It took the police more than half a day to install Raquel into his guest bedroom.

Into the room that used to host only one queen bed with two matching nightstands came an ugly black desk that overshadowed the beautiful maroon bedsheets. The officers had set up a desktop computer with two giant monitors onto the desk that was brought in to help Raquel with the investigation. Some guy had ripped the original Fabian Perez from his wall and replaced it with a giant map of Madrid for Raquel's convenience.

The unit that had arrived with Raquel invaded his apartment. They kept him out of the room as they helped her move in. He couldn't even see what they were doing. He only witnessed some of the mayhem on his way to the kitchen to get a cup of tea.

The sun had come down when they finally left. With tentative steps, he made his way to the guest bedroom and peered inside.

His heart stopped at the sight before him.

His beautiful room, which had previously been decorated in classic baroque, was now a scene from hell. The new furniture was vulgar, and it ruined the theme he had selected for the room. The big monitors and giant machines that hummed loudly in the corner intruded on his apartment. Raquel's clothes were already stuffed into the wardrobe, and her leather jacket laid forgotten on the floor. There were notebooks and pens scattered on the nightstand.

His eyes finally landed on Raquel, who had deposited herself on the bed and currently kept her attention on the laptop resting on her lap.

"I can feel you staring," she muttered quietly, her eyes still on the screen before her.

"Can I get you anything?" He said and stepped out of the shadows. "Tea? Coffee? The deed to my house?"

"You can go away," she replied with a gruff tone.

"That's hard to do in my own apartment." Leaning against the doorway, he crossed his arms in front of him.

"Try harder," she said dismissively, her voice devoid of the spark he was so used to.

"How long do you intend to stay here?"

"I don't make that decision. Prieto does."

"How long does he intend for you to stay here?"

"Why are you so curious?" She looked up from her screen. "Got anywhere else to be? Like the tropics?"

He remained silent and looked down onto the ground in shame.

"I didn't think so," she said and directed her attention back to the laptop.

He hated this. He hated the way she dismissed him. Raquel always retained a bit of a mean streak when it came to him, but at least she was there for him. She had been there for him. They hadn't known each other for that long, but she had already managed to successfully turn him around from a panic attack, and he hadn't known anyone else who was capable of such a thing except for licensed medical professionals.

He couldn't stand to hear this new shade of nonchalance in her voice. He wanted to hear the familiar spark again.

"Can we talk about this?" He asked after a beat. "I had a good reason."

"Really?" She shut the laptop closed and tossed it onto the bed, only to stand up and make her towards him.

He uncrossed his arms and pushed his body off of the doorway. The manner in which she approached reminded him of how alone they truly were in his apartment. There were no police to guard and protect him this time. Even if he was a flight risk, he was still a part of this operation. Now, the only person who watched him was Raquel, which meant that there would be no one coming to help if she decided to abuse that power.

"You have my full attention," she said once she stood before him. "Why did you do it? Why did you run? After I agreed to risk my life to protect you, why did you try to escape?"

He swallowed. "I…"

"I'm listening."

The way she looked at him was unbearable. He looked away from her piercing gaze. "It's difficult to explain."

"I don't care. Say something!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn't tell her the truth, he simply couldn't. Raquel worked for the other side, she was a cop, for God's sake! If she found out that his name was under the offshore bank accounts, any chance of a plea, even with the friendliest prosecutor, would fly out the window. He would be kicked off to prison faster than he could present his defense.

No, this particular secret was not coming out of his lips, even if it meant he had to suffer through every method of harassment Raquel was professionally taught.

"I… can't," he finally said. "I am very sorry, but I can't explain it."

"You are a coward," she spat out. "You'd rather flee the country than help put a criminal in jail because you are a selfish bastard."

"Raquel…" he began.

"Don't you dare say my name," she narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't believe I thought you would be able to pull through. I overestimated you."

Her words shot through his heart like arrows. "Please…"

"From now on, you and I only talk if it's necessary. You do not address me. You do not look at me. You don't even breathe next to me." She stepped closer to him. Despite their height difference, her gaze terrified him. "And if you ever think about escaping again, I will slit your throat and watch you drown in your own blood with a bowl of popcorn. Understood?"

"Dear God…" He gasped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Yes. I understand," he corrected himself.

"Good. Now, scram."

With that, she slammed the door on his face.

Raquel did not emerge from the guest bedroom for the rest of the night. Nothing could be heard through the room. Sergio paced back and forth in front of her door, trying to detect any clues as to what she might be up to. She might have been asleep, or she might have been sharpening her knives. There was no way of knowing.

So, he went to the kitchen and began his meal prep for the week. His hands trembled as he finely chopped the mushrooms for the ragout. When he took the venison out of the marinade, he was irked by the raw meat. He saw his future in the dead animal. Worse, he knew that Raquel would not be as careful with the marinade when she did eventually chop his balls off. No, she would feed it to the dogs without giving proper preparation a second thought.

After he added the brandy to the mix, he wistfully watched the mushroom sizzle in the pan. He gave all of himself to this meal, finding it to be the only ritual that calmed his thoughts. Although he found that he was unable to enjoy a glass of red wine throughout his cooking, as he normally did. This time, deriving any pleasure from the task in front of him felt forbidden, not when Raquel simmered quietly in the- her room.

When he transferred the contents of the pan to individual glass Tupperware (all the lids color-coded to match the days of the week), he made sure to spare an extra-large plate that he decorated carefully.

After giving the kitchen a brief cleaning, he took the plate and went to the guest bedroom. Taking a deep breath to gather his courage, he softly knocked on her door.

"Raquel?"

She didn't answer.

"Raquel?" He tried again, raising his voice this time to make sure she heard him. "I made venison meatball and wild mushroom ragout."

"I hope you choke on it!"

"The meat is pretty soft. It is frankly impossible to-" he started but stopped when he realized that she wasn't, in fact, talking about the texture. He tried again. "I prepared a plate for you."

She didn't respond. So, he gently placed the plate in front of her door, hoping that the smell of garlic and dill would lure her out of her den.

"I'm leaving it right here," he called out again, but silence welcomed him once more. With a sigh, he went back to the kitchen and scrubbed the inside of his oven until he couldn't feel his arm anymore.

#

Sergio Marquina woke up precisely at 6.00 with his alarm.

At 6.20 am, he emerged from his bedroom to head to the fitness center. He paused at Raquel's door on his way out and saw that the plate he had left there from the night before was untouched. He grabbed his towel and walked out the door.

He worked out like a madman and discovered an odd sense of calm in the treadmill. His apartment was like the grave of a fire after all the embers had died down. He was terrified to return to the cold.

At 7.30 am, he came home and cleared Raquel's plate. The pasta had chilled during the night, and it had grown hard on the plate. He dumped the meal in the trash and went to take a shower. Raquel was quiet. He was too afraid to check on her.

At 8 am, he mindlessly began preparing a breakfast smoothie, but after discovering his lack of appetite, he gave up on it and had a glass of water instead. He left for work on an empty stomach. As he closed the door to his apartment, he briefly wondered whether Raquel would be fine on her own. But who was he kidding? She would be fine even if the building burned down with her in it. She didn't need his concern.

At 8.30 am, he drove to work. He forgot to turn on his meditation tracks, so when a fellow driver cut into his lane, he honked in irritation.

At 9 am, he walked through the doors of T.E.C.C. Industries. He didn't greet anyone. The hallways bustled with lazy employees, still half asleep from the trauma of Monday morning. The sunshine that slipped through the big windows reflected on his glasses and bothered his eyes. He made his way into the office without uttering a word to anyone.

"Good morning, Mr. Marquina," Silene chirped from her desk. "How was your weekend?"

"Fine," he said, not intending to elaborate.

"And…" She continued cheekily. "How is your girlfriend?"

"Who?"

"Your girlfriend? Raquel?"

Sergio paused at the door of his office.

Right.

He slowly turned to his secretary. "Raquel is fine as well," he replied carefully, not feeling ready to use the word 'girlfriend' when describing Raquel. "Thank you for asking."

"I heard she got a little drunk at the party. Is she doing okay?"

"She is… resting."

"Can I just say how happy I am that you introduced her to us?"

"Are you?" He was itching to end this conversation and retreat to the safety of his office, though he wasn't sure how safe he would be behind transparent glass walls.

Silene was oblivious to his inner turmoil. "You really needed someone like her to bring you out of your shell."

"She really cracked my shell right open," he agreed with her.

"Maybe…" the young woman continued. "We could all hang out sometime. Just the three of us."

"Right, right," he replied dismissively. "Sure."

Not willing to hear another word of what she had in mind, he walked into his office and shut the door. He exhaled into the empty room.

A tall pile of folders rested snugly in his incoming box. No doubt Silene had filled it with this week's mail shortly before his arrival. If this was any other day, Sergio would have taken off his coat, brewed himself some coffee in the break room, and begun combing through the day's work. However, this was not any other day. His life was ruined once, there was no going back.

He didn't have any desire to respond to emails. Instead, he took a seat at his desk and turned on his computer. With a sigh, he reached for the top drawer and took out his shea butter hand cream. This much stress was destroying his skin, and the cold air was not helping. He looked at the computer screen with empty eyes.

There was much work to be done, so he tried to focus. Adjusting his glasses, he began going through the monthly bank statements. The numbers no longer excited him. He punched the digits lazily into his graph calculator and fidgeted with an expensive fountain pen. After, he began reviewing correspondence from rival companies and attempted to analyze the possible changes in their financial index. With the knowledge he now had regarding Andres's affairs, he came to the conclusion that if the press caught a hint of what was truly going on, they would see a 40% drop in their stock price. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen if the shareholders found out about that particular information.

He felt trapped wherever he went. At work, he dealt with the impending doom of his career. At home, he dealt with a particular investigator who was looking for a reason to chop him up and feed him to the vultures. He couldn't breathe anymore.

He needed to get out of there. He needed to escape.

This time, there were no coherent thoughts. There were no plans, no careful calculations, no letters to his attorney.

Instead, he went online and looked for a train out of Spain. He would leave as soon as possible. He didn't care anymore. Let him be caught. He would go to Sweden and herd goats if he had to. He just had to get out of the building.

Drunk on panic and defeat, he got up and left his office. He came back with a box and started stuffing everything he saw on his desk into it. He would leave the country with nothing but the clothes on his back and the little Aloe Vera plant he kept in his office. He made sure to grab his hand cream. Then, he left the office once more to head towards Andres' corner office.

He knew his friend better than he knew himself. Andres would never come to work on a Monday morning.

"Sir!" Anibal yelled after him as Sergio practically kicked open the double doors. "You need an appointment!"

"I can't schedule an appointment with an empty office," he grumbled at the young secretary before shutting the doors closed to his face. He didn't need him to know what the hell he was up to.

It was anger that guided him this time. Anger and the desperate desire to get out. He quickly walked over to the cabinet and began shuffling through the binders. It didn't take him long to find the documents with his forged signature branded on them. He didn't know the extent of the fabricated evidence, but he'd be damned if he was leaving these behind.

He quickly stuffed the papers into a random briefcase he found lying around in his best friend's office and shut it closed. Then he practically ran out of the office and ignored Anibal's offers of help.

It was noon when he walked out of his office with his coat, a briefcase bursting with papers, and a big box of his personal items that included a tall Aloe Vera named Catherine.

He locked his office behind him and muttered to Silene. "I'll be back soon."

In fact, he never intended to be back. Ever. But, when he turned around, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Raquel stood beside Silene's desk.

Raquel with a small bag in her hand and death in her eyes.

"Actually, I was just coming into tell you that your girlfriend is here," Silene said as she stood up, though no one heard her.

For a moment, the duo exchanged glances.

Sergio took in the sight of her in jeans and a nice blouse, dressed for the part. In exchange, Raquel surveyed the briefcase, carelessly closed with documents spilling out of it. Her eyes then landed on the mid-sized box he was clutching close to his chest with both hands. The Aloe Vera poked out of it as though it didn't want to miss the drama that was about to unfold.

"Raquel," he breathed out in shock.

"Sergio," she said in return.

Silene looked between them in confusion.

"Going somewhere?" Raquel asked.

"Just out to lunch," he replied inconspicuously.

"With a plant?"

"It's an Aloe Vera."

"And you need it for lunch?"

He swallowed. He was really in deep shit now. "She keeps me company. Why are you here?"

"I brought you lunch. You forgot to pack it this morning."

Silene giggled from her desk. "Oh my God, you live together already?"

They both turned to the young secretary and threw her such a pointed look that she immediately stopped giggling and sat back down on her desk.

Raquel turned back to him with a look that indicated she knew exactly what he was about to do. "I think you should come with me now."

Sergio took a step back. "I can't, I'm afraid. I'm very busy today."

Silene interrupted once more. "Actually, your schedule is clear for the day."

God damn this woman, too blind to see a demotion coming even if it hit her in the face.

"Thank you for that information, Silene," Sergio said. "You are very helpful today."

"You're welcome!" The young woman chirped, unaware of the pure sarcasm and agony that graced her boss's voice.

"Put the box down," Raquel said, her tone growing even more lethal.

Sergio slowly set the box down onto his secretary's table. He then whispered quietly to Silene. "If something happens to me, I need you to take care of Catherine. She needs to be watered twice a day, and she likes the organic potassium fertilizer. You can import it from Portugal."

"What?" Silene asked, confused.

"The organic potassium fertilizer." He enunciated his words like he was talking to a child. "Don't forget."

"Why would anything happen to you?"

Sergio slowly met Raquel's gaze, who was patiently waiting for him to finish bidding farewell. He gulped.

Raquel answered on his behalf as she kept her eyes steady on her victim. "Anything can happen to anyone. It is a dangerous world we're living in."

"Right," Sergio whispered, his voice barely audible. Then he looked down at his plant with longing. "Goodbye, Catherine."

"Let's go," Raquel said.

"I'll see you later then!" Silene yelled behind them. "I can't wait to hang out with you two!"

Raquel looked at him in confusion and muttered quietly. "What is she talking about?"

"I don't know," he replied, too terrified for coherent thoughts.

Sweat was already building up in his palms. When he felt numbness in his left arm, he recognized the familiar signs of a heart attack. Surprisingly, he was grateful. He'd rather have a heart attack than face whatever Raquel had prepared for him after she caught him running for the second time.

Sergio was not coming out of this alive.

They slowly made their way to the elevator, eerily quiet and in sync. This was the calm before the storm. Some of the employees recognized Raquel from the party and greeted her kindly. Ever the great actress, she smiled warmly in return. The easy switch between the sweet girlfriend and the murderous cop baffled Sergio. It scared him even more. It meant that if she were to kill him that very day, no one would suspect her.

They called the elevator, and he mentally went through all the prayers he knew to gain easy access to heaven once he was dead.

Raquel looked around carefully. Once there were relatively a few employees left in the hallway, she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the elevators.

"Ah!" He yelped in pain stumbled behind her, struggling to keep up. She didn't seem to care much for his well-being.

Without a single word, she manhandled him down the hallway, and after spotting a door with the words 'STORAGE CLOSET' written on it, she turned the handle and pushed him inside.

She walked in there with him and locked the door behind them.

Then she pulled out a gun and shoved the barrel against his neck.

"Raquel!" he yelled in fear. "That's a gun!"

In the tiny storage closet, his back hit the shelves behind him. The printer papers and ink rattled in protest.

"What did I say would happen to you if you tried to run away again?" She shoved the gun deeper against his throat, the muzzle digging right under his jaw.

"God, please, please, please," he cried. His mouth went dry. "Please don't kill me."

Her free hand grabbed his collar, and she pulled him to herself. With her body pressed fully against his, she asked again, slower this time. "What's going to happen to you now?"

"Raquel p-please, if you blow my brains out right here, you -you'll get blood on your blouse!"

"You're right. Thank you for pointing that out," she said with a calm smile. "How do I get the bloodstain out again?"

"Hydrogen peroxide," he replied, out of breath.

"Thanks. Now, I can kill you."

"No, wait!" his hand enveloped hers on the gun, as though that would prevent her from pulling the trigger. His heart was pounding in his chest. "I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"

She shoved the muzzle deeper against his skin, right on his jugular. He felt the cold metal cutting the blood supply to his lungs. A shiver went down his spine.

"You better make it good."

"It's Andres!" He said, panting. "It's him! He forged my signature, he fabricated evidence! That's why I ran away!"

He felt her fingers move away from the trigger, though the handgun remained pressed against his throat.

"You're lying."

"I'm not!"

She tightened her hold on the gun, not feeling quite ready to relinquish her hold of him. Seconds passed by slowly. Sergio's own breath echoed in his ears.

The barrel of the handgun moved lower on his neck and hit his collarbone.

"I can tell when you're lying to me," she whispered to him. She slowly traced the gun further down his torso.

When the gun left his chest, he let out a short breath in relief. However, he was painfully aware of the barrel making its sweet way down his body. He sucked in his stomach as she found her way onto his kidneys.

"Maybe I won't kill you," she shrugged.

Then sliding even lower, she nestled the gun in his crotch.

"Maybe I'll just give you a little homemade vasectomy," she purred against his ear.

"Raquel!" He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. "No!"

"Beg."

"Please," he panted. The idea that she might shoot his balls clean off shook him to the core. His hand found hers on the gun once more as a final stand to protect his manhood. "I beg you."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear to you!" Suddenly, he remembered that his free hand held the briefcase filled with documents he stole from Andres's office. "I can prove it!"

Her eyes flickered to the briefcase he had in his hand. He held onto the handle so tight that his knuckles were turning white. She looked back at him, this time with a more complicated expression he couldn't quite decipher.

"Is that so?"

"Raquel, please," he pleaded again. His grip on her hand tightened. He had never held a gun before, but he knew that if he died in the next minute, he would die knowing he held the very gun and the hand that killed him. In a way, he found closure in that.

"Put down the gun, please," he begged one last time. "I don't want to die."

To his surprise, Raquel eased the pressure on the gun.

"Okay, calm down."

Relief washed over him. He almost collapsed, and if there was any room in the tiny closet, he was sure he would have. A single light bulb illuminated them from above, rendering her features even sharper than usual.

"Thank… you…" he gasped in short huffs.

"Breathe," she told him. "Look at me."

So he did. In the small closet, he was only now becoming aware of her proximity. But she didn't shy away from his body. Instead, she watched him more carefully. More intimately.

"Raquel…" he exhaled, still carried off by the momentum that only the fear of death could bring.

"Tell me everything," she said softly. "This is your last chance. If you lie to me again, I will not help you."

This time, he knew that she wasn't kidding. She wasn't exaggerating either. He watched as she tucked the gun back into the holster that she kept hidden underneath her jacket.

"I will show you everything," he nodded, realizing the value behind his life. Somehow, he felt fondness towards this woman who decided not to kill him there that day, in a tiny storage closet. "But not here, it's too dangerous."

She nodded in understanding. "Let's go."

Then she stepped away from him and opened the door, depriving him of her presence once again.

#

They found a secluded table in a quiet restaurant downtown.

"Excuse me?" Sergio called out to the waiter. "Hi. Can you get us started with steamed mussels and foie gras? For the main course, can I get the stuffed lobster with caviar, followed by seared scallops in brown butter? Please tell the chef to have the lemon sauce on the side. I'll also have the roasted pumpkin, pork belly with chile vinegar and the chickpea crumble. Could you prepare a tomato tart as well? If you have some that's fresh, I'll also take the veal carpaccio, and I want to see the dessert menu after. Thank you."

The waiter looked at him, baffled. "S-sure."

"And make sure to bill this to Andres de Fonollosa," he added as an afterthought.

The waiter nodded. "Anything for the lady?"

Raquel shifted in her seat and looked at Sergio with confusion. "Nothing for me, thanks."

The waiter left them to their own devices, and after a very uncomfortable silence, Sergio felt the need to explain. "I am a stress eater."

"I can see that," she remarked quietly.

"Also, for a while back there, I didn't think I was ever going to be able to eat again." He unfolded his linen napkin and draped it across his lap. He then placed the silverware one by one next to his empty plate, arranging it by size. The white tablecloth felt smooth underneath his fingers.

"Do you eat out often?" she asked after a beat.

"Only with the majority shareholders," he replied. "I appreciate your attempt at small talk."

"Even though you are more honest when you're panicking, I find that you are more thorough when you're calm. And I am going to need your explanation to be pretty comprehensive."

"And small talk calms me down?"

"Directing your attention away from the matter calms you down, even if it means bickering with me," she replied quietly.

"Is that why you argue with me so often?"

"No, I just don't like you," she said. "Now begin."

Right. He reached over and touched the end of his spoon with his finger, aligning it perfectly with the fork. Keeping his eyes on the silverware, he spoke. "When we were at Andres's office after the party, I discovered some documents.

"What kind of documents?"

He looked around, making sure no other customers were seated too close to their table. He didn't want anyone within earshot for this next tidbit. "Illegal documents."

"And you didn't know about these documents before?"

He looked up at her. "No. I swear to you, I didn't. I found them when we were going through his stuff."

She nodded, though she remained collected. There was no fury in her eyes, no anger. Just patience. "What did these documents contain?

He took in a deep breath, preparing himself for the reveal. "If I tell you, will you protect me?"

"You lost unconditional protection a long time ago. Now, it depends on the information you're about to give me."

"I can understand that," he replied. After two unsuccessful attempts at an escape, he knew that he had lost Raquel's good side –not that she had any. "I found out that Andres kept offshore bank accounts in Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium. Each one of these bank accounts was under anonymous ownership but contained at least eighty to a hundred million euros each."

Raquel's eyes widened at his words, though she still kept her voice professional when she spoke. "And you didn't think to tell me that in the office? After I specifically told you that we were there for evidence?"

He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, grateful to watch her mirror him. His eyes watched hers, silently pleading for compassion that he was about to need. Soft piano music played quietly in the restaurant, submerging them into their private world.

"I didn't tell you because he put my name under these accounts. He appointed me as trustee without my knowledge, and he forged my signature."

She maintained her poker face. "He forged your signature?"

After taking another brief look around, he reached for the briefcase and opened it. Then he took out the documents one by one and laid them in front of her on the table.

"How is your French?"

"Rusty," she replied but pulled the papers closer to herself on the table.

"You don't need to speak French to see the account balance," he pointed at the bottom of the page. "You see this? This is not my signature."

She looked back up at him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a napkin. Then he took out a pen from the briefcase.

"Look," he said and began drawing on the napkin. "This is how I sign my name. 'S. Marquina', it's always the same."

With that, he recreated his signature neatly on the table and pushed it in front of her. "Look at the size of the letters; they are all uniform. But this?" He dragged his finger to the fraudulent copy. "This one also says S. Marquina, but look at the letters. Look how sloppy they are."

She pulled the napkin close and placed it next to the signature line on the bank statement.

He leaned into her, trying to catch her gaze. "I took years of calligraphy, Raquel. That is not how I sign my name, please believe me."

She took both the paper and the napkin and held it to the light without saying a single word. He was growing concerned now. "Do you want me to sign your name? To show you?"

"No," she said after a beat, then placed the papers back on the table. "You don't have to prove yourself. I believe you."

"You do?"

"This one's forged. I don't need to compare it to the real deal to see that."

"How?"

This time, it was her turn to flip the papers and place them in front of him. "It's the blunt stokes and the tremors. A real signature would be a lot looser because it's subconscious. But look here, this one is too sharp, too deliberate. And here?" She picked up the other bank statement in German and put it next to the one in French. "This one has a tremor to it. It shows a lack of confidence. It also doesn't even match this first one. They're too different."

"So, it is definitely forged?"

"It is, and pretty badly too."

"Oh, Raquel!" he exclaimed in glee. "I could kiss you right now!"

She leaned back into her seat at that remark and evaded his gaze. However, a subtle smirk played her lips. "So what? You didn't tell me this because you thought you could go to jail?"

"This is incriminating evidence, isn't it? You are looking for a reason to send me to prison. But think about it, if I was planning to escape all along, I would have done so before I introduced you to everyone. I only came up with the idea after I saw the documents."

"But we have experts at the police department," she watched him ruefully. "You didn't have to do this, you didn't have to lie to me."

"I couldn't just sit and do nothing," he replied, then looked down at his plate again. "The truth is, I am so frightened, Raquel. I saw the accounts, and I… I couldn't think."

"You can't just flee the country during an active police investigation."

"I know that, I do, but…" he paused, then his eyes found the waiter again and called out to him. "Excuse me? Can I get a chocolate profiterole with glazed caramel and strawberries on the side?"

"Sir, your foie gras hasn't arrived yet."

"Bring them all together," he replied nonchalantly and turned his attention back to her. "As I was saying, I really am so terrified."

Raquel threw a brief glance at the waiter, who looked back at her in question. She nodded to him in approval, and the man went off, not feeling too ready to report the disastrous meal order to the kitchen.

"I can very clearly see that," she said once they were alone. "You don't happen to have cholesterol issues, do you?"

"No, I'm perfectly healthy. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"So, you're not going to send me to jail?"

"Not right now," she shook her head. "You can enjoy your… meal, or whatever it is you're eating."

"Are you going to tell Prieto about the documents?"

She paused and looked away from him for a brief second. They could see the street from the window by their table. The pedestrians walked past them, unaware of the predicament Sergio was in. The soft piano music continued in the background, providing a warm cushion to the conversation.

"I would have to tell him about those, yes."

"He's not going to be happy with the fact that I withheld evidence from you."

"No," she agreed with him. "He's not."

They stayed silent for a few moments, allowing themselves to digest their situation. He risked another question. "Do you think he might terminate our operation and arrest me straight away?"

"If he believes that I can't trust you, then yes. He might."

He nodded grimly. "Do you trust me?"

She leaned back into her seat, and Sergio felt her cross her legs under the small table they shared. "I don't know. Can I trust you?"

"Yes," he said without skipping a beat. He didn't know whether he meant his word or whether he was just swayed by the way she looked at him. The tip of her shoe briefly grazed the fabric of his pants.

"It's not that easy for me to believe that." She cocked her head to the side and watched him thoughtfully. "But if I'm going to keep working with you, I need you to stop lying to me."

"I think that's fair."

"No, Sergio, I don't think you understand me." She commanded his attention. "You will not lie to me ever again, or this…" she pointed at the space between them. "It's over."

He nodded slowly and repeated after her. "I will not lie to you ever again."

"Good," she gave him a tight-lipped smile, and Sergio realized that she hadn't insulted him in a while. "Now, for Prieto."

"You're going to tell him?"

"I have to talk to him about the bank statements. This is crucial for the investigation. It means that Andres needed a front, that he couldn't just keep the accounts under anonymous ownership anymore. It means something must have happened, or somebody must have gotten sloppy."

"I see."

"But…" she paused, selecting her words carefully. "I don't have to tell him that it was you who found the documents."

He frowned. "Who else?"

"I did. I found the documents."

"So, when I tried to escape…" he gave himself a minute to catch up with her thought process. "It wasn't because I withheld evidence from you?"

She nodded. "It was because you were plain scared, nothing else. No valid grounds of arrest besides what we already know about you."

"You'd do this for me?"

"Only if you prove to me that you deserve it."

He leaned so close to her on the table that his elbow bumped against the carefully arranged silverware. The spoon rested crooked next to the knife, no longer in symmetry.

"I would do anything." His voice was barely above a whisper.

But she leaned back into her seat, not willing to reduce the distance between them just yet. "Do better. That's all I'm asking."

"What do you mean?"

"Do a better job at convincing people. Do a better job at helping me. This investigation can finally bring down Andres. We've been after him for years, and we spent so many of our resources already. Every year he makes millions off of evading taxes that should go to the state treasury. We need that money to help people, to build a better system. But it's people like him who disrupt the balance." She lowered her voice. "Help me catch him."

"Raquel…." He began.

"Be a better boyfriend to me," she concluded. "And I'll lie to Prieto for you."

Her words hung in the air. He stopped and processed her request. To be really on board with this plan meant that he would be putting his brother in prison with his own two hands.

The waiter picked that very moment to place a plate in front of them, then quickly left before Sergio could order anything more expensive.

Sergio picked up the fork and looked up at her serving. "May I?"

She stared down on the empty plate before her. "Sure."

He reached over with his fork and placed a single slice of veal fillet onto her empty plate, then he grabbed his spoon and placed a dark truffle on the veal and drizzled some of the lemon dressing he had specifically requested on the side. She looked down at her plate in confusion.

"Try it," he urged her on.

She was suspicious. Narrowing her eyes, she picked up her own fork and reached for the carpaccio. He watched carefully as she took a bite.

When her eyes closed in pleasure, and she let out a small hum of approval, he spoke. "I'll do it."

Her eyes shot open in surprise. He added.

"I'll fall in love with you."