Filed to story: Accidentally Slept With The Young Mafia Boss (Vincent & Helen) Book PDF Free
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Mind your words, man. Don’t curse in front of my son, or I will find you and…”
Before he could finish, Oscar exploded again. “Oh, fuck you! Shit! Wait… do you have this on speaker?” His tone shifted instantly from aggressive to horrified.
Oliver’s eyes went wide. He had never heard those words before. He blinked up innocently at the phone. “Uncle Oscar, what is fuck? And what is shit?”
This time, the silence that followed felt like torture.
Vincent gritted his teeth tighter. His gaze drilled into the glowing screen as if he could silence Oscar with his eyes alone.
Oscar finally stammered back, his tone panicked but forced into a laugh. “Hahaha… little buddy, don’t say those words, okay? Those are bad words. If Mommy hears you saying them, she’ll punish you.”
“Bad words?” Oliver tilted his head curiously.
“Bad words?” Oliver tilted his head curiously.
“Yes, yes, buddy. Very bad. So never repeat those words.”
Oliver frowned, unconvinced. “But Uncle, you also said that. If you said those words, they must be good words, right?”
Vincent almost choked on air. His son’s innocent logic was both hilarious and dangerous. He quickly reached out, turning off the speaker before Oscar could dig himself into an even deeper hole.
Then, he leaned closer to Oliver, and their eyes met. Softened his tone as he said, “Oliver, can you wait in your room for a little while? Daddy needs to talk to Uncle Oscar.”
Oliver nodded obediently and hopped off the sofa, milk still in hand.
Once the bedroom door clicked shut, the gentleness in Vincent’s eyes vanished. His expression darkened, and his whole presence shifted like a storm gathering over the ocean.
He rose from the sofa and walked to the wide glass window, phone pressed firmly to his ear.
On the other end, Oscar’s voice quivered with fake cheer. “He-Hello? Are you still there? Oliver? Buddy? Come on, give the phone to your mommy, please…”
But this time, it wasn’t Oliver who answered. Vincent’s voice dropped low but cold, “You said you know who Oliver’s father is?”
“You again?” Oscar snapped, irritation sounding in his tone. Then, a deep sigh came from the other end before he continued, “Yes, of course I know! And that person is definitely not you.”
Vincent smirked, running his hand slowly over his eyebrow.
This was the first time someone had dared to speak so harshly to him and still kept breathing. Well, at least for now. If this damn Oscar kept challenging him, he would have no problem sending someone to take away that privilege.
He had no time to waste on someone so insignificant. Yet, he couldn’t allow this man to remain ignorant about his place, especially concerning Helen and Oliver.
“You mean… Oliver’s father is Vincent Moretti?” Vincent asked, his tone casual. He let the silence linger, waiting for Oscar’s reaction.
The other end of the line went quiet, only the faint sound of shaky breathing. Then Oscar’s voice broke through, trembling. “H-How do you know? Tell me, how do you know that person? Did Helen tell you?”
Vincent’s lips curved into a cold smile. He had him cornered.
“Because…” He let the word hang for a bit, “I’m that person. I’m Vincent Moretti.”
The silence that followed was almost satisfying. Vincent could imagine Oscar’s expression, the disbelief, the panic, the sudden awareness of just how small he was compared to the man on the other end of the call.
Vincent’s eyes darkened, his tone even colder, “And if you ever dare confuse my son again, I promise you, Oscar, you won’t like what happens next.”
Still no reaction from Oscar.
Vincent checked the cell phone and sighed silently when he saw the line was still connected.
“Anything else you want to say?” he asked impatiently, his tone still sounding sharp.
Instead of answering directly, Oscar chuckled before saying, “No wonder you’re trending again. Having a secret lover in Willowcrest? But man, you’re definitely going to ruin Elle’s peaceful life if you appear there.”
Vincent’s brows furrowed. His grip on the phone tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“I suggest you check the internet, man,” Oscar replied, sounding almost smug. “And sorry for making you angry before. I just didn’t know it was you. Alright, I won’t bother you again. But please… from one good man to another, don’t make Elle suffer even more. She has been through a lot for the last four years…”
Vincent didn’t bother with more words. He ended the call right away.
A heavy silence filled the room as he slid his hand into his pocket and took out his own phone.
Notifications had piled up like a storm; calls, alerts, news apps screaming for his attention.
When his eyes fell on the first headline, his expression became stiff.
[Is the Nation’s most eligible bachelor hiding a secret lover in Willowcrest?]
He scrolled, and more followed, each one worse than the last:
[Vincent Moretti spotted in sleepy seaside town. Who is the mystery woman by his side?]
[From CEO to secret family man? Vincent Moretti’s shocking double life.]
[Nation’s heartbreaker, heart taken? Fans devastated after blurry photos surface.]
[Vincent Moretti’s hidden romance: Fairytale in Willowcrest or scandal in disguise?]
[Has Vincent Moretti finally met his match? Or is this another fling gone wrong?]
Each headline felt like a nail hammered against his temple. He massaged his brow. Frustration swallowed him.
He had given his word to Helen that she would have peace. Six months of hiding in this place. Six months where she could live without the weight of his world pressing down on her shoulders.
And now, barely a day into their new life here, the storm had already found them.
His gaze shifted toward the window, where the endless blue sea stretched across the horizon. He had allowed Helen to stay here because it was quiet, far from the noise of the capital. Yet noise had a way of finding him.
He tapped his phone and made a call.
“Dylan.”
The line connected instantly.
“Boss, I was about to call you… The internet! It’s…”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’m calling you now,” Vincent interrupted.
Then he laid out what he wanted him to do.
“I need you to tweak the plan. I’ll be flying back to the capital tomorrow morning. Feed the reporter with some bigger news to distract them, like a political scandal or an A-List celebrity scandal. You know a couple of politicians with some dirty love affairs and several celebrities with their drug abuse habits. Just make sure the public loses interest in writing about Willowcrest.”
“Understood. Consider it done.”
Vincent hung up, but his chest still felt tight.
He drafted a series of quick text messages, issuing instructions to a few people.
Only when everything was moving in motion did he finally leave the room, with Helen’s cell phone in his hand.
He couldn’t let her read the news by herself. He needs to talk to her directly.
He races down the stairs two at a time, heading for the fourth floor. The cool air trails behind him, but his thoughts are still on fire.
A few minutes later, he stood in front of the door, phone still buzzing with replies. He gave a few final instructions to his people, then exhaled slowly.
With one hand, he pressed the doorbell.
Vincent can hear footsteps inside.
The door swung open, and Helen appeared, her expression filled with surprise. Her eyes widened as though she hadn’t expected him to show up so soon.
“Vincent? Why are you here?”
He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the sight of her. Part of him wanted to pull her close immediately, shield her from the world clawing at their door.
But instead, he kept his voice steady. “I need to talk to you.”
Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion and concern flashing across her face. “Did something happen?”
Vincent’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes stayed dark, unreadable. “Yes. And you need to hear it from me first.”
Helen’s heart clenched. Even though his voice was calm, she could clearly see the worry in his eyes. She stepped aside and let him in.
They moved to the seating area, settling on the sofa with the coffee table between them.
Vincent leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together, while Helen sat upright, her fingers twisted tightly in her lap.
He did not waste time. “Someone took a picture of me while I was driving,” he said. “They uploaded it online. The post spread to bloggers, gossip sites, and now it is trending everywhere.”
Helen’s face was pale. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but no words came. She just stared at him, waiting, her wide eyes filled with worry.
The sight of her hands trembling, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip, struck something deep inside him.
