Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
“Through the door,” he replied flatly.
Helen’s eyes sharpened. “Vincent Moretti!”
His playful smile faltered when he realized she was serious. “Well, I rang the bell. Oliver opened the door for me.”
She gasped.
“You what?!” Helen stared at him in disbelief. “You woke up our son to let you in? This early?”
Vincent’s gaze stayed fixed on hers, steady and calm.
“You mean I interrupted your beauty sleep?” Before she could explode, he added quickly, “I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll remember next time.”
Helen opened her mouth but then closed it again, completely speechless.
He continued to make her less angry, “Don’t worry, I didn’t disturb his sleep… My chef cooked everything downstairs and just delivered it here. And I know he is already awake…”
Helen narrowed her gaze on him. But, inwardly, she was torn between strangling him and scolding him.
“Don’t be upset. I just hope you can take it a bit easier today. This is your special day, after all!”
It was amusing to watch him, Vincent Moretti, try to lessen her anger. She wasn’t completely mad at him, but she didn’t like how he did something before consulting her first.
“Unbelievable. Only you would turn my apartment into a five-star hotel.”
A corner of his lips curved again when he saw her finally smile. “You’re welcome, Helen.”
Helen didn’t want to say another word to Vincent. If she opened her mouth, she’d either choke on sarcasm or throw her fork across the room. Neither felt like a good option before breakfast.
So instead, she kept her eyes on her plate, poking her food as if it might reveal the meaning of life.
But just as she gathered the nerve to check on Oliver, his little voice rang out from his bedroom.
“Mommy! Daddy!”
Both Helen and Vincent turned at once.
Vincent’s face softened instantly, his sharp features melting into something warmer, almost boyish. The way his eyes lit up, it wasn’t fair how easily he could shift from a terrifying billionaire to a doting father in a single heartbeat.
But Helen’s reaction was entirely the opposite. Her eyes widened, and her fork clattered against her plate as Oliver toddled into view.
She blinked a few times.
‘Oh no. Oh, absolutely not…’
Her three-year-old son wasn’t in his pajamas anymore. He wasn’t even in his little dinosaur T-shirt. No, Oliver stood there in a miniature Vincent Moretti-tailored suit, tiny bow tie, and a white sneaker. He looked like a little gentleman.
And worse? He looked insanely gorgeous.
For a moment, Helen gasped.
Her brain seems to scream between: ‘Aww…my little baby will break so many hearts in the future…’ And, ‘What in the world did Vincent do this time? Why did he buy Oliver this suit without telling me?’
Oliver walked right up to her, his little steps proud yet hesitant. When his small hand slipped into hers, she finally snapped out of her daze.
“Mommy…” His sweet voice wobbled as he looked up at her. “Why… Why are you not saying anything? Do I look ugly in this…?”
Helen was shocked. Her baby’s big hazel eyes, shining one second ago, were dimming right in front of her. He fidgeted with his suit as if he wanted to take it off.
Before Helen could get a word out, Oliver’s lips trembled with another worried word. “Daddy, I told you… Mommy must not like me wearing this. I don’t have this kind of…”
“No. No, sweetheart…!” Helen interrupted him quickly, her voice firm, desperate. She cupped his soft cheeks between her palms and forced his gaze up to hers.
“But… But why aren’t you saying anything, Mom?” His eyes stay fixed on her, making her heart tighten.
“Baby, I’m not quiet because I don’t like it. I’m quiet because… I’m shocked. You’re too handsome, Oliver. You took my breath away. For a moment, I feel like I’m mesmerized…” She genuinely answers.
“Really, mom?”
“Really. I thought I was dreaming. For a second, I didn’t even recognize you. You look so handsome like a prince…”
The light returned to his eyes instantly, brighter than the sun. His grin stretched ear to ear. “Handsome? Like Daddy?”
And of course, Vincent seized the opening. He leaned forward, smirking. “See, buddy? I told you. Mommy loves it. You’re handsome. Just like me.”
Helen’s head snapped toward him, her expression deadly calm, but her glare shouted, “Mister, you and I are going to have a NICE talk later. How could you plan this without telling me?”
Vincent, wise enough to read the warning signs, raised his hands in surrender and busied himself pulling out Oliver’s chair.
Without saying another word, he helped their son take off his suit and carried him to his seat. Then he started cutting food for Oliver, looking as if he had been feeding toddlers his whole life.
Helen, meanwhile, sat there trying to collect the shreds of her sanity, between Oliver’s cuteness and Vincent, who drives her insane enough to make her blood pressure hit dangerous levels.
Still, once her son began happily munching his breakfast, humming between bites, the tension in her chest eased.
The three of them settled into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm.
Vincent concentrated on making sure Oliver ate without spilling half his plate or getting his shirt dirty.
Oliver chattered about how the mini suit made him feel like a charming prince.
Helen just kept sipping her latte, pretending she wasn’t secretly charmed by the whole scene.
When breakfast finally finished, Oliver hopped off his chair, then he clutched his suit as though afraid it might vanish.
Vincent excused himself to tidy the plates, because apparently, he was full of surprises today.
Helen slipped away toward her room. Her heart was racing again. This time, not because of Oliver’s cuteness, but because of the day itself.
Today wasn’t just another morning. Today, her life will change forever.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and was surprised to see her face slightly turn pale and nervous.
“Get a grip, Helen,” she muttered at her reflection. A forced smile shaped her face as she said, “You’re not going to war. You’re just… marrying Vincent Moretti. No big deal.”
The sarcasm in her voice made her chuckle softly.
“Yeah, right. No big deal. Just the man who drives me insane almost daily happens to be absolutely gorgeous and so rich he could probably buy this whole town just for fun. Totally casual…”
She turned her eyes to the bed. Her mind was confused as she looked at the shopping bag Vincent gave her last night.
“Should I?”
For a brief moment, Helen’s mind was filled with the image of two handsome men waiting outside her door.
One was Vincent, annoyingly poised, radiating CEO energy in his tailored suit. The other was Oliver, her adorable three-year-old son, dressed like the tiniest executive in town.
And here she was, hiding in the bathroom like some reluctant runaway bride.
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection in the mirror before her.
“Seriously, Helen Taylor… a white shirt and messy hair? Your son looks like he’s running a Fortune 500 company, and you look like you just rolled out of bed.”
After taking a deep sigh, Helen turned again toward the paper bag on her bed, the one Vincent had delivered like it was some innocent little gift when, in truth, it was nothing but a trap.
She narrowed her eyes as she realized that Vincent had dressed their son in a cute suit-an apparent trap designed to melt her heart and persuade her to finally agree to wear the wedding gown.
“For God’s sake, Vincent Moretti,” she muttered, pointing at the bag as if it were Vincent himself. “Was this your grand plan? To trick me? Seriously… are you trying to give me high blood pressure before thirty?”
But of course, without her mind settled, her feet were already moving toward the bag. Then, she pulled out the gown and held it up.
She was surprised to see the gown.
This wasn’t the suffocating, floor-length gown she had imagined. No excessive lace, no dramatic train that could double as a carpet, no scandalous slit that made brides look like they were battling frostbite. Instead, it was simple. Elegant.
An elegant, long-sleeved, A-line, vintage spring tea-length wedding gown.
She slipped it on nervously. But when she turned toward the mirror, her eyes widened.
The reflection staring back at her wasn’t the exhausted single mom who spent her nights worrying about bills and her days hiding from her father’s shadows. No, this was a woman she barely recognized. Graceful. Calm. Beautiful.
She had done nothing special with her hair, just let it fall over her shoulders. A touch of eyeliner, the faintest hint of blush, a soft lipstick shade. Enough to bring out the glow she thought had died years ago.
“Gosh, Elle,” she whispered to herself, biting her lip as her eyes grew moist. “You’re… you’re actually pretty.”
Her chest tightened with a strange, bittersweet ache. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to feel this way, to admit she was more than the woman her father had disowned, more than just Oliver’s mother.
Shaking off the lump in her throat, she slipped on her only pair of stilettos.
The last thing she wanted was to step outside and see Vincent’s smug grin when he realized she had given in.
Because she knew… oh, she knew, he’d be standing there with that triumphant CEO expression plastered across his face.
“Elle, relax… You are not doing this for Vincent Moretti,” she reminded herself, clutching her hands. “I did this because of Oliver.”
