Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my head up. “That would mean no, I assume?”
“That would mean no, Milene,” he says in that cold tone, grabs me around my waist and lifts me up over his shoulder.
“Salvatore!” I yell with my head once again dangling behind his back as he carries me. “Put me down! Right now!”
He takes a couple of more steps, then stops. Thank you, Jesus, there is some sense in him after all.
“The food was excellent, Jonathan. Tell the chef we enjoyed our meal and put the damages on my account.”
“Of course, Mr. Ajello,” answers a strangled voice, and Salvatore resumes his trek through the restaurant. The f*****g son of a b***h keeps walking!
“I have your shoulder lodged in my stomach,” I snap. “I’m going to puke all over your fancy suit if you don’t put me down, Salvatore
