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Chapter 17 - The Kiss

Layla

“Aldo, what’s wrong?” Had he taken some kind of drug?

The man in my bed was definitely Aldo Marcello—those chiseled cheekbones and strong jaw, the plumped lips and long black lashes, the scarred, muscled body, could belong to no other. But it wasn’t him.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He leaned in toward...