12AntonThe sight of my house almost made some of my stress go away. I needed a stiff drink or two. Maybe five. That the bastard Mikhail Vasilev had dared to send someone to spy on me…he needed to be put into his place — which was buried six feet under without a coffin. Just an unmarked grave. A dump, not a grave.
I was trembling with rage, and I had to relax, to calm myself. Being rash would lead to mistakes, and I never made mistakes. I could handle myself. I would take care of Vasilev. No one would threaten me or mine again. I had raised up from the ashes once. I would not dare allow anyone the chance to burn me to the ground again. My empire would reign for long after my lifetime, and it would reign through my heir, through my blood. And speaking of my blood, not another drop of Peskov
