CHAPTER TWO

      WHERE THE HELL was she?

      Helios had been back in his apartment for fifteen minutes and Amy wasn’t answering his calls. According to the head of security, she had left the palace. Her individual passcode showed that she’d left at seven forty-five; around the time he and his brothers had been welcoming their guests.

      Trying her phone one more time, he strolled through to his bar and poured himself a large gin. The call went straight to voicemail. He tipped the neat liquid down his throat and, on a whim, carried the bottle through to his study.

      Security monitors there showed pictures from the cameras that ran along the connecting passageways. Only Helios himself had access to the cameras’ feeds.

      He peered closely at the screen for camera three, which faced the reinforced connecting door. There was something on the floor he couldn’t make out clearly...

      Striding to it and unbolting the door, he stared down at a box. Crammed inside were bottles of perfume, jewellery, books and mementos. All the gifts he had given Amy during their time together as lovers. Crammed, unwanted, into a box and left on his doorstep.

      A burst of fury tore through him, so sudden and so powerful it consumed him in one.

      Before he had time to think what he was doing he raised his foot and brought it slamming down onto the box. Glass shattered and crunched beneath him, the sound echoing in the silence.

      For an age he did nothing else but inhale deeply, trembling with fury, fighting the urge to smash what was left of the box’s contents into smithereens. Violence had been his father’s solution to life’s problems. It was something Helios had always known resided inside him too but, unlike in his father’s case, it was an aspect of himself he controlled.

      The sudden fury that had just overtaken him was incomprehensible.

      * * *

      Acutely aware of how late she was, Amy slammed her apartment door shut and hurried down the stairs that led to the palace museum. Punching in her passcode, she waited for the green light to come on, shoved the door open and stepped into the private quarters of the museum, an area out of bounds to visitors.

      Gazing longingly at the small staff kitchen as she passed it, she crossed her fingers in the hope that the daily pastries hadn’t already been eaten and the coffee already drunk. The bougatsas, freshly made by the palace chefs and brought to them every morning, had become her favourite food in the whole world.

      Her mouth filled with moisture as she imagined the delicate yet satisfying filo-based pastries. She hoped there were still some custard-filled ones left. She’d hardly eaten a thing in the past couple of days, and now, after finally managing to get a decent night’s sleep, she’d woken up ravenous. She’d also slept right through her alarm clock, and the thought made her legs work even quicker as she climbed another set of stairs that led up to the boardroom.

      ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said, rushing through the door, a hand flat on her breathless chest. ‘I over...’ Her words tailed off as she saw Helios, sitting at the head of the large round table.

      His elbows rested on the table, the tips of his fingers rubbing together. He was freshly shaven and, even casually dressed as he was, in a dark green long-sleeved crew-neck top, he exuded an undeniable power. And all the force of that power was at that very moment aimed at her.

      ‘Nice of you to join us, Despinis Green,’ he said. His tone was even, but his dark brown eyes resembled bullets waiting to be fired at her. ‘Take a seat.’

      Utterly shaken to see him there, she blinked rapidly and forced herself to inhale. Helios was the palace museum’s director, but his involvement in the day-to-day running of it was minimal. In the four months she’d worked there, he hadn’t once attended the weekly Tuesday staff meeting.

      She’d known when she’d stolen back into the palace late last night that she would have to face him soon, but she’d hoped for a few more days’ grace. Why did he have to appear today, of all days? The one time she’d overslept and looked awful.

      Unfortunately the only chair available was directly opposite him. It made a particularly loud scraping sound over the wooden floor as she pulled it back and sat down, clasping her hands tightly on her lap so as not to betray their tremors. Greta, one of the other curators and Amy’s best friend on the island, had the seat next to her. She placed a comforting hand over hers and squeezed gently. Greta knew everything.

      In the centre of the table was the tray of bougatsas Amy had hoped for. Three remained, but she found her appetite gone and her heart thundering so hard that the ripples spread to her belly and made her nauseous.

      Greta poured her a cup of coffee. Amy clutched it gratefully.

      ‘We were discussing the artefacts we’re still waiting on for my grandfather’s exhibition,’ Helios said, looking directly at her.

      The Agon Palace Museum was world-famous, and as such attracted curators from across the world, resulting in a medley of first languages amongst the staff. To simplify matters, English was the official language spoken when on duty.

      Amy cleared her throat and searched her scrambled brain for coherence. ‘The marble statues are on their way from Italy as we speak and should arrive in port early tomorrow morning.’

      ‘Do we have staff ready to welcome them?’

      ‘Bruno will message me when they reach Agon waters,’ she said, referring to one of the Italian curators accompanying the statues back to their homeland. ‘As soon as I hear from him we’ll be ready to go. The drivers are on call. Everything is in hand.’

      ‘And what about the artefacts from the Greek museum?’

      ‘They will arrive here on Friday.’

      Helios knew all this. The exhibition was his pet project and they’d worked closely together on it.

      She’d first come to Agon in November, as part of a team from the British Museum delivering artefacts on loan to the Agon Palace Museum. During those few days on the island she’d struck up a friendship with Pedro, the Head of Museum. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he’d been impressed with her knowledge of Agon, and doubly impressed with her PhD thesis on Minoan Heritage and its Influences on Agon Culture. Pedro had been the one to suggest her for the role of curator for the Jubilee Exhibition.

      The offer had been a dream come true, and a huge honour for someone with so little experience. Only twenty-seven, what Amy lacked in experience she made up for with enthusiasm.

      Amy had learned at the age of ten that the happy, perfect family she’d taken for granted was not as she’d been led to believe. She wasn’t what she’d been led to believe. Her dad was indeed her biological father, but her brothers were only half-brothers. Her mum wasn’t her biological mother. The woman who’d actually given birth to her had been from the Mediterranean island of Agon.

      Half of Amy’s DNA was Agonite.

      Since that bombshell discovery, everything about Agon had fascinated her. She’d devoured books on its Minoan history and its evolution into democracy. She’d thrilled at stories of the wars, the passion and ferocity of its people. She’d studied maps and photographs, staring so intently at the island’s high green mountains, sandy beaches and clear blue seas that its geography had become as familiar as her own home town.

      Agon had been an obsession.

      Somewhere in its history was her history, and the key to understanding who she truly was. To have the opportunity to live there on a nine-month secondment had been beyond anything she could have hoped. It had been as if fate was giving her the push she needed to find her birth mother. Somewhere in this land of half a million people was the woman who had borne her.

      For seventeen years Amy had thought