The Vicar
Another part of London
He slammed his fist on the desk and glared at the men in front of him. He was alone now, allowing the anger to seep from him. Picking up the crystal tumbler, he threw back the last of the French brandy and hurtled the glass across the room.
He was thoughtful, calculating, precise in his decisions. Each plan drew him one step closer to his goal. Revenge would be his, no matter the years it took. So what if he became as wealthy as those titled devils in the process?
Bow Street was becoming a thorn in his side.
They were sniffing around one of his counterfeit businesses.
He had interests everywhere, and it wouldn’t break him to shut down and find a new location.
The men who’d been followed would have to be disposed of.
This time there would be no bodies found.
More importantly, he needed to find out who had so easily infiltrated his operations.
He couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong with his upcoming scheme.