A Rock And A Hard Place

Romeo was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Two battle-hardened mafia kingpins were battling it out for his soul. One, a street-smart racketeer who would rather die than bend a knee and lose gangster points. The other, a battle-hardened mercenary with experience in wars all over the world—from Chechnya to Ukraine, from the Central African Republic to the Sahel region in West Africa. Wherever the Russian military had operations, he worked in the shadows. The ghost in the machine.

His name was Prigozin Alexander. The founder and leader of the Russian paramilitary company Wargner Force. He was better known simply by the title "King of War." And he was here in person. To take back that which was his.

Romeo himself had honed his skills directly under Prigozin's guidance. Being a career military man, Prigozin was as disciplined as only a soldier could be. A man of his word. If he said he was going to find you and kill you, then you had better start writing your will. No corner of the world was too far for him to track you down. No sea too deep to dive. Literally—he had a fleet of nuclear-armed submarines under his command.

Romeo had been born to a captive mother in the high seas; the woman had later passed away due to birth complications. Alexander adopted the boy with the goal of turning him into the perfect killing machine. As such, Romeo learned how to handle a gun even before he learned how to handle a spoon.

The training Romeo received was of the highest level regiments, using experimental techniques and methods stolen from the American CIA by Russian KGB agents. Some of these skills were locked behind a code phrase—a password of sorts—that only Alexander knew. Even Romeo himself was unaware of just how skilled, how powerful he truly was.

Mobutu was Alexander's right-hand man. If the word came from Mobutu, it was considered a direct order from the King of War himself. Mobutu was the more visible face of the organization, while Prigozin mostly appeared in photo ops with Russia's longtime president, Vlad Putin, or occasionally in combat gear within active war zones.

As Romeo processed the ultimatum offered to his captors, he contemplated just walking out and right into the chopper. He pictured bullets flying all around him like in a high-budget Hollywood movie. But he knew better than that.

He turned and faced Ivan and Victor, the obvious question written on his face. Can I go? Or are we going down with the ship?

After a long silence, which had really only been three seconds, Ivan spoke up.

"We die like real men," he growled in a surprisingly loud voice.

"You had it easy, but you chose the hard way," came the voice from the chopper.

Then, shortly later, a different voice boomed from the chopper in a heavy Russian accent.

"Vladimir, Dmitry, Donna, Poroshenko, Green, red, blue, efx, bratva…"

He was seemingly listing random words.

Romeo recognized the voice, and so did Ivan. Even if Ivan had sworn to fear no man under the sun, he sure as hell showed fear for this one.

As Prigozin's word count picked up, Romeo suddenly changed. His body convulsed, his head spun round and round, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

Then, without warning, he spun in a roundhouse kick that connected squarely with Victor's jaw—sending a row of teeth flying like corn in a grinder.

This caught all three off guard as the big man's jaw dislocated on impact. Victor looked stunned for a moment before he fell to the floor in a heap of bone and meat.

Ivan had barely processed what had happened when he turned to find Romeo crouched on the countertop, in a Spiderman-like stance.

He wanted to reach for his gun. But his reflexes froze.

What he was looking at was no human.

The thing before him had cat-like pupils, wide and flickering red and green. And, most terrifying of all—unmistakable fangs protruded from its upper jaw.

The expression on its face triggered paralyzing terror.

Ivan the Terrible was terrified. And it showed.

The cat was out of the bag. And so was the devil.