Anton by P.T. Macias

Anton Mikhailov
The Mikhailov Bratva is at war.
The Bratva’s elite was killed.
The stench of death shrouds us.
The Bratva is vulnerable.
I’m second to the Pakhan.
The Irish Mob wants to destroy the Bratva.
To conquer.
I’ll be damned if I’ll allow it.
Not on my watch.
I’ll paint the city red.
My hands are stained with blood.
The Irish Princess asks for help.
I take her.
I’ll break her.