Page 6 of Violet Legacy

The sunlight cast the room aglow in a white light, creating an ethereal atmosphere. The only color was the giant desk and black sofas to her right. She pressed her clammy hands to her sides. Rieka was there for a reason. It meant that she had some form of bargaining power. She glanced back at the city landscape; using the time to refocus her thoughts. “Does the view ever get old?”

“No.”

Dante stalked toward his desk. It was the only word to describe the way he moved, with the grace of a big panther that was ready to pounce. Dante half-turned; the bright light cast him aglow with a fiery halo. Her cheeks warmed. First, she called him pretty, and now she was gawking at him.

Very professional, Sinha.

“Please sit.”

It sounded like an order.

Rieka stood next to the chair, tracing the soft leather before she sat. She may as well be comfortable. “Why am I here?”

“I am looking for an archaeologist, one with your experience and expertise.”

Was this an elaborate joke? “There are hundreds of experts within the field. The institution that you sponsor did not terminate most of them with you as the final signatory.”

“An unfortunate series of events.”

Rieka’s stomach lurched as a white-hot fury simmered within her. It wasn’t an apology. But she hadn’t been expecting one. The investigation into the excavation was still ongoing, but they needed someone to take the blame. As a hybrid she had been expendable. It was hard not to take it personally. “Why me?”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Dante stated. “Your previous work is impeccable, if not polarizing.”

That was an understatement.

“Five years ago, most of your acquaintances didn’t appreciate me pointing out that the most beloved statue of Vandana was a forgery. A very realistic one,” Rieka said. The damn artifact had temporarily derailed her career and her life. “I believe the consensus was I should have kept quiet, and most Atlanteans would have kept believing it was authentic.”

“Do you know what theJimourtis?” Dante asked. He leaned back against the chair, his expression neutral, but his gaze continued to burn through her.

Rieka paused. What game was the Atlantean playing? “I am aware of the event. It is hosted by House Azaes in Egypt, every five hundred years and it is invite only.”

She would have to be living under a rock to not know it was happening next week.

“The crown jewels of House Atlas will be on exhibit,” Dante said. “There is a piece within the collection I want authenticated.”

Her stomach dropped as she suppressed a flinch. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, but there was nothing Dante could offer to make her want to be put in that position again. It had taken more than over two years before she stopped worrying about zealot Atlanteans entering her home. The police hadn’t been able to help her then, and she doubted that would change—not when Atlanteans fell under a different policing jurisdiction.

“No.” Rieka clasped her bag closely. “I appreciate the opportunity, but I’m not interested.”

“Your eyes are the only physical sign of your Atlantean heritage. They are an unusual color. One that I have never come across,” Dante said. “You have never requested acceptance into any of the Houses, even when you were sentenced to juvenile detention.”

Dante made it sound so easy. Like she could walk up to a House and ask for protection. Her own human father had decided that he hadn’t wanted Rieka around, especially with a new wife and a younger daughter. Why would an Atlantean House claim an orphan?

“Those records are supposed to be sealed.”

“Everything has a price.”

It had taken her a long time to come to terms with what happened, but if she controlled the narrative, Dante couldn’t use it against her. The Atlantean was trying to get under her skin and bringing up parts of her history was one way to do it. “I broke into my father’s house. He charged me.”

Dante didn’t blink at the admission.

Rieka shook her head; Alistair Sinclair had been a first-class narcissist. What her mother had ever seen in him, she would never know. As soon as she was old enough, she’d changed her name back to her mother’s surname. She wanted nothing to do with the Sinclair family. “Good luck on your search.”

Dante stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Sinha.”

Rieka nodded and turned before she could say something she would regret. She wasn’t ready to put herself at the mercy of the Atlantean elite, not when they would think of her as a pawn. They couldn’t be trusted.

“Goodbye.” She was halfway back to the elevator when she turned. “What is it?”

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