Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Yes. This was all for her son. The little boy who deserved a better world, who deserved to see his parents together.
Taking a deep breath, she finally opened the door.
And of course. Exactly as predicted.
Vincent stood there, leaning casually against the wall like a runway model, his lips curved into that victorious half-smile that made her want to throw something heavy at him. His eyes swept over her in one smooth motion, dark and unreadable yet burning with amusement.
Helen resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
But Oliver? Oh, her sweet Oliver’s reaction nearly knocked her down. His eyes went wide, his little jaw dropped, and then his whole face lit up like the morning sun.
“Mommy!” He ran to her and practically crashed into her legs, hugging her tightly. “You’re soooo pretty! Like a princess! Like the moon goddess… Like a queen!”
Helen’s heart melted instantly, her cheeks flushing as she bent down to meet his sparkling gaze.
“Baby, you think so?”
“Yes… Yess…” Oliver nodded so hard his little suit tie bounced. “You’re the prettiest mommy ever!”
Her lips curved into a soft smile, her heart swelling with both joy and embarrassment. She could feel Vincent’s eyes on her, like heat warming her skin, but she stubbornly ignored him.
Still, she couldn’t ignore Oliver when he tugged her hand, pulling her toward Vincent, toward the door.
“Alright, let’s go to my place,” Vincent finally said, his voice calm and smooth. He stretched out his hand toward Oliver. “Buddy…”
Oliver’s tiny fingers ignored Vincent; instead, he looked up at Helen and led her forward.
At first, she thought Oliver was going to give his hand to Vincent. But instead, he did the unthinkable; he placed her hand in Vincent’s.
‘What…?!’ Helen gasped, her eyes flying wide.
Before she could snatch it back, Vincent’s larger hand closed over hers firmly, as though the choice had never been hers to begin with.
“Good job, buddy,” Vincent said smoothly, giving Oliver a wink.
Helen shot him a glare so sharp it could cut his skin. Of course, Vincent ignores her.
And Oliver only giggled proudly, as if he had just accomplished a great mission.
And that was how Helen, unwilling and fuming inside, found herself being escorted out of her apartment like some blushing bride, her small hand trapped in Vincent’s steady grip.
Her heart pounded in her chest, not just from the contact but from the terrifying realization of what was happening. This was real; her son allied with Vincent. And she couldn’t escape from Vincent Moretti’s grip.
They walked into Vincent’s apartment next door.
Helen tried to keep her breathing calm, but it was impossible. The moment her eyes landed on the decorated living room, her chest went tight.
The air smelled faintly of fresh flowers and expensive cologne, the kind that reminded her this wasn’t just any man. This was Vincent Moretti. Powerful CEO. Cold strategist. Handsome as sin. And, unfortunately, now she is legally his wife.
Her heart clenched nervously when her gaze landed on the two government officials waiting by the dining table with neatly stacked papers and pens.
The way they looked at her was professional and polite. It felt like they were silently saying ‘Congratulations, madam… You win the jackpot!’
Oliver, of course, clapped his hands and beamed.
“Mommy! Daddy! Sign, sign, sign!”
Vincent leaned down and whispered to Oliver, “Buddy… Would you mind waiting with Dylan on the sofa?”
“Not at all, Dad.” Oliver nodded without hesitation. But before leaving, he turned to Helen with his brightest grin. “Mom… smile.”
Helen blinked, completely surprised.
‘Excuse me? Did my three-year-old just order me to smile like he’s my life coach?’ Her lips twitched upward despite herself, though it resembled more of a grimace than a smile. ‘God help me. Even my kid is playing cupid…’
She feels her heart warm. But the moment of warmth faded when Vincent’s hand tightened around hers.
Helen tried to pull her hand away, but there was no luck. His grip only tightened, as if he knew she might try to run at any moment.
Before she could ask him to let go of her hand, one of the officials cleared his throat and politely said, “Mr. Moretti. Mrs. Moretti. Shall we begin?”
‘Mrs. Moretti…’ Helen’s entire spine is tense.
Still, she let Vincent guide her to the seat beside him, her pulse thundering in her ears.
She tried to appear composed, her eyes fixed on the official across the table, but inside, a hurricane raged.
The man began speaking; procedures, legal jargon, vows wrapped in polite phrases.
Helen nodded along, barely processing any of it. Her mind was screaming: ‘Breathe, Helen. This is fine. Totally fine. People get married every day. It’s just… paperwork with extra trauma attached.’
And then came the pen.
“Mrs. Moretti, your signature, please.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. The official’s polite smile didn’t help. Vincent’s calm presence at her side also didn’t help. Nothing helped.
She scrawled her name anyway, her breath shallow when the new surname stared back at her.
Helen Moretti.
She silently swallows.
‘Moretti. Oh, fantastic. That name alone could flatten nations, and now it’s stapled to mine like some cursed brand logo.’
Her hilarious sarcasm in her mind didn’t help ease her chest as usual. It feels even more tightened.
‘Goodbye, Helen Taylor. You had a decent run. Hello, Helen Moretti, an accidental member of the Vincent Moretti family!’
“Congratulations, Mr. Moretti. Mrs. Moretti,” the official announced warmly.
“Thank you,” Vincent said smoothly, his voice the very definition of composed victory.
Helen turned her gaze toward him. And she was surprised to see him smiling. Not a mocking smirk this time, but something softer, almost triumphant. The kind of smile that said, ‘You’re mine now… Helen!’
“Th-thank you, sir,” she stammered quickly, shaking the official’s hand gently.
Inside, her thoughts spun in circles. ‘This isn’t love. We’re doing this for Oliver. Just Oliver. It’s not a romance. It’s not real. It’s…’
Her eyes flicked sideways to Vincent, who was still watching her, still holding her hand like he had no plans to ever let go.
‘My Lord… why does it feel real?’
That question lodged itself in her chest. The truth was unsettling: Vincent Moretti hadn’t asked for a fake marriage. He hadn’t offered a contract with loopholes or an escape hatch. He wanted this to be genuine. Binding. Absolute.
And that terrified her more than anything because she wasn’t sure what scared her most, being Vincent Moretti’s wife.
…
Helen thought that once they signed the documents, everything would be settled, but she was mistaken.
She took a deep sigh of relief after the two officials left the room, and Vincent was nowhere to be seen. She cuddled her son on the couch, enjoying the kisses and hugs he gave her.
“No, mom, stop tickling me…” Oliver giggled while trying to escape from her. But how could she release him? She tightened her hold while lowering her head to kiss his cheek.
Oliver stopped trying to escape; instead, he hugged her and said, “Congrats, Mommy… I love you.” He wrapped his arms around her neck. “I hope Daddy will be moving with us soon…”
Helen’s face suddenly grew warm.
Before she could speak, Vincent interrupted her, already standing in front of them. He extended his hand to Oliver.
“Come, follow me, Elle, Oliver…” he said.
Her brows knitted. “Where are we going?”
But of course, he didn’t answer. By now, Helen realized he only answered when he wanted to answer, not when she wanted him to.
For a moment, Helen only saw him holding Oliver’s hand. When she thought he would walk away, leaving her behind, he surprised her again. This time, he took her hand without asking.
She wanted to say something like, “Can you stop holding my hand without asking for my permission?” But when she saw Oliver trotting happily beside him, holding Vincent’s other hand as if this was the best adventure of his little life, it made her set aside the words.
‘What now, Vincent? Don’t tell me he’s dragging me to a press conference. Or worse… a public reception. Oh God, if he pulls out a microphone, I’m jumping out of this elevator.’ She wonders.
When the doors opened, he didn’t take them to the elevator. Instead, he led them to Emergency Stairs, and Helen froze.
‘The rooftop…?’
Helen nearly tripped over her step when she saw the rooftop. Now, it was completely different from the rooftop she knew.
Somehow, overnight, or maybe in just a few hours, Vincent had turned the rooftop into something out of a dream.
Soft lights strung across the open air. A flower arch stands proudly against the skyline, petals catching the sun, and a little garden arranged with perfect precision, with seats placed neatly to one side.
It wasn’t crowded. No swarms of people, no flashing media cameras. Just Dylan and Liam, waiting quietly, cameras already in hand.
