Page 5 of Goodnight, Sinners

Jozef followed the path through the cemetery until he reached his family plot. The Koba mausoleum was in a secluded part of the cemetery, surrounded by trees. The grass was cut short around the large stone, white-washed building, and there were flowers in the holders by the door.

Most of those invited to attend had already arrived. Jozef nodded at Klaus, an old friend to both Krystoff and Jozef. His gaze was unyielding, angry. He might understand the transfer of power and how it came about, but he wasn’t happy with the situation. Jozef would have to schedule a meeting.

Jozef’s gaze followed the line of men, his gaze meeting Alexei Ivanov’s. Jozef schooled his features so as not to give away his surprise at seeing a senior member of the Russian Bratva at his uncle’s funeral. Of course, Krystoff had been connected, and so now was Jozef, but the Bratva rarely traveled into unsettled situations.

Standing next to Alexei was Yuri Antonovich, gatekeeper to the Bratva. The man acted as both a Vory and a secretary. He was cold-blooded and brutal. He would kill his own mother if it meant getting ahead. If he made Jozef’s accession within the Bratva difficult, Jozef could have a rocky few years ahead of him.

Yuri’s steady gaze met Jozef’s and, after a prolonged moment where neither man looked away, Yuri finally nodded his head. Jozef returned the nod. Yuri turned to his man and said something. The two were standing a short distance away. Jozef couldn’t hear them, but he would bet his newly acquired fortune Yuri was asking his man to arrange a meeting.

Havel pulled the door of the mausoleum open for the immediate family to pass through. The rest of the mourners would remain outside until the family had finished.

Jozef stopped for a moment to pay his respects to his parents, whose names were etched onto two marble plaques and set in the wall: Analise Koba and Gregor Koba.

Shaun squeezed his arm and stood quietly beside him, her gaze on the beautifully carved marble.

Jozef moved past his parents’ plaques to stand next to his uncle’s urn. It was large, almost the size of one of his aunt’s great vases, made of white marble and inlaid with gold. It was resting on top of a white stone pedestal and would remain until after the ceremony when they would place it in the wall with the plaque affixed afterward.

The service was short and standard, without fanfare. Though top mob bosses often had lavish funerals with many mourners, it wasn’t in Krystoff’s nature to seek the extra attention. He had been a reserved man.

Without Aunt Dasha, Leeza or Saskia in attendance, it hadn’t seemed right to give Krystoff more than a basic ceremony. Jozef hadn’t wanted to plan anything for the man he’d killed, but he’d had to do something. Show his respect.

It wasn’t uncommon for the mantle of a mafia family to pass down to the heir through bloodshed. It didn’t make taking over an organization from someone Jozef loved any easier.

He’d had no luck in locating any of his female family members. He had to admit that they were craftier than he’d given them credit for. His job had always been to protect them; he hadn’t spent enough time with them as individuals to see their strengths.

He believed, given reports from the hospital, that Leeza had rescued her mother before fleeing the city. It hammered one more nail in her coffin. Had Leeza been willing to simply disappear, Jozef might have let her go. Told the Bratva she’d been quietly executed and buried in a forest somewhere. Now that he was certain she was aiding the woman responsible for the downfall of the Koba organization, Jozef would have no choice but to put her down. Swiftly and without mercy.

It grieved him that the cousins he’d grown up with, that he’d spent a lifetime protecting, were now his targets, but he would do what was necessary. He would do his duty.

He had no plans to kill Saskia, but he needed her located and brought back into the fold. She was a loose cannon on the outside. She was highly intelligent, but she was also erratic and unpredictable.

Shaun slid her arm through his and looked at him expectantly.

Jozef blinked and glanced around. The service had finished, and the mausoleum was opened to the other mourners.

Jozef accepted the well wishes of those gathered as they filed through. Shaun spoke soft words of condolences, while Jozef shook hands. Finally, once everyone left, Jozef took a moment to say one last goodbye to the man who had been a father to him. He allowed himself to feel everything he’d been holding in for two weeks. The grief was nearly overwhelming.

Shaun clasped his hand tightly as he blinked back tears. Together they turned and left the cemetery, following the procession back to the mansion for a brief reception.

* * *

Dasha waited until the cemetery was empty. Jozef’s men were stationed all over the grounds in anticipation of either her or the girls showing up. Dasha wasn’t stupid enough to actually attend her husband’s funeral, but she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

She waited until evening fell, then wound her way through the trees until she had the Koba mausoleum in her line of sight.

It was a risk. Jozef might still be on the lookout for her. She didn’t care. She would rather court death than leave without one last word with her husband. She rushed down the hill and through the doors of the mausoleum, slamming them shut behind her.

Dasha walked slowly to the plaque on the wall that had her husband’s name etched into it. She touched it with her fingertips, tracing each beloved letter. It seemed impossible that two weeks ago he was living, breathing, making love to her. Now he was ash.

She banged her fist on the plaque, wishing she’d thought to bring a chisel or something to pry it off the wall. She wanted Krystoff’s ashes. They belonged to her, not to the cold, dark box that held them hostage.

She turned her back to the wall, pressing herself against the cold marble before sliding to the ground in a heap. Her arm twinged painfully in its sling beneath her jacket.

For the first time since learning of Krystoff’s death, she allowed the tears to fall. They rained freely down her face, dripping onto her chest. She didn’t know how long she sat and cried for, but it surprised her.

She didn’t cry. Ever.

She’d spent years hating this man until the day she realized she didn’t. She’d fallen in love with her mobster husband, but Dasha hadn’t realized quite how much she loved him and depended on him until now. Her life had been a series of events that were out of her control. In order to regain that control, she’d learned the art of manipulation, which often meant putting her feelings on the back burner as she fought her way to the top.

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