Eternal Syn

Eternal Syn IMMORTAL ASSASSINS BOOK ONE MIA MONROE Copyright © 2023 by Miia Monroe All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover Design by: Wicked By Design Photography by: CJC Photography Model: Jered Editing by: Kate Wood Proofread by: Charity VanHuss Contents Content Warnings Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue About Mia A Note From Mia Also by Mia Monroe Content Warnings This book features a team of vampire assassins who take out really bad people. There are brief discussions of events that happen off page that include: Physical/domestic abuse Sexual abuse Stalking Death of a parent/ brief mention of parental suicide On page violence includes vampires being vampires and mafia guys doing mafia things. The relationship between MCs is low angst and the book has an HEA. Prologue Florence, Italy 1503 Walking through the crowded home, I make my way to the veranda for a bit of air. It is an honor to have been invited to the masquerade ball at the Medici palace, one my father’s stature in the community provides, however, the masks are more claustrophobic than I had realized. I find it somewhat disconcerting to be unable to recognize faces upon sight. The cool air of autumn eases my discomfort immediately. I lift my mask, inhaling the breeze as I lean over the railing, gazing out at the elaborate gardens. It isn’t long before my thoughts drift to the dark place they always go to at events like this. What is the point? Obtaining wealth simply to show it off? Father says power is everything. Perhaps he is right, but with power comes danger. The Medici family would know that more than most. A figure appears beside me, drawing my attention away from my musings. He is taller than me, which is saying something at my imposing height—an unusual trait for an Italian. His hair is hard to describe, somewhere between blond and brown. Dressed in a pristine outfit in all white, the gold buttons catching the flickering lights around us, he looks like a dream. Piercing gray eyes, so vibrant they seem to glow, peer out at me from behind the white mask that hides his features. “Hello, good sir,” the man says, an Irish accent obvious. “Lovely evening, is it not?” “Yes, as lovely as your Latin.” The man chuckles. “Better than my Italian, I’m afraid.” “What brings you to Florence?” “Adventure,” the man replies, gazing out over the garden. “I needed a change of scenery. The art movement here fascinates me.” He returns his gaze to me. “Are you from Florence?” “Yes. Tell me more about adventure? I know of none.” “No?” He tilts his head. “Why is that?” “I am but a prisoner without a cage, kept under control by my father’s good name and my mother’s piety. Have you no parents?” “Not anymore.” He inhales the air, both of us taking a glass of wine from a passing servant. “I could show you adventure.” “How?” He smiles before sipping his wine. His lips are plump and heart shaped, very pink in tone. I’ve never seen lips like his. Something stirs in me. A menacing whisper I have spent many years resisting and burying deep inside me. “You would have to trust me.” I scoff. “How could I? I do not even know your name.” “Yves.” “A French name for an Irishman?” Yves chuckles. “Whimsical, no?” He bows slightly. “Pleasure to meet you, fair Alessio.” I raise an eyebrow. “How do you know my name?” “Because I have watched you.” He walks behind me, leaning so close I can feel his breath on my neck. “I cannot keep my eyes off you.” My body stiffens from his proximity. “I…I don’t understand.” “No? You think only women yearn to be your beloved?” My stomach flutters. “I…I am not that type of man.” “No, you are not.” Yves leans on the other side of me. “But is that because of your father’s good name and your mother’s piety?” I open my mouth to deny him, but no words come. “Is it because you fear the locals finding out?” He lifts his mask and the sight draws a gasp from me. He is beautiful. Like marble carved by an artist’s gifted hands. “Or are you simply afraid to admit what lies deep within you?” “How…” I snap my mouth shut. “I do not know of what you speak, sir.” “But you do, beautiful Alessio. How do I know? I can hear your thoughts when you traipse the piazza. See the way your gaze lingers on the artists’ models and the way yearning pours from you when male beauty is around. I see more than you see yourself.” I slam my drink down, fumbling with the empty glass as a servant appears with another tray. I take another one, but Yves removes the glass from my hand. “Come with me, Alessio. Let me show you all that you are missing.” “I…I am soon to be betrothed. Next month.” “But not yet.” “My absence will be noted.” Very discreetly, Yves’s pinky finger brushes against mine where it rests on the railing. “You are not ready.