Dating the Don (Savage Crime Lords #1)

1. Tommaso

Chapter One

TOMMASO

Two weeks earlier

“ Y our guests are waiting in the VIP lounge, Don Tommaso,” my underboss informs me.

I step into the VIP loft. It provides a discreet perch to observe the night's proceedings.

So far, so good.

I smile from the loft at my esteemed guests—a high-profile real estate magnate known for his connections in construction, and a stock trader with ties to the highest financial circles.

“ Buonasera , gentlemen. I trust the evening finds you well.” I step down into the VIP lounge, acknowledging their presence with a nod.

“Tommaso, always a pleasure. Your establishment never fails to impress,” Vincent says with a wry grin on his face.

“I’m glad you like it,” I pat him on the shoulder.

“Tiberio would have been proud,” Antonio smiles at me. I smile back at hearing my father’s name. Antonio was his closest friend and is the person I have trusted the most since his death.

“The papers for the new plaza construction have been a hassle, but I've greased the right palms. Everything's on track,” he adds.

The dialogue shifts seamlessly between business and the night's entertainment. A server approaches with a bottle of fine Italian wine and pours it into crystal glasses.

“ Salute ,” I raise my glass first. “To alliance and success,” I remark, a nod to the code governing our interactions.

The conversation with them continues, disrupted by the occasional clink of wine glasses and the low hum of the club below. The fragrant haze of cigars lingers in the air. Lorenzo, my arms dealer, comes in with a message.

“ Signore ,” he whispers, “the new shipment is here. Your approval is needed for the handover.”

I maintain my composure, leaning in to respond. “Deal with it discreetly. I'm occupied with our guests.”

Later, I excuse myself and leave the VIP lounge, the muted hum of the conversation now fades into the distant echo of the music from the club below.

Descending the staircase, the noise intensifies. I navigate through the dimly lit hallways. My gaze lingers on the restroom area. “Luca,” I call, catching the eye of one of my men patrolling the vicinity. “Head to the restrooms. Make sure nobody's indulging in anything they shouldn't be.” Luca nods to the other men, urging them to follow.

The Odeon is more than a club, more than a business; it's a legacy.

The past of my clan lingers in these walls, and I won't allow it to be tainted.

As I scan over the room, my eyes catch the delicate movement of a lone figure at the club’s counter—a girl, lean with dark brown hair cascading in loose waves. She's a vision, her black cocktail dress blending flawlessly with the club's ambiance.

Though she is blending in perfectly, and her familiarity would deceive any onlooker, I know she's not a regular at Odeon. Her aura, distinct and cautious, sets her apart. She is scribbling something on a notebook sprawled open before her. Some mischievous part of me is dying to find out what she’s writing about.

As I approach, I notice her gaze fixated on the pages, her pen moving with purpose. The air is thick with the scent of cigars and fine spirits, yet her world seems insulated. Strange.

She doesn't look up when I reach the counter. Settling onto the stool beside her, I glance at the notebook. “Odd preference of a workspace, I must say.”

“Maybe,” she continues to write but then stops midway, “How do you know its work?” She smirks to herself, not looking up yet.

Damn. She’s beautiful.

My gaze traces the delicate lines of her face.

Her features are a toxic blend—eyes that hold a universe of blue hues, a nose that curves in a perfect arc, and lips that carry a soft, inviting curve.

She could easily work in the movies. It's not just her physical charm but the authenticity that radiates from her being. She looks carefree and happy, two things I hardly come across now.

She finally raises her head. Her eyes, those blue beads, are on me now.

There's a warmth in that gaze, a familiarity that tugs at the corners of my heart.

I am glad she is come here tonight.

“There are no creative pursuits on a Saturday night. Especially in a busy club. At its bar counter,” I smile back. “Must be something serious.”

"Good guess, but not really. In fact, I'm a food blogger for the Bel-Air Magazine," she reveals, her dark blue eyes holding a spark of passion. ‘Ella Hart, pleasure to meet you.’

"Ah," I reply, feigning surprise. “Tommaso,” I take her hand in my own “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine”. There is a surprising softness in her touch that catches me off guard. Her skin is velvety, and it feels like a balm to the rough edges of the world I’m used to. "Ever sampled the offerings of this fine establishment?"

“Doing exactly that. That is my current assignment, reviewing The Odeon,” she grins.

“A luxury club?” I scoff.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” she says. “A little too ritzy, though. But places like these host the best parties in all of Los Angeles,” she winks at me.

She’s flirty, too.

I play along, “Parties, yes. But when it comes to food, I’m not so sure.” I signal to the bartender and he gets a bottle of Merlot. “What's your take on it?”

She smirks, her eyes narrowing playfully. "To be honest, you’re right. I’ve tasted better."

“Have you tried the specialties?” I take a sip of my wine, not moving my eyes from her.

“Oh, you mean those dishes that are only pleasing to the eyes. Those fancy, overpriced, things taste like shit, trust me.”

So, hiring the best chef in the city with three Michelin Stars was just a waste of money.

“No escorts, though, that’s strange enough,’ she looks around. ‘Every other lavish club I've reviewed is crawling with them. I guess every powerful man wants a pretty woman on his arm.”

I admire your taste and your sharp tongue, Ella. But it is too distracting for my business dealings.

“I don’t think your review is going to be on the positive side, Ella,” I sneer.

“Honesty is the essence of a good review,” she says, putting her notebook in her bag.

Don’t leave, Ella. Not yet.

“Well, if you want a unique angle for that review, you can always add an exclusive interview with me,” I beam.

“And you are?” She raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on her dark red lips. “If you’re trying to charm me into a secluded corner with that line, it won’t work.”

I chuckle, playing along with her teasing. “Well, I thought it was worth a shot. I don’t get to have gorgeous food bloggers review my club every evening.”

In a fraction of a second, her playful and flirty expression changes into an incredulous one. She gawps at me with those big blue eyes.

“I need a drink.” She chokes out.