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“Come.” A soldier barks, motioning us toward another archway. This one is more ornate, leading through a wall that sweeps up toward, no-joke, castle-like parapets high above us. Where the hell are we?

The farther we go through the arched corridor, the more elegant the surroundings become. Finally, we reach a wide spiral staircase, sweeping up through a windowed tower and my breath catches in my throat as we ascend.

Even at this angle, just a glimpse of the outside of the place…

It’s enormous.

An honest to goodness palace in the middle of nowhere. My view is cut short as we reach the top of the steps. Outside, we cross another small courtyard, this one resplendent with a gurgling fountain, stunning mosaic tiles, greenery, flowers.

I so badly want to ask the guards who lives here, but I get the impression they are not going to answer. Or they don’t speak English, other than the one guy.

“Ciro…” Vanya scoffs, tugging at my arm.

The stretch of floor to ceiling windows just inside the doorway to our right has my jaw dropping.

Sandstone walls, some clearly ancient, line the stretch of rolling hills, cutting through endless hedges and newer structures paving the grounds for at least a mile or more. Pools, fountains, sculptures, all dot the architecture fading away into the distance, ending in what might be a fortress wall almost out of view.

And sweeping away majestically on the horizon, the mountains gleam in the midday sun.

This place is a fucking paradise.

“‘Arabian Nights’…”

“What?” Vanya mumbles, giving me a look as we are led onward.

“Uh. Nothing. Just reminded me of a song.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Uh, that fern over there is more ridiculous than me in every way.”

We keep our voices low, but no one seems to pay us much heed. Other than making sure we keep moving. They barely even look at us.

Catching my reflection in a mirrored wall hanging I see why.

“Geebus!” I wince.

“You don’t lookthatbad.”

“I was talking about you.” I give her the eye, taking in her overall lack of clothing. There’s not a lot left of that dress. Or her bra.

“Keep it up, I give you makeover,” she croons, making my skin prickle as she shakes a fist at me.

Leave it to Vanya to threaten me with sexy violence in the middle of being held captive by cultist mafia royalty. I mean, I don’t know if that’s true, but this place is outrageous. I wouldn’t put it past them.

Gold plating, marble, anything fancy, shiny, and polished. Everywhere I look there are riches. Paintings that I know are stolen originals. It’s a black-market smuggler’s dream trove.

After another ten minutes of walking, we reach a pair of massive red and green doors, intricately painted and embossed with gold.

I’m feeling worn out.

Not at all in the mood to deal with whoever has summoned us.

But when the doors open, a short man in a robe stands there, holding a platter of warm towels. And waving us into the most elegant, spacious, glorious suite I have ever seen, let alone stayed in. Couches encircle a fire pit in the center, framed by pillars. Curtains longer than our entire house back home billow in the breeze coming through the twenty-foot windows. And outside, a balcony that stretches the length of the entire space overlooking more gardens.

The guards post up at the door just before it closes.

“Um. What is going on?” I ask, my voice carrying through the chambers, accented by the splash of an indoor fountain.