Maria stares with a look of pure disgust carved into her face. She's motionless save for her wavy, black hair rustling in the breeze, and then she backs away. The only sound I can hear is the drumming of my heart mixed with the waves crashing against the shore.

I break the silence. "Amor, like I said before; I don't expect you to forgive me. But please just hear me out. I just need to get this off my chest—I wanted to tell you...but I was scared."

She crosses her arms. "Of what? My dad arresting your sorry ass? Fuck, Sergio" Maria shakes her head, "I didn't want him to be right about you."

"What are you talking about?" I wrinkle my brow.

"He told me to break up with you a week after we started going out. He said there was something off about you."

That's typical of the old fart.

"I'm not scared of your dad arresting me," I say flatly. "I'm afraid of losing you."

Maria sighs and wipes a tear off her face. "You know what the cartel did to my family, Sergio," her voice cracks. "You know. So just say what you need to say, but I can't promise I won't walk away."

I nod.

"Remember when I told you I got loans for university?"

"Let me guess, you lied about that too," Maria quips.

"Sort of. I got the loans, but it wasn't through the bank. My grandfather owes loan sharks from Barrio Esperanza."

"Are you people insane?"

"No—just poorer than you."

Maria shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"The plan was for me to pay it back when I got a good job," I continue. "Supposedly, that commerce degree was going to open a lot of doors for me, but two years later and they're still fucking locked. And despite what you might think, bank tellers aren't exactly raking in the Boleros."

Maria scoffs.

"Anyway," I exhale, "when my grandfather and I went ashore on Isla Navidad, it was supposed to be a normal fishing trip stop. He was getting a fire started to fry some fish and plantains. Meanwhile, I went around to the other side of the island to get mangoes for dessert and to take home for my abuela. But when I was crossing one of the coves between the mangroves, I saw something dark in the water. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was a large black plastic bag and pulled it—"

"Then you found the drugs, went back and told your grandfather," Maria cuts in.

I shake my head. "Never. My abuelo would have kicked my ass if he knew what I was planning. So instead, I dragged the bag into the bush, and hid it in a cave I found a couple years ago. When I got back, I told my grandfather that I had had to go into the bush because I couldn't find any good mangoes from the trees near the beach."

"It seems like when you lie, you do it well," Maria says pointedly.

"I lied because I had to, not because I wanted to," I reply in a sombre tone.

"Sure," Maria sighs, sounding unimpressed. "If that's what you have to tell yourself—"

"I'm sorry I lied to you. But I'm telling you the truth now," I cut her off.

She waves her hand but says nothing.

"On our way back to the city," I continue, "my mind was as choppy as the deep blue waves crashing against the boat. I thought about you—about us—but the loan sharks were coming to collect in a few weeks. What choice did I have? You know what they would have done to my grandfather if they didn't get their money."

Maria turns her head like she was trying to block that last sentence out of her mind. But I know she knows. Everyone knows. Whenever you fail to pay up, they "relieve" you of an arm; a process they repeat until there's nothing left.

"Later that night," I exhale, "I went over to Don Carlos' mansion and told him about what I'd found. Right away, he told four of his henchmen to escort me to Isla Navidad to retrieve the bag. And just before we left, he added, 'And if you don't find anything, shoot him.' I thought I would crap my pants; I instantly regretted my decision. But it was too late. The whole boat ride back to the island, I was sweating bullets every time I looked at the AK-47's those guys were carrying—"

"But you obviously found it," Maria interrupts. "So what did you do after you got the money?"

"I bought a safe, and told my grandfather that the bank gave me a special employee loan so we could pay the loan sharks with that."

"Then what?" Maria asks impatiently. "Finding drugs and turning it over to the cartel is like winning the lottery. You get money but have no ties to the drug lords. So why are they coming after you now?"

"Because it never sat well with me; it still doesn't," I reply. "It kept weighing on me. Some nights I couldn't sleep thinking about the bloody money in the safe. So I decided to tell Marcos, hoping that would make me feel better. And that brings us to this afternoon."

I sigh. "Marcos was waiting for me when I left work. He said that he'd gotten in a tight spot with the guys down at the Blue Marlin Bar; apparently, he owes them about 10,000 Boleros."

"Ten thousand—for what?" Maria asks.

"Gambling."

"And how much drug money do you have left?"

"Fifteen-thousand. Ten of which is earmarked for the loan sharks, and the rest..." my voice trails off.

"What's the rest for?" she asks anxiously.

I pause and take a deep breath. "Us."