Goodnight, Sinners (Sinner's Empire Book 3)

by Nikita Slater

  “What are you going to do with me?” She wished her voice sounded less slurred.

  Shaun rubbed her arm.

  Jozef shook his head. Nothing. I’m not going to hurt you.

  “Good, then you can let me go.”

  I can’t do that. You’re in the same danger you were in before…

  He didn’t finish the sentence but looked away.

  “Before you killed my father,” she finished for him, her voice flat.

  He nodded.

  I’m sorry, he signed. I wish it could have been avoided.

  Saskia didn’t know what to say, but the grief she saw on her cousin’s face was real. It matched hers. The sort of angry grief a person felt when the one they loved didn’t have to die. Saskia’s father had chosen his path, and though Jozef had been the one to kill him, he hadn’t wanted things to end that way.

  “What about my mother?” Saskia asked. “Do you… do you have her?”

  N-O, he admitted. But we’re looking.

  “What will you do with her when you find her?”

  He didn’t speak, but his hardened expression spoke volumes.

  Saskia pushed out of Shaun’s embrace and moved to the edge of the bed, pleading with Jozef. “Don’t kill her. I know she’s been a pain in your ass…” she glanced guiltily back at Shaun, “and she tried to kill Shaun, but she’s my mother. I can’t lose both of my parents.”

  Jozef stared at her. It was clear his heart was warring with his head. Saskia took her advantage and continued to push.

  “She raised you and she really loved you, even though she fucked everything up. She’s disturbed, Jozef. We’ve all known it for years, but no one ever talked about it. She nearly killed her own sister over a bout of stupid jealousy. Dad should have locked her up back then.”

  Jozef’s face softened and Saskia knew she had him. She went in for the kill. “We can keep her confined for the rest of her life. I’ll even volunteer to be the one who looks after her. Just please don’t kill her.”

  Jozef looked at her with pity. I’m sorry.

  Saskia collapsed back onto the bed. She understood his reasoning, understood why he had to kill Dasha, but understanding didn’t repair the tear in her heart that kept getting bigger.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of the way everything had changed. Life as she knew it was over. She had no idea where she was going now or what her place in the family was. Would she be allowed to go back to school? Would she still have to make an advantageous mafia marriage?

  She was too tired to ask, but eventually she would need answers to her questions so her future would feel a little less uncertain.

  Jozef must’ve seen the despair on her face because he stepped up to the bed and put his hand on her head.

  Saskia crawled away from him, pushing Shaun’s comforting hands aside.

  “I want to be alone.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “A Mr. Dietrick and a Special Agent Moreau to see Mr. Koba.”

  Jozef looked up from his desk, paperwork spread across the surface, and tried to reengage his brain. He’d been consumed by Krystoff’s meticulous record-keeping, not something he had suspected his uncle capable of. Yet the evidence of Krystoff’s obsessive need to record every interaction, be it financial, contractual or personal, filled a small room of file cabinets next to his office.

  Jozef had been engrossed in the records surrounding Leeza’s marriage when Atlas had interrupted him. Though Jozef had recently found out about Leeza’s parentage, it turned out that Krystoff had known for years and her marriage appeared to be based on the knowledge. Jozef couldn’t figure out why, unless it was petty revenge against his now-beloved wife. He’d wanted her to suffer in some small way for birthing a bastard into the family and accomplished it by giving the girl away in marriage to a monster. The more Jozef read, the more he realized his uncle had known exactly who and what Adam Horáček was prior to the union. Yet, he still negotiated the marriage, and there didn’t appear to be even a hint of blackmail to push him into the decision. No, it appeared to be simply a matter of petty revenge.

  Show them in, Jozef signed to Atlas. Get H-A-V-E-L.

  Jozef had been expecting this meeting. After the death of his uncle, he’d smoothed things over with law enforcement fairly easily. Krystoff had orchestrated the attack on his nephew and Jozef and the ‘residents’ of the building had simply been defending themselves.

  It was a weak story, though it was mostly true. Despite Jozef’s attempt to clear the building of anything that could be illegal, he’d been shaken by Krystoff’s death and had missed a few things. Though he’d hidden his rocket launcher in the safe room, it was clear his apartment had been blown up by something significantly more powerful than a sidearm. It was also clear that Krystoff hadn’t killed himself with a rocket launcher. Still, Jozef had thrown money and promises at the problem and it had gone away. He’d even convinced law enforcement not to pursue any questioning with Shaun.

  She’d been surprised by the lack of questions, but Jozef had reassured her they got everything they needed from others and didn’t require an additional statement from her. She’d been too traumatized to question him further. Something he was grateful for. She didn’t need to know that they’d had to dispose of Giselle’s body privately. Or that they suspected someone close to Jozef of killing her.

  Though the local police had cleared Jozef and his team of any wrongdoing in the attack, the Prime Minister’s office was gunning for him, hoping to use the incident to their benefit. Dietrick would be here on the Prime Minister’s behalf, his bodyguard and mouthpiece, and had apparently teamed up with Interpol to add more weight to his efforts.

  Jozef recognized the name Moreau. Though it was a common French name, most in the underworld knew of Interpol bloodhound, Francois Moreau. He was known for bringing down organized crime families.

  Jozef’s suspicions were proved true when Atlas escorted the two men into his office. Jozef stared hard at Moreau. He was the same man that their surveillance had taken pictures of. According to Jozef’s sources, the man had been looking closely at the Koba family.

  Moreau must have a set of solid brass balls for walking into Jozef’s den like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Koba,” Dietrick said coldly.

  Jozef wasn’t surprised at the chilly greeting. Last time they met, Jozef had put a bullet in the other man’s shoulder for endangering Shaun on the highway.

  Jozef didn’t attempt to communicate, instead crossing his arms over his chest and staring at them. He wanted them to feel the heat of discomfort while they waited for Havel to arrive, which could take anywhere from two minutes to fifteen, depending where he was on the estate.

  It was times like this, meetings like this, when Jozef knew how to use his voicelessness to his advantage. Humans were used to using vocal communication. They relied on it so much that many had lost their ability to read body language and nuances. Jozef had spent his entire life honing his ability to read others. Not in what they said, but in what they didn’t say.

  Dietrick was attempting to put on a brave front, but fear radiated from him in waves. His slightly raised eyebrows, taut forehead and open mouth breathing gave away his fear. He also moved so that the shoulder Jozef had shot was turned away, subconsciously favouring his injury. Like a shark, Jozef smelled blood in the water when it came to Dietrick.

  He shifted his focus to the other man, openly staring at Moreau. The Frenchman was more difficult to read. His expression was guarded, and his body language was loose and uninterested, his hands in his pockets, his gaze on the fireplace mantle, which showcased Krystoff’s cigar box and a few other trinkets. Of course, Moreau wasn’t as casual as he looked. The rapid flicker of his pulse gave him away. Was his elevated heart rate fear or excitement?

  Havel knocked once and let himself into the office. Ignoring the other two men, he approached Jozef’s desk and signed, you want an interpreter?

  Jozef gave him
a feral smile. Not just any interpreter. I want you.

  Havel chuckled. I love you too, bro.

  It was a joke, of course, but it amused both men to laugh privately while their guests stood stiffly waiting for acknowledgment and wondering what the hell was being said.

  Jozef cleared his throat, and Havel took that as his cue to step to the left side of the desk. Near the boss, protective, but keeping Jozef in the position of power.

  It was all about optics. If they acted like tough guys, then others would believe that they were seeing tough guys. Jozef had a reputation for being brutally efficient, and though he was as his reputation suggested, half of the stories that circulated about him were made up. He and his men did nothing to discourage them.

  What do you want? Jozef signed, staring hard at Dietrick.

  Havel interpreted.

  Dietrick looked uncomfortable and glanced between Jozef and Havel as if trying to decide where his eyes should land. He made the correct choice when he chose Jozef.

  “We have some questions regarding the evening of November 29th,” Dietrick began. He pulled a notebook from his inside coat pocket, channeling every television detective ever.

  I’ve answered questions. I have nothing more to add.

  “I understand.” Dietrick tapped the notepad with his pen. “This won’t take long. We just need to clear up a few inconsistencies.”

  Before he could begin, Moreau spoke up. “Our condolences for the loss of your uncle.”

  He was staring just as hard at Jozef as Jozef had stared at him earlier. He was looking for micro expressions. For a split second, Jozef wondered if the man knew sign language. His gaze was sharp, and his mind seemed to be working overtime.

  Thank you, Jozef signed.

  “It must have been terrible for you,” Moreau continued. “Being the one to end his life. He took you in as a child, correct?”

  I think you know that your information is correct.

  Moreau nodded and fell silent, allowing Dietrick to continue. In a few sentences, Moreau had made it clear that he was in charge of any investigation that was happening. Dietrick was a mouthpiece sent from the prime minister’s office to open doors for Interpol.

  Interesting.

  “What were you doing when you first found out the building was under attack?” Dietrick asked, not looking up from his blank notepad.

  I was watching TV with my wife and her mother.

  Dietrick looked up sharply. “You got married?”

  Jozef let out a soft growl before signing, as good as.

  Havel translated, then added, “You’ll want to call her his wife if you prefer your arms attached. He’s not big on disrespect.”

  Jozef’s lips stretched into a feral grin, punctuating Havel’s warning.

  “Please refrain from threatening law enforcement,” Dietrick said with as much dignity as he could manage while nearly shitting his pants.

  Jozef barked his laughter and signed, you aren’t law enforcement any more than we are. If your friend here, who is law enforcement, has a problem with me, he can step up and say something.

  Moreau nodded at the exchange, his sharp eyes flicking between the men. “No problems here.”

  Dietrick looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. “Uh… so you were watching television with your… wife and her mother. What’s the mother’s name?”

  No comment, Jozef signed while Havel translated.

  They would already know Fatima’s name, but if they somehow didn’t, he wouldn’t enlighten them. He would protect the women under his care, no matter who was asking the questions.

  “I’m afraid I need you to answer the question,” Dietrick pushed.

  Jozef placed his hands on his desk and leaned over, narrowing his eyes. No, you don’t.

  Before Dietrick could push his own head further through the noose he was hanging for himself, Moreau stepped in. “Move on, Dietrick.”

  Jozef snorted, straightening. So Moreau fancied himself the good cop here.

  Dietrick pushed forward as if he hadn’t had a good portion of his pride crushed by the man standing across from him. “What was your response when you found out your building was under attack?”

  I contacted my men and told them to defend our holdings.

  Havel glanced at him, as if questioning his blatant honesty, but translated.

  Jozef wasn’t worried. It wasn’t illegal to defend property in the Czech Republic. His building had been stormed and he was a professional security expert. It was only natural that he and his men would act in their own best interests.

  “You didn’t think to call the police?”

  Our building alarm connects with the local police department. The moment the building was attacked, law enforcement was informed.

  “Yet you didn’t wait for them. You allowed your people to rampage through the building, killing indiscriminately.”

  Jozef hadn’t credited Dietrick with having enough balls to come out swinging, not when their first meeting had ended badly for the man. He must feel brave with Interpol at his back. Little did he realize, Interpol wouldn’t lift a finger unless it helped them with an apprehension.

  My people defended themselves and the building they were charged with defending. Jozef paused, as if gathering his thoughts. Are you implying we should have waited for the police to arrive? We should have allowed ourselves to be killed? I will remind you that there were casualties on both sides.

  “Far more on the other side than on yours,” Dietrick countered.

  My men are better trained in high-pressure security situations. Jozef crossed his arms over his chest, bulging his biceps, telling the other man through body language to back off this line of questioning.

  Dietrick wasn’t good at hints.

  He pressed on. “You could have detained those men. Your guys left fewer men alive than dead.”

  Jozef frowned fiercely. How were we supposed to do that? Politely ask them to hand over their weapons and stand down? I’m not pleased with your implication that we could have done something differently that night. I lost my uncle and a good friend. I have nothing further to say. Unless you plan on charging us with something, leave. Jozef’s expression became derisive as he continued, but of course, you can’t charge us with anything because you aren’t actually law enforcement. You’re security, just like us.

  If Dietrick ever needed work outside of the Prime Minister’s office, he better move clear across the world, because Jozef planned to make his life very difficult once he lost the protection of his politician buddy.

  Moreau took a step toward Jozef’s desk. “I have one more question, if you don’t mind.”

  Jozef waved his arm, indicating the other man could ask.

  “Do you know the whereabouts of Dasha Koba?”

  Jozef stiffened, but otherwise didn’t so much as twitch to give away his thoughts. Finally, after a long moment, he answered, I do not.

  They stared at each other, then Jozef signed, do you know where she is?

  “No.”

  Moreau’s answer came before Havel could translate. He’d deliberately shown his hand. Jozef wondered if the other man was giving away his ability to put himself in Jozef’s camp, or as a warning.

  Moreau was a clever man, Jozef knew it in his gut. The man would definitely show up again. The question was, who was he really and what did he want?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Shaun rifled through her purse, making sure she had everything she needed for a trip into the city. Cell phone, wallet, tissues, tampons, taser, pepper spray, mini first aid kit.

  She grinned to herself as she exited her bedroom.

  Her life had changed enormously. Two years ago, she would never have imagined carrying a taser and pepper spray. Of course, Jozef was the one who insisted she carry some form of protection. He told her she wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house unless she had the correct accessories.

  She skipped down the wide staircase, her steps happy and
light. She was going to meet Dr. Černý at the hospital to go over the particulars of their upcoming joint surgery. She was so happy to finally get back to work that nothing could bring her down. Or so she thought, until she rounded the bottom of the staircase, heading for Jozef’s office to say goodbye before she left.

  Standing in the hall was a group of men. Jozef, Havel and two men she didn’t know. As she approached, her steps slowing, she realized she did know one of them. Or had at least she’d seen him.

  His head turned as she approached the group, and she couldn’t keep the jolt of recognition from her face, which Jozef saw because he saw everything. His neutral expression turned into a scowl as he noticed her gaze lingering on the man.

  “You,” she said, stopping in front of the group.

  Moreau dipped his head in a nod as Jozef stepped forward, gripping Shaun’s arm and pulling her away from the two strangers. Havel shifted so he was mostly in front of her. Frustrated, Shaun shoved Havel, trying to see around him.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why were you following me?”

  Havel stared at the two men. “Which one was following you? Moreau?”

  Shaun nodded. “Yes.”

  Jozef let out a growl that sent the hairs on her arms and neck standing on end. Her fiancé sure knew how to use the few sounds he could make have impact. Shaun ignored him, focusing her glare on the tall man with sandy blond hair. The man she’d pegged as law enforcement.

  Before she could get an answer, Jozef was on top of him, gripping him by the neck and shoving him into the wall behind them. Instead of fighting back, the man held his hands up. Jozef punched him, dropping him to the ground.

  “Whoa, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The other man, not Moreau, rushed to his friend’s side, helping him to his feet.

  Havel’s shoulders were shaking with laugher, which made Shaun want to punch him. She reminded herself that she had surgery in less than a week and needed her hands unbroken.