Kill Me if You Can - James Patterson [86]
Chapter 102
AS SOON AS Natalia’s father took the blow, muffled screams erupted from under the duct tape that covered her mouth.
One of the men slapped her face. “Shut up, bitch.”
Prince strained against the ropes the men had tied around him. “I’ll kill you,” he screamed.
“Your killing days are over,” the leader said, driving a fist into Prince’s left ear.
Nathaniel could feel the vital tiny bones in his ear splinter. But he couldn’t hear them break. His left ear could no longer hear anything.
The punch perforated his eardrum. Fluid leaked from his inner ear and he became dizzy and nauseated. He tried to focus.
Not from the Diamond Syndicate?
For a moment he felt a flash of justified anger. His gut feeling had been right—the Syndicate would never do this to him. But who would?
“Who are you?” he asked, the bloody shards of his two front teeth flying out as he spoke.
The leader pointed to his men and each one answered in turn.
“Fyodor Dmitriov.”
“Kostya Dmitriov.”
“Leonid Dmitriov.”
“And I am Maxim Dmitriov,” the leader said. “We are what remains of the Dmitriov Cab Company. You murdered my father and my uncles, you killed our brothers, our cousins—”
“And my son,” Kostya growled. “My only son, Alexei. He was eighteen, and he died in the fire that morning in the garage.”
“I was late for work that day,” Maxim said. “By the time I arrived, the garage was an inferno. Twenty-seven of my friends and family were locked in a storeroom. I tried to get to them, and this is all I got for my efforts.”
He rolled up his shirtsleeves. Covered in skin grafts, his arms looked even more gruesome than his face.
“My bride-to-be was locked in that storeroom,” Maxim said. “She didn’t even work there. She came to show me photos of our wedding cake. We were going to be married in two more days. You killed her.”
“Not me,” Nathaniel said. “It was Chukov. Vadim Chukov—”
A swift cuff to the right eye silenced him.
“Chukov was your puppet,” Maxim said. “You pulled the strings. You lit the match.”
“What happened was not my fault,” Nathaniel said. “I swear. I was in the hospital. My own family had just been run down by one of your drivers.”
“One!” Maxim screamed. “Not twenty-seven. Not three generations of an entire family.”
“I know your pain,” Nathaniel said. “We were both injured parties. Let me try to make it up to you. I have money—not a lot, but some. I could make restitution for Chukov’s evil deeds.”
“Money? You think we’re here for money?”
“Everybody needs money,” Nathaniel reasoned. “Tell me what you want.”
“You took what we want. You murdered what we need. Now, like they say in America, you have to face some music.”
He took a cassette player from his pocket and pressed a button.
“Wedding music,” Maxim cried out.
Even with only one good ear Nathaniel could make out the fiddle, the mandolin, and the garmoshka playing the joyful sounds of his homeland’s traditional folk music.
“Everyone,” Maxim said, “a toast to the bride.”
The four men lifted their imaginary glasses.
“Nazdaróvy!” they shouted. Then they began to dance around the bride.
Natalia.
“This is the wedding dance you stole from me,” Maxim shouted.
Fluid was seeping out of Nathaniel’s inner ear. The room was spinning, and watching the four men dance in a circle around Natalia made him even dizzier.
Maxim ripped the tape from Natalia’s mouth, and she gasped for air.
“Raise the bride up high,” he bellowed.
The four men each grabbed a leg of the chair and hoisted it almost to the top of the ten-foot ceiling.
Natalia screamed in terror. “Papa!”
And in that moment Nathaniel knew.
“Please,” he begged. “I’ll give you everything I have. Three million dollars. You can have every penny.”
“This will be payment enough,” Maxim said, as the four men danced toward the terrace door.
Leonid kicked it open, and now Natalia, too, realized her fate. “Please,” she screamed. “You can see I’m pregnant.”
“I hope,” Kostya Dmitriov said, “with a son.”
“Death