Were she extraordinarily lucky, her only part would have been the attempt to seduce the disloyal husband of her lover's sister. As hard as that would have been, it had to be easier than staring into the eyes of a man whose eyes burned through her skull. A man who was only two days past receiving the news that he no longer had visitation rights to his own child. A man who, had he known her affiliation with the Cassadines, would probably send his right hand after her with a silenced weapon.
Or perhaps, Irisa had merely watched too many American films.
She knew danger when she saw it. The first time she'd looked into Stefan's eyes, she knew that he was a man that many should fear. She just happened to be one of the lucky ones on had no need to fear. For those who crossed him, however, his wrath could be torturous. He'd not said a word, only looked at her, and she felt a chill. She saw the knowledge of many lives lost, the location of many bodies. She saw a man whose natural gaze was one that brought trepidation and chills. Sonny Corinthos, on the other hand…
The man before her radiated rage and threat, to be sure, but something about his stance, his demeanor said that he wasn't always that way. Had she caught up to him before the papers had been delivered, the fear wouldn't have been so strong. He may have been intimidating, but he wasn't so far in that manner that just a brief glance would strike fear. She probably wouldn't have been afraid at all if he weren't staring at her so intently.
"How did you know to come to me? And why choose Port Charles?"
Irisa let out a shaky breath and wished that she'd taken a few more drama courses. While lying was something that she'd done quite often in the past, she was quite unaccustomed to doing so in the presence of one who seemed to be searching for a lie.
"This town is small, da? I need small place to bring my goods, and I have been told by many that I would have to gain permission from Sonny Corinthos. You are, after all, the man to go to for such things?"
He watched her intently, his dark eyes dropping down to her feet and rising to her face. From most men, she would have taken the movement as something sexual, an appraisal of her body. Towards most men who did such things, she would have spat Russian curses, and perhaps slapped them in the face. However, Sonny Corinthos was doing no such thing. He was very obviously taking her in, but from a security standpoint, nothing more.
"If I am having the wrong man for this, excuse me. I mean no disrespect. However, I was informed of the man to see, and this is where I am." Irisa paused and shook her head. "I am sounding confused. My apologies. I've been in Russia for so long these past years, my English slips."
Sonny nodded, but he didn't step aside. He erred on the side of caution, and were it not for the guard that stood clumsily at her back, Irisa would have been comforted by that. Being in the foyer of such a gloomy home was bad enough. She didn't want to step all the way inside. She didn't want to be encompassed in the place from which a little girl was stolen. She didn't want to be too completely within a place from which there could have very well been know escape. But, she had to speak with him, and she knew that he wouldn't have said anything in public. In his home, however, he may have felt more comfortable. He may have thought he had the upperhand.
Irisa shook her head and sighed. "Excusing my manners," she said softly. "I have not properly introduced myself. I am Irisa Valeskovna Yatskya." She extended her hand and waited. He gave her a brisk shake, very different from the gentle kiss that Stefan had laid upon her knuckles at first meeting. "I am Russian princess, but in these days of terror attacks, not even royalty allows me the freedom to carry whatever I wish across certain state lines."
There was no need to take the lies to extremes. Using her real name and background made the rest easier. The hardest part of this entire plot would be playing up her Russian accent. Once one learned a language fluently, it was much harder to butcher it mercilessly. Though she was still Princess Irisa, she was playing a role nonetheless, and this part called for less English and more foreign.
"What is it, exactly, that you think you're bringing into my city?"
Irisa's eyes went wide. "Oh, no!" She shook her head furiously. "Nothing so…" She shook her head again. "There is nothing truly illegal, as much as, how do you say, underhanded?" Sonny cocked and eyebrow and she sighed. Her hands gripped her small box purse tightly, squeezing the handle and twisting it. "Is complicated."
"Then you better uncomplicate it if you want my help." His eyes travelled her body again. Irisa assumed he was wondering just how to insist that someone who claimed to be a princess strip down and show that she's wearing no listening devices. Perhaps he would ask next time, if there were a next time, after he had verified her information. "I need to know exactly why you think I can help you."
"Is very complicated, as I say already." Irisa's shoulders slumped. "I say princess, because that is the term your country would use. In Russia, I am Grand Duchess, and as such, have access to certain things of value. Certain things that many in my presence would wish to sell. A fight for things my grandmother left for me, you see? Family does not have what Irisa has, and want to have as much. Is this making sense?"
"Some."
He nodded and Irisa took that to men for her to continue. "These things have been taken from country to country under guise of different things. To fly them away, well… Terror being as it is, there are these new customs laws and even Grand Duchess can not escape them all. There is to be no record of where things are going."
"And exactly where are they going?"
"Warehouse in Manhattan, right now. Then will circle around and eventually end in other countries. Spreading out, as you would say, the wealth. A town so small as Port Charles, none would look for Russian valuables, da?" She shrugged. "There are authorities who are not police who tell me that packages can not come into harbor. I need this harbor to ensure my grandmother's valuables."
"These valuables…"
"Ancient jewels. Things of tsaritsa that many would take and auction away. I will not let my family's belongings be sold for the good of others. My family is too important to me for these things to be happening." A slight tremor ran through her and Irisa sighed. She moved her arms out slowly, showing she meant no harm as she opened her purse and put her hand inside. Sonny's body tensed for only a second, calming when she came out with a card. "Here is number to reach me. I am staying at… what is it called? MetroCourt? Number is handwritten on the back. If you are interested and can assist, I will look forward to hearing from you. Thank you, Mr. Corinthos."
Irisa turned and quickly made her way out the door. She hadn't expected Sonny to instantly agree. From what she had been told, the man's paranoia rivalled only Stefan's, and the latter's had been seen more than once. Her goal all along had been to give him the card and get out of the house. With that accomplished, she could breathe easier.
Outside, walking towards the black Lexus that stood in the drive, Irisa afforded herself a deep, cleansing breath. The role was easier to play when there was an element of truth behind it. The things she wanted in did belong to previous Grand Duchesses and tsaritsa, and they were rightfully her own. However, they had alreadly been smuggled into the country and wiped clean by Stefan. However, as there was no trace of anything ever having left St. Petersberg, it would all be very incriminating should Sonny Corinthos be found to be involved with them. The bait, as it were, had been set.
And now, Irisa Valeskovna Yatskya could shake off the dirt of being inside the mobster's home, and more importantly, speak in proper English. Just the thought of the butchered language with an accent she had long since squelched made her want to vomit. She was class. She was worldwide sophistication. She was a princess, by God, and princesses acted with grace and dignity. Butchering a world language, know matter how inferior to her own that it may have been, was not acting with grace and dignity.