Chapter 54 54. Bait Taken!
Emilio’s POV
She said nothing, turning back to her work. Tina shot her a warning glance, but I simply smiled. I could wait. I had waited this long, and tonight, my patience would finally be rewarded.
We took our places at the table. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the air heavy with the weight of what was about to unfold.
"Such a feast. Thank you for inviting me," I said, settling comfortably into my chair.
"This is not your first time here. So please stop acting like this is a special occasion," she shot back, a look of disgust on her face.
"But it is, Saintilia. And I have a feeling this is going to be a very memorable evening." If only you knew what I had in store for you. You will be begging me soon.
Tina excused herself to the kitchen, and I watched her go, knowing she would take the antidote at the precise moment we had discussed. My entire plan centered around Saintilia, and ensuring Tina's continued safety and full cooperation was a necessary, non-negotiable part of my strategy. I needed her to have a clear head and remain alert, able to play her role without stumbling, without raising suspicion, without making a mistake that could unravel everything we had carefully constructed.
My attention returned to Saintilia. She stood near the table, her posture rigid, her expression guarded. Even in her defiance, she was captivating. The way she held herself, chin lifted, eyes sharp, made me want her more.
"Please, sit," I said, gesturing to the chair across from me. "The food looks exceptional."
She hesitated for a moment before lowering herself into the seat, her movements careful and deliberate. She did not look at me directly, keeping her gaze fixed on the empty plate before her. The dismissal was intentional, a small act of rebellion in a situation where she had little control. I allowed myself a faint smile. She had no idea how little control she truly had.
Tina returned moments later, carrying two cups and a water glass. She placed one cup in front of Saintilia, the water glass in front of me, and kept the other cup for herself. The wine bottle sat on the table, unopened, waiting.
"Emilio, would you do the honors?" Tina asked, her voice carrying the practiced warmth of a gracious hostess.
"I would be delighted," I replied, more than pleased to oblige.
I reached for the bottle and removed the cork with deliberate care. The dark red liquid poured smoothly into the glasses, catching the candlelight in a way that made it look almost inviting. I filled Saintilia's cup first, then Tina's, making sure the portions were generous. The drug I had mixed into the wine was odorless, tasteless, and would dissolve completely; she would never know what was coming.
I set the bottle down and lifted my water glass, maintaining the illusion of moderation. It would not do for me to appear too eager, too invested in whether she drank.
"Wine?" Tina offered, her voice bright with false cheer. "Emilio brought it specially for us. It is a cherry wine from his latest shipment; quite rare, I am told."
Saintilia eyed the cup with suspicion. I could see the hesitation in her face, the wariness that had become her default response to anything I offered. Good. She was clever, observant. But her cleverness would not save her tonight.
"Come now," I said, lifting my water glass with an easy smile. "It would be rude to refuse a gift. And I did bring it specially for you ladies."
I kept my tone light, casual, as if this were any ordinary evening among acquaintances. There was no need to push. Tina would do the work for me.
Tina lifted her glass and took a deliberate sip, nodding with approval. She swirled the liquid gently, playing her part to perfection. "It is quite good. Sweet, but not too sweet. You must try it, Saintilia."
Saintilia hesitated, her fingers hovering near the glass but not quite touching it. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the suspicion fighting with the desire to be polite, to maintain some appearance of normalcy in an evening that felt anything but normal.
She watched her aunt drink, studying her face for any sign of deception, any hint of something amiss. Tina met her gaze steadily, raising her cup once more in encouragement. After a long moment, I saw the tension ease slightly from Saintilia's shoulders. Reassured by Tina's participation, she lifted her own cup and took a small sip.
Then another. And another.
I watched the scene unfold with calculated interest, masking my satisfaction behind a neutral expression. Tina, having established the illusion, soon ceased her wine consumption after a few careful sips. She engaged Saintilia in light, easy chatter to maintain the facade of a normal dinner party. She spoke of the small garden that Saintilia has been attending to, how she was looking forward to the harvest.
Then they spoke of neighbors and their endless gossip, of small village matters that held no real consequence. Anything to keep Saintilia's attention diverted from the cup in her hand, from the subtle heaviness that would soon begin to settle in her limbs.
To my surprise, Saintilia seemed to find particular delight in the cherry wine. Her cup was rarely left to rest, and she drank with a fervor I had not anticipated. I had expected her to be cautious, measured, perhaps to nurse small sips throughout the meal. Instead, she seemed to welcome the escape the wine offered, the temporary reprieve from the tension that had defined the evening.
To think how well she tolerated alcohol was remarkable. Her beautiful face betrayed no hint of the wine's hidden potency, or the significant effects it was about to unleash. She was consuming the bait, entirely unaware of the trap closing around her. Each sip brought her closer to the moment I had been waiting for, and she drank willingly, almost eagerly.
"The food is wonderful, Tina," Saintilia said, her voice slightly warmer than before. The wine was beginning to loosen her tongue, to soften the edges of her hostility. "You outdid yourself."
"I am glad you are enjoying it," Tina replied, her smile tight but convincing. "It is not often we have this kind of gathering."
"More?" Tina asked a short while later, reaching for the bottle.
"Please," Saintilia replied, extending her glass without hesitation.
I remained silent, observing, noting how her eyes remained oddly clear, her laughter spontaneous, her movements graceful despite the steady flow of wine she was consuming. She was holding herself together really well, which shocked both Tina and me, far better than I had anticipated.
The drug was slow to take hold, her body fighting against the sedative with a resilience that both impressed and frustrated me.
"How is the wine?" I asked, mostly to keep her engaged, to gauge her state.
"It is... surprisingly good," she admitted, and I detected a hint of surprise in her own voice, as if she had not expected to enjoy anything about this evening.
Continue………