“Koba, you have a visitor.”
Jozef’s muscles strained with effort as he dragged his body up to the ceiling, tilting his head to the side as he lifted himself and held the pose for 40 seconds while the guard stood behind him, waiting quietly. Jozef let go, dropping to the floor of his cell. He’d intended to do four sets of ten pull-ups and was only halfway through.
Who is it? he signed, reaching for the towel on his bed and mopping the sweat off his face and chest.
Two of the guards at Prison Karvina had learned sign language after Jozef had been transferred from Prague after his sentencing.
Within a month of imprisonment, it became clear to the authorities that Jozef had too much support in the Pankrác Remand Prison outside of Prague. During his first week he’d stabbed his cellmate. It’d been a calculated move. Inmates and guards alike who hadn’t known of him and his reputation would have preyed on what they saw as a weakness; his inability to speak or scream for help. After the stabbing, he’d been moved to solitary until his trial, which suited him. It was a good way to avoid Krystoff and his lawyers while giving Jozef the uninterrupted time he needed to strategize his next moves.
The prison officials hoped that by moving him closer to the Polish border he’d have fewer allies and serve his time quietly. They hadn’t counted on Jozef’s global mindset. He had men in prisons throughout Czechia and surrounding countries. If they transferred him to Siberia, he’d still have all the support he needed on the inside.
Jozef effectively ran Prison Kavina. He’d always had a policy of treating his men well and caring for their families if they got picked up and jailed. His family-inclusive mentality had won him the undying loyalty of some of the most hardened men in Eastern Europe. All it took was checking in on their mamas while they were inside.
He brought the guards alongside by padding their salaries and paying off the local authorities and politicians to look the other way as he rose through the ranks in prison. It hadn’t all been tea-time chats. A few of the more tenacious bosses hadn’t wanted to give up their positions to the enforcer of the Koba clan, but Jozef had convinced them otherwise. The prison guards simply looked the other way as Jozef cut a bloody path through the system, working his way up until he had enough power to ensure his every need was met both inside and out.
“Krystoff Koba is here to see you.”
Jozef dropped the towel and pulled on a T-shirt. He’d been waiting for this moment. His uncle had visited Pankrác before Jozef had gone into solitary, but the conversation hadn’t gone well and Jozef had declined any more visits. Krystoff refused to believe anyone in the family was responsible for Shaun’s poisoning.
Jozef’s single-minded purpose while in prison, besides climbing his way to the top, was finding the person who’d nearly killed his fiancé, put Jozef in prison, and tore him from the woman he loved.
He’d spent every night for a year fantasizing about what he would do to the traitor when he got hold of them. Peel the skin from thier body one strip at a time, drain every drop of blood, dismember them while they were still alive. He didn’t care who it was, when he found the traitor, he was going to take his revenge in the worst possible way. Each family member took turns in his fantasies, swapping out depending on who he settled on as the would-be murderer. Sometimes Krystoff, sometimes Dasha, sometimes Leeza.
The guard led him to a dank room one floor above Jozef’s cell. A metal table took up most of the small room, along with two metal chairs. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow. A barred window allowed a weak amount of sunlight to filter through a dirty windowpane.
“Let me know if you need anything,” the guard said, motioning Jozef inside.
Jozef dipped his head in a nod and stepped into the visitor’s room. The door slammed shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the small space.
Krystoff looked the same as he remembered, except for a few more lines around his eyes. His beard obscured the lower half of his face, but his dark blue eyes, the same shade as Jozef’s, spoke eloquently. Jozef saw compassion and concern there, but he wasn’t convinced it was real.
What do you want? Jozef asked, dragging the metal chair away from the table, scraping it across the concrete floor and dropping into it.
It’s time to come home, son.