“Did he hurt you, mia rosa?” Her response is delayed, but she ultimately nods. Another deep breath, though blackness licks at the edges of the little vision I have left. “Will you tell me what he’s done?” “Ronaldo, I don’t . . . I don’t want you to hurt him.” If she’s fearful for his life, then he’s done something that deserves retribution. And that . . . That has a rage so black polluting my insides, my organs feel like they’re wilting and rotting beneath it.
