“It’s okay, sweet girl. No one is going to hurt you. Angelo Russo is not going to get his grubby hands on you, okay?” I say the words into her hair, hoping her scent will keep me grounded. I have a temper. And when I say I have a temper, I don’t mean I get mad. No, when I snap, I black out for periods of time until someone can bring me back again, and I can’t afford for Emerson to see me like that.
