Page 82 of A Taste like Sin

times.”

“Demand,” I echo. “Like who? His brother?” It’s a stab in the dark. One that seems to hit a bull’s-eye.

“Mateo,” he hisses. “You’d do best to never interact with him.”

So he isn’t aware of Mateo’s impromptu meeting after all.

“Mateo is dangerous,” he adds. “In this world, he only sees himself. No one else.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I feel my eyebrows furrow. “As secretive as Damien is, I doubt he’d

approve of his loyal bodyguard spilling even a hint of his personal life.”

Which means that this is about more than a petty bribe for his silence.

“Because I want you to understand,” Julio says, proving as much. “If he hurts you—Mr. Villa—and he

may—don’t forgive him easily, if you decide to at all. Make him earn it. Make him feel it. I fear that

may be the only way for him to learn,sí.”

“Learn what?”

He cocks his head to look back at me, forsaking the road. “The risk,” he says before turning away.

“The risk that comes with losing something you value due to your own actions—when no amount of

money in the world can salvage the damage. The only way to fix it is to open your heart.”

“And you think he might hurt me?” I question.

“Sí.He will—mierda!” He slams his fists onto the horn as a car cuts in front of us. Growling through

his teeth, he adds, “But he will not mean to, that I am sure of. I doubt he will even realize it.”

It’s an ominous warning. One that resonates as I watch the cityscape pass in a collage of flashing

streetlights and oblivious people.

A warning that, oddly enough, doesn’t make me feel threatened. More like…

Resigned. Because deep down, maybe a part of me has known all along that whatever exists between

me and Damien was doomed from the start. Even his brother felt obligated to warn me.

And perhaps there is a twisted peace in that.

Julio escorts me to the penthouse suite and ushers me inside. There, Damien is sitting in the living

room, on a leather chaise positioned near the windows. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume his

pensive posture was due to appreciation of the amazing view of the city bathed in amber

sunlight.

“How do you feel?” he wonders without moving from his relaxed position: legs outstretched, arms

sprawled out beside him. It’s such a contrast to his usual poised rigidity that I’d smile if his