Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Immediately, Helen shut the door, locked it, and marched toward her bedroom, bag in hand.
Then, she threw the paper bag onto the bed and folded her arms, her gaze remaining on the bag.
Part of her wanted to ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist. But curiosity had already swallowed her.
“What did Vincent Moretti choose for me to wear tomorrow?”
Helen let out a long, weary sigh as she dropped onto the bed beside the bag. Her eyes wandered up to the white ceiling, as if it might hold the answer.
“Knowing him,” she muttered, “it’s either a wedding dress or something so dramatic I’ll look like I’m about to host the Oscars.”
She lay there for a few minutes, staring blankly, trying to convince herself she didn’t care. But curiosity keeps dancing in her brain.
Finally, she bit her lip, sat up, and pulled the bag onto her lap. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she hesitated a moment longer, as if the paper bag might explode in her face.
“What kind of disaster have you set up for me this time, Vincent?” she whispered under her breath, before finally sliding out the sleek box inside.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid.
The moment her eyes landed on the contents, her heart stopped. There it was: layers of white silk and lace, gleaming under the bedroom light.
“Oh my goodness…” Her hand flew to her mouth, worried that her voice would wake Oliver.
Her wide eyes darted from the dress to the closed door, half-expecting Vincent to barge back in with that infuriatingly calm expression.
“Is he insane? A wedding dress? What was he thinking?”
She had only been joking earlier, throwing out wild guesses to make herself feel better. But no, of course, Vincent Moretti had gone and proved her joke right.
Helen looked back at the box, staring at it in horror, her fingers frozen just inches from the fabric.
For a moment, she didn’t even dare to touch it, afraid the thing might actually curse her if she did.
She snapped the lid shut and shoved the box back onto the bed as if it might bite her fingers.
Then, she stood on her feet and paced back and forth across her room, dragging both hands through her hair.
Sleepy?
Tired?
Clearly, all of it had vanished. At this rate, Vincent Moretti wasn’t just driving her insane; he was dancing on the wreckage of her sanity with that smug face of his.
After three laps around the room, she finally grabbed her phone.
“That’s it. I’m calling him!”
Her thumb hovered over his name, but just before she pressed the screen, she froze.
“No. No. If I call him, he’ll just… tease me. And I’ll lose. Again.” She muttered to herself, glaring at the phone like it was Vincent himself.
Helen inhaled deeply, then nodded firmly.
“Yes! Text. Texting is safer. He can’t twist my words over text. Right?”
She types faster:
“Vincent, whatever you’re planning tomorrow, please stop. I don’t want a surprise wedding party. And I won’t wear the wedding gown.” From: Helen.
“Vincent, whatever you’re planning tomorrow, please stop. I don’t want a surprise wedding party. And I won’t wear the wedding gown.” From: Helen
Helen stared at the message.
Biting her lip as she read it repeatedly.
It looked reasonable. Firm. Mature.
Then she flopped onto the bed.
“Oh, perfect, Helen. That doesn’t sound dramatic at all.”
Her thumb hovered over the send button.
One. Two. Three.
“Ah… Whatever!” she pressed the send button.
The message was gone from her phone display, but not from her mind.
Within seconds, she feels like her heart has jumped to her throat.
“Oh, no. What have I done? He’s going to see this and…”
Her phone buzzed almost instantly. She was shocked, her cell phone nearly dropping to her face when she saw his name on the screen.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no… Why is he calling? Can you reply with another text?” She stared at the glowing screen like it had grown horns.
She quickly stood up, bit her inner lip, and looked puzzled at her cell phone.
Helen tried to convince herself to let it ring out, but her finger betrayed her and swiped to answer.
“Helen.” His deep voice slid through the line, calm as usual. “There’s no surprise wedding.”
“What?” She blinked, hearing his words.
“I said,” Vincent repeated slowly, “there’s no surprise wedding tomorrow. Relax.”
“Then what’s with the gown, Vincent? You seriously expect me to wear that thing just to sign a piece of paper?”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “Wear that gown so we can take a picture.”
“Why?” Her voice went up an octave. “Why on earth do we need to take pictures in a wedding gown? Don’t we just need to wear a white shirt for the photo on the wedding certificate?”
There was a pause, and then his voice lowered, casual but amused. “Because I want to send it to William Tupper.”
Helen was utterly shocked.
“…My father?”
“Yes. Imagine his face when he sees you happily married to me.” There was a beat of silence before Vincent delivered the final blow, smooth and merciless: “For revenge, Helen. Simple as that.”
“No!” She snapped before knowing she had already ended the call.
Helen felt like half her soul had just flown out the window. Her knees went weak, and she nearly collapsed before she caught herself on the edge of the bed and sat down, staring blankly at the gown box.
Among all the outrageous things Vincent Moretti had ever suggested, this was pure evil. Send a photo of her in a wedding gown to William Tupper-Her ex-father, the same man who had kicked her out of the family, tarnished her reputation, and made sure her humiliation was front-page news.
‘You are really creative, Vincent Moretti!’ She laughs inwardly.
When she was still puzzled to answer him, Vincent’s deep voice echoed in her mind from the phone call earlier: “Imagine his face, Helen. Imagine him choking on his cigar when he sees you married to me.”
She groaned while lying on the bed and buried her face in her hands.
“God, why does his plan even tempt me?”
Because it was priceless, that’s why. The thought of William’s veins popping out of his forehead, of his oh-so-perfect composure cracking in rage, was enough to stir a dangerous little thrill in her chest.
As if on cue, her phone buzzed. Vincent again.
Earlier, she only gave him a short answer, and of course, he called a second time. Typical.
Sighing, she answered. “Vincent, this is insane. I’m not sending my father a wedding photo.”
“Correction,” his smooth baritone slid through the line, “our wedding photo. And insane? Maybe. But effective to drive him angry? Absolutely.”
Helen was glaring at the ceiling as if Vincent’s face was hanging there.
“Seriously, your idea was not bad. But, Vincent… I need to know exactly why William Tupper hates you. I’m curious.”
Of course, Vincent didn’t answer. He ignores her question.
Helen silently took a deep sigh. She knew Vincent wasn’t entirely wrong. And a small, wicked part of her really did want William Tupper to choke on his arrogance when he knew she was married to Vincent Moretti.
But, no. She didn’t want to be involved with that old man.
“Forget it. I’m not playing your twisted revenge game. Our marriage remains secret. I don’t want a circus. I don’t want drama. I just want…” Her words trailed off, suddenly unsure what she wanted. Peace? Normalcy? A miracle?
But then reality punched her square in the face. The tabloids. The whispers. The vultures circling, hungry for gossip. Her name dragged back into the spotlight; she’d barely survived last time.
Her stomach twisted. No. She couldn’t. Not yet.
Before Helen could say something, Vincent chuckled enough to make her pause.
“Helen,” Vincent said, his tone softening in that rare, dangerous way that made her heart misbehave, “…you deserve to take something back. William Tupper took so much from you. Let me help you get revenge on him.”
