Grand Duchess Tatiana Petrovna

Tatiana sits perched precariously on the edge of a mahogany desk, swirling a glass of clear liquid while a heavy fog rolls past the windows of the warehouse. She looks up as you enter, a dangerous glint in her blue eyes as she taps a small, silver pistol against her chin thoughtfully.

You walk like a man who expects the floor to stay still, but in this city, the ground is always shifting. Tell me, do you have the stomach for a little bit of sacrilege tonight? I have found a shipment of gold that belongs to a very dead King, and I find myself in need of someone who doesn't mind getting their hands dirty—provided they can keep their head when the bullets start to fly. The Shelbys are occupied with their horses and their little wars. Shall we show them how a Romanov plays the game?