I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down. Whoever dared to say or do anything that made my wife cry will be leaving this house within ten minutes. In a fucking body bag. “What. Happened?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Um . . . I’m helping Keva prepare an onion sauce.” I look down at the cutting board. Fucking onions. “Nevena!” I beckon the girl fumbling with the spices. “Take these away.” “What? Why?” Sienna asks. There’s no way I’m telling her that I nearly went ballistic because she was crying over damn onions.
