Chapter Five
Sitting at the dining room table, Charley tried to sip her coffee, but her hands trembled so badly, she spilled half of it onto her bathrobe.
She and Sasha hardly ever ate in the dining room, always preferring the coziness of the breakfast bar. But today, Rudy had it all set up—the good dishes, the placemats, cloth napkins, taper candles flickering in brass holders. If Charley didn’t know better, she’d say this was a celebration.
Instead, it felt like the last meal before an execution.
“Eat.” He settled in across from her, waving the gun at her plate of runny eggs and charred bacon. “I didn’t spend all morning cooking so you could turn your nose up like you just found a cockroach.”
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed her fork and sliced off a
