Match 22883 The Russian vs. Vice

[JohnnyChany]

THE SOVIET SYNDICATE PART 3: A GANGLAND SIDE STORY 

 

CONTINUED FROM PART 2

 

Sal Maroni lifted his glass and took another slow drink. The whiskey burned pleasantly on the way down. It did little to cool his temper. Kingpin. Falcone. Two men who thought every new arrival in Gangland was another pawn waiting to be arranged on their chessboard. Maroni wasn't interested in becoming anyone's piece. Not anymore.

Taking Ma Gnucci's territory would change the board. He'd considered extending Wilson Fisk an olive branch, a professional courtesy for allowing tonight's celebration to happen without interference. A gesture of respect, nothing more. After that, the message would've been clear. Maroni answered to Maroni, no one else.

Suddenly, his chest tightened. Another breath wouldn't come. His heartbeat became strangely heavy. Every inhale grew shallower than the last. His eyes widened, it was poison.

It seemed impossible. He'd inspected every bottle himself. His men had screened every guest. Nobody had approached his drink.

His pulse hammered painfully inside his ears. “How?”

His vision blurred. One face forced its way into his dying thoughts. Eda, the blonde mercenary. It had to be her.

"You..." His voice barely escaped. "...bitch..."

The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered across the floor. Seconds later, Sal Maroni collapsed beside it. The party froze, and panic took over the room.

By the time the screaming began. Molotov Cocktease was already halfway to the exit. Nobody noticed. Which was exactly how she preferred it. She possessed the kind of beauty that should have drawn every eye in the building. Instead, years of intelligence work had taught her a far more valuable skill. She knew how to become invisible without ever changing her appearance.

She smiled to herself. The poison had worked perfectly. No struggle, no dramatic confrontation, no witnesses. First Ma Gnucci and now Sal Maroni. The Soviet Syndicate no longer had rivals competing for the district. She couldn't help feeling proud. Even Brock would've appreciated the elegance of the operation.

She stepped outside. Cool night air greeted her. Instinct immediately took over. She scanned rooftops, fire escapes, windows, and parked cars. There was nothing, no lookouts, no gunmen, no tail.

Satisfied, she took another step. Something punched straight through her chest. She stopped, confused. She hadn’t heard a gunshot, only the impact. Molotov looked down. Blood spread slowly across her body suit,

"...What?"

Her knees buckled. 

From the darkness of an alley across the street, someone applauded. Slowly .and deliberately, a lone figure stepped into the light. It was Bullseye.

"Very impressive," he said as he continued clapping.  "Clean. Efficient. Professional."

Molotov fought to stay upright. "...Who are you? How did you hit me from that angle?"

Bullseye stopped applauding.

"The name's Bullseye." He shrugged. "I hit things. No matter where they're hiding."

He glanced briefly toward the building behind them. "You saved us quite a bit of work. Maroni wasn't exactly popular. He made the mistake of telling Wilson Fisk he didn't need Wilson Fisk. That rarely ends well."

Molotov's breathing became ragged. "You were going to kill him anyway."

"Eventually But now, we don't have to." Bullseye looked back toward the party. "The timing's actually rather convenient."

His attention returned to Molotov. "The problem isn't that you killed Sal Maroni. It's where you did it. And whose permission you never bothered to ask."

Molotov forced herself to laugh. "I doubt Kingpin planned on making peace with the Soviets."

Bullseye shook his head. And crouched beside her.

"The Italian civil war that was mostly Falcone's idea. Wilson simply encouraged events whenever it benefited him."

He noticed Molotov's fingers inching toward the pistol concealed beside her waist. Without even looking. he casually kicked it across the pavement. The weapon disappeared into the darkness.

Bullseye sighed. "Hostile takeovers don't bother Mr. Fisk. They happen; It's business. What bothers him.is when someone forgets whose city they're standing in, like the Soviets apparently have. A message needs to be sent.”

Molotov glared at him. "You expect me to deliver that message?"

Bullseye smiled.

"No." He stood again. "I expect your body to."

For the first time, Molotov looked genuinely afraid.

Bullseye straightened his cuffs. "The Soviet Syndicate will understand. They're professionals, they'll recognize the lesson."

Molotov tried to push herself upright. Her strength failed. Bullseye shot her a second time. She collapsed onto the cold pavement. Bullseye watched until she stopped moving, then he quietly disappeared back into the darkness.

Elsewhere, Ivan. the Russian, still wasn't sure what to make of his new life. Only a week earlier he'd been Ma Gnucci's most expensive enforcer, earning ten million dollars whenever she needed someone frightened, broken, or buried. Back then, his world had been simple. Somebody pointed. Somebody paid. Ivan did the rest. Now he worked for the Soviet Syndicate. The pay was still excellent. The job, less so.

Instead of hunting targets, he found himself standing watch over the western border of the newly christened Red Star District, guarding against any advance from Rugal Bernstein's Southern Stronghold. He looked out across the checkpoints and barricades with folded arms. A border guard, he almost laughed. The thought still sounded ridiculous.

His own attempt to recruit Balalaika and Red Claw had accidentally sealed Ma Gnucci's fate. Instead of helping defend Little Italy, the two women had simply conquered it themselves and hired Ivan in the process. He didn't lose much sleep over it. Ma Gnucci had asked him to do something he'd never been good at, recruiting allies. Ivan wasn't a diplomat; he was a weapon. Now he couldn't shake the feeling he was being misused again.

The command posts buzzed with motion. Maps of the district covered one wall while military radios crackled intermittently from another. The whole place felt less like a gangster hideout and more like a forward operating base.

 

 

The Russian’s eyes drifted toward the three people sharing the assignment with him. Anatoli Knyazev. better known as KGBeast. looked as though he belonged in a battlefield rather than a border station. The broad-shouldered former operative of the KGB's infamous "Hammer" program wore a mask over his head but very little in terms of armor. Even standing still, he projected restrained violence.

Across the room sat Sonia Romanenko. She had short lavender hair. Her crimson outfit was both alluring and practical, leaving her shoulders bare while long matching gloves reached nearly to her upper arm, She spoke the least of the four of them. There was a softness to her expression born from reflection rather than weakness, the quiet demeanor of a woman who had long ago mastered the art of killing and now chose her battles with far greater care.

Beside her stood Sofia. Tall, athletic, and strikingly beautiful, the blonde carried herself with the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to commanding attention the moment she entered a room. She wore a sleek black bodysuit trimmed with deep crimson that emphasized mobility as much as style. A look of determination spread across her face as she examined one of the maps.

Ivan looked around the room. Four dangerous people, all just waiting. He finally broke the silence.

"I'm not questioning Balalaika." He paused. "She's earned better than that."

KGBeast glanced over. "But..."

Ivan nodded. "But I can't help wondering whether this is really where the four of us are most useful."

"I was waiting for you to say it," Anatoli stated. He folded his arms. "I'd rather be breaking enemy lines than guarding one."

After a pause, he shrugged.  "But Balalaika gives orders. I follow them."

Sofia looked up from the map she'd been studying. "I disagree. This is exactly where I should be."

She rested one finger on the border separating their district from Rugal's territory. "I've spent enough of my life running from my past. The Secret Society and the KGB don't define me anymore."

She looked toward Ivan. "Balalaika promised to help me uncover the truth about who I used to be Until then my place is wherever she needs me."

Only Sonia remained silent.

A moment later, the door burst open. One of the Syndicate's henchmen hurried inside, still wearing faded military fatigues beneath his long jacket.

"We've got trouble,” he declared.

"What kind?" asked Anatoli.

"A handful of Gnucci loyalists. They're stirring people up. Saying Little Italy belongs to the Italians. They're calling for the district back."

KGBeast didn't wait for another word. He was already moving. "I'll handle it."

The door slammed behind him. Ivan watched him disappear.

"Looks like he's been as bored as I have."

No one argued.  Instead, Ivan turned toward Sonia.

"What about you? Is this what you expected when Balalaika recruited you?"

Sonia considered the question for several seconds before answering. "I expected nothing. I had already abandoned the only profession I truly understood. My life had no direction. Balalaika gave me one."

Sofia tilted her head. "What made you walk away initially?"

A faint smile crossed Sonia's face. "It wasn't a contract or guilt. It was love."

The room grew noticeably quieter.

"I met a man during a fighting tournament,” she continued. “For a little while, I believed we might have a future. 

Her smile disappeared. “But, his heart was unavailable, forever tied to someone else."

"I'm sorry," Sofia said softly.

Sonia merely nodded.

"I competed in tournaments myself," noted Sofia. "Which is exactly why I think Balalaika posted us here."

She pointed toward the Southern Stronghold. "Rugal Bernstein attracts fighters. He lives for proving his strength. If conflict comes from the west, it won't begin with guns, it'll begin with fists."

Ivan leaned back against the wall. Maybe Balalaika had thought this through more carefully than he'd given her credit for. That still left one question. Why him? He wasn't a tournament fighter.

Then he remembered his conversation with Balalaika. He'd laughed at the Maggia's fear of Rugal Bernstein. Dismissed it entirely. Perhaps, Balalaika simply wanted to see whether he still felt that way after having to face the man himself. Ivan was confident that he would.

Sofia walked over and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I wasn't only a tournament fighter, you know. I am also a detective. Balalaika assigned me here not just to protect but to visit the Southern Stronghold. Attend one of Rugal's tournaments. Watch, listen, and learn. So that we may better understand his machinations and his motives.”

She smiled again. "And I could use someone who isn't easily intimidated and is more familiar with Gangland.”

Ivan finally grinned. "Now. that sounds like my sort of job."

Sofia nodded. "Shall we?"

Ivan headed for the door. "Lead the way."

Sofia guided her sedan through the iron gates separating the Red Star District from Rugal Bernstein's district.  As soon as they stepped onto the sidewalk, Ivan frowned. The place offended him.

The Southern Stronghold carried itself with aristocratic arrogance. Marble facades, immaculate streets, and expensive sculptures lined the avenues. It looked less like a criminal empire than the estate of a wealthy monarch.

Ivan spat onto the pavement. "Too clean."

Sofia smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a poor first impression."

"It looks like a rich man trying too hard to prove he's better than everyone else."

"You've been around longer than I have,” Sofia noted.  "How exactly do we attend one of Rugal's exhibitions?"

"Normally?" it is easy." Ivan answered. “The other bosses and their crews are usually welcome. They come to watch. Sometimes they come to fight."

Sofia glanced sideways. "You've never attended?"

Ivan shook his head. "No. I always expected Ma Gnucci to send me eventually. I was rather looking forward to breaking some bones. But she never made the call."

Sofia gave him an amused look. "If you wanted to fight so badly, why didn't you simply come on your own?"

Ivan looked genuinely confused. 

"And work for free?" He snorted. “I'm a professional. I go where the money is. Always have."

Sofia laughed.

Ivan pointed across the street. "There."

The Black Noah, an imposing art museum that rose above the surrounding buildings.

"For a fighting syndicate, Rugal certainly appreciates presentation," said Sofia.

"They appreciate showing off."

Ivan started toward the entrance.

"They hold the exhibitions underneath. The woman who runs them is called Roulette," he explained.  "I kept hoping Gnucci would pay me to come here and shut it down personally. Never happened."

Inside, polished marble floors reflected warm golden light from crystal chandeliers suspended overhead. Priceless paintings lined the walls. Ancient sculptures occupied carefully lit alcoves. The museum smelled faintly of expensive polish.

Waiting behind the reception desk stood a striking Filipino woman dressed in a tailored teal business dress that perfectly balanced elegance and professionalism Juno Skinner, an ancient art and antiques dealer who never shied away from working for criminal or terrorist organizations, as long as there was lots of money to be made.

She greeted them with a warm smile. "Welcome to the Black Noah. How may I assist you today?"

Sofia answered before Ivan could. "We're not here to admire the artwork. We're here for admissions."

The woman's smile lingered. Her eyes shifted toward Ivan. Recognition slowly dawned on her.

"Well." Juno folded her hands together. "Ma Gnucci's favorite enforcer. Or perhaps you have a different title now, is it just comrade? I wondered when you'd finally pay us a visit."

Ivan did not immediately respond.

Juno prodded him. "Was the old witch keeping you on a short leash?" 

Ivan answered with nothing more than a grunt. Juno smirked.

"This way."

Juno led them through a maze of galleries before pressing against what appeared to be an ordinary bookshelf. Hidden mechanisms clicked, and a concealed doorway slowly opened. The elegant museum vanished behind them.

Beyond lay another gallery. This one felt different. Dozens of bronze statues stood beneath carefully positioned spotlights. Each captured a fighter frozen at the instant of defeat with expressions of rage, determination, terror, or acceptance.

Sofia slowed to a stop. "What are these?"

Juno answered almost reverently. "Rugal Bernstein's collection."

She walked between the statues. 

"At first only legendary martial artists earned a place here." Juno gestured farther into the gallery. "Eventually crime bosses began challenging him as well. So naturally the collection expanded."

Sofia frowned. "You build statues to honor the people he defeated?"

Juno smiled. "Oh no."

She rested a hand against one bronze shoulder. "These aren't statues, they're the fighters. Forever preserved in bronze,”

Ivan's expression darkened. His eyes wandered from one frozen face to another.

Juno handed Sofia two admission passes. "You're just in time. A match is about to begin."

She pointed toward a dimly lit corridor. “Follow that passage, and take the stairs, it'll lead you to Roulette's arena."

"Thank you."

Sofia accepted the tickets and started moving in the direction of the arena. She noticed Ivan still staring at the gallery.

"You coming?"

"I'll catch up."

He never looked away from the bronze figures. Sofia hesitated, then nodded. She disappeared into the corridor.

Once she was gone, Juno quietly approached Ivan.

"Recognize anyone?"

He nodded, "A few."

She folded her arms. "It becomes more impressive every year."

 

 

Ivan looked around again. "No. It becomes stranger. Is Bernstein so insecure that he needs monuments to remind himself he won?"

Juno laughed softly. "Many things could be said about Rugal Bernstein. Insecurity isn't one of them."

Ivan scoffed. "So, this is what bargaining with demons buys you. A museum."

Juno's smile faded. "I wouldn't mock him so openly. Not here. Unless you'd like to become part of the exhibit."

Ivan laughed. "He'd never turn me into one of these."

A long silence followed. Then, Juno became snarky.

"No, probably not." She tilted her head. "The collection is reserved for extraordinary opponents. Legendary fighters and powerful crime lords."

She looked him up and down. "Not lowly hired muscle."

Ivan moved before she finished the sentence. His massive hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her effortlessly from the floor.

"You've grown brave." Ivan said coldly. "Do these walls make you think you're untouchable?"

A new voice echoed through the gallery. "Put her down."

Ivan didn't bother turning around. "Or what?"

The clicking of heels echoed across the room. Vice emerged from the shadows in an immaculate black-and-crimson pantsuit that matched her severe expression. She walked with lazy confidence, like someone entering a room where the outcome had already been decided.

She stopped only a few feet away. "If you value that arm, release her."

Ivan finally looked at her. "So, one of Bernstein's secretaries, I was hoping for someone more interesting. What a fool Rugal must be to send a secretary in his place.”

Juno gasped as Ivan finally released her. She rubbed her bruised neck.

"The only fool here is you." Juno hissed. She turned and looked toward Vice. "Orochi power runs through her veins."

"I don’t fear demons. I've never been impressed by ghost stories,” stated Ivan. “If roughing up his secretary will get me to the man himself, that sounds like a good time.

A wicked smile appeared on Vice’s face.  "They're only ghost stories until the ghosts tear you apart."

For the first time in a long time, The Russian felt something, not fear, expectation. And he welcomed it.

[Callisto]

Learn More About
The Russian
Read more about The Russian at Wikipedia
Official Site: Marvel Links: Wikipedia Marvel Universe Marvel Database

Vice
Read more about Vice at Wikipedia
Official Site: SNK Playmore Links: Wikipedia SNK Wiki Fighters Generation

[Boratz]

Oh, I love seeing the Russian getting some action and also seeing Juno Skinner in the story is a huge bonus

[leroypowell3]

The Russian may give Punisher a hard time but he's in for a very unpleasant surprise tangling with Vice. 

[Venom 2009]

Vice gets my vote. 🥰

[Callisto]

Match Final Results

Member Ratings:
5.00 - Venom 2009
5.00 - Boratz

FPA Calculation:
2 Total Votes cast
10.00 Total Combined Score
10.00 / 2 = 5.00 Final Rating on the match

MATCH SCORE
The Russian: 2
Vice: 4