how to breathe. She only blinks at him.
“Let me carry him,” he said, soft but commanding, not asking but declaring.
And before she could muster a protest, he had Oliver cradled in his arms as if the boy weighed nothing.
Helen stood frozen, staring up at him as if her brain tried to restart.
He glanced at her, one brow slightly arched.
“What are you waiting for? Do you want me to carry you, too?”
His words snapped her out of her own thoughts.
“No!” she answered, then hurriedly grabbed her bag, phone, and sanity. She locked the car with shaky fingers and hurried after him toward the elevator.
Liam, Vincent’s shadow bodyguard, was already there, holding the elevator just in time.
She tried not to roll her eyes at how Vincent really lived as if the world bent to his convenience.
“Thank you, Liam…” Helen said softly before the elevator doors slid shut.
Silence pressed in again, and with only the three of them inside, the air felt heavier than it should have.
Helen shifted her weight, wishing the elevator would move faster.
Then Vincent’s voice echoed, breaking the awkward silence. “You don’t need to thank them. It’s their duty to serve me… and to serve you and Oliver.”
Helen blinked. She turned her head to look at his profile, but of course, his gaze never left the elevator doors. He seems to ignore her.
“Well,” she said at last, her tone low but sharper, “…we still need to teach Oliver to be polite to other people. It matters how he grows up, Vincent.”
For a heartbeat, Vincent said nothing. Then he finally turned his head, giving her the briefest of glances.
“But he’s asleep now. There’s no need to show your politeness just for show.”
Her jaw slightly dropped, then snapped shut.
‘Just for show? Gosh, you win!’ she screamed in her mind.
No point in arguing with him when he always had the last word. Too tired to spar. Helen turned her gaze away from him and glared at the glowing floor numbers instead.
…
Vincent carried Oliver straight to his room and laid him on the bed with surprising gentleness.
Helen helped to cover him with his soft blanket.
‘Okay. Mission complete. Child secured. Now the terrifying man can go back to wherever he wants to go!’ Helen silently says to herself and walks out of Oliver’s bedroom.
However,
She was mistaken when she thought Vincent would excuse himself and go back to his house next door.
Instead, he walked into her living room, took off his suit, loosened his tie more, and plopped onto her sofa like he owned it.
“Uh… Vincent, what are you doing?”
He turned to see her expressionless as he said, “I haven’t eaten.”
She frowned. “And why did you tell me that?”
“This is ten, my chef already went home,” he replied smoothly. “And there’s no delivery in this town.”
Helen gasped in disbelief. “So you stay here expecting me to cook for you?”
He didn’t even flinch when he answered, “Yes.”
‘Unbelievable!’ Helen found herself at a loss for words.
She tried to scold him with her gaze, but when she met his eyes, warmth flooded her cheeks.
This man. This annoyingly gorgeous man. He had just assumed that she would be his midnight cook.
And the worst part?
She was actually walking into the kitchen, muttering curses under her breath, trying to find the easy ingredients to cook for him.
“Sorry if I sound like I’m bossing you around, E-” Vincent’s voice faded when Helen spun her head around and shot him a glare. The kind of glare that could slap a person.
He smiles at her to help cheer her up. But he failed. Of course.
“Can you stop talking to me? I’ll cook for you, alright.” She warned him.
Then, she yanked open the cupboard and pulled out two packs of instant noodles like they were her secret weapons. She held them up dramatically to show him.
“Vincent, please behave in your seat. I will cook the delicious noodles for you. I hope you didn’t complain…Thank you!”
Vincent leaned back on the sofa, his voice calm, yet threaded with quiet amusement.
“That’s awesome, Helen. I’ll eat whatever you make.”
“Spicy or not?” she asked again, cracking an egg into the pot with more force than necessary.
