THE FALL OF LORENZO

Layla's pov

The name doesn't really ring before my head latches onto it. Martina? What the fuck is Martina?

I am thirsty, but I can still manage to croak, "I—I'm not Martina. I don't know what you're talking about."

His arm jabs out, hand curling around my chin in a not-painful, but firm—like...

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