Chapter 55 55. When The Strings Cut!
Emilio’s POV
"I do not usually drink, but this is... pleasant."
"Pleasant," I repeated, allowing myself a small smile. "I am glad you think so. Your feedback is valuable; this is a new purchase for my store, and I have been considering whether to promote it to my patrons. It seems I have my answer."
Saintilia nodded slowly, her movements looser than before. "You have a good eye for wine," she said, the words coming more easily now. "Perhaps you are not entirely useless."
There was a faint smile on her lips as she spoke, and I wondered if she even realized she had just paid me a compliment. The wine was doing its work; not just the drug, but the alcohol itself. Her guard was lowering, her sharp edges softening.
Tina glanced at me, and I saw the faintest flicker of understanding in her eyes. We were getting closer.
Her impressive tolerance was unsettling, making me wonder about the true effectiveness of the substance I had mixed into her drink. I had calculated the dosage carefully, accounting for her size, but her resilience was unexpected.
Most women her size would have shown signs by now, like a heaviness in the eyelids, a slur in their speech, a sluggishness in their movements. Yet Saintilia sat before me, upright and aware, her eyes still sharp despite the wine she had consumed.
Perhaps I had underestimated her. Or perhaps the drug was not as potent as the merchant had claimed. A flicker of irritation sparked in my chest. If the dosage was insufficient, if she remained conscious throughout the evening, the entire plan would be jeopardized.
"How long have you lived in this house?" I asked, mostly to keep her engaged, to keep the wine flowing. The more she drank, the faster the drug would take hold.
"All my life," she answered, her words only slightly slurred. She reached for her cup and took another sip, the motion more fluid than before. "My father left it to me. To me and... to Tina."
There was a pause before she said Tina's name, a small hesitation that caught my attention. Did she sense something? Did she feel the effects beginning to creep in? I studied her face, searching for any sign of impairment.
"Indeed," I said, hiding my satisfaction behind a neutral expression. She was talking freely now, her guard lowered, her words coming more easily than they had at the start of the evening. "It is a fine house. Well-built. Full of memories, I imagine."
She looked at me then, something flickering in her eyes, a shadow of suspicion, perhaps, or simply the weight of memories I could not know. For a moment, the old defiance surfaced, sharp and watchful. But then it faded, replaced by a distant, almost dreamlike quality.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Many memories."
She took another sip of wine, and this time I noticed a slight tremor in her hand. The cup touched the table with a small thunk, heavier than before. Her eyelids fluttered, just briefly, before she forced them open again.
"Are you feeling alright?" Tina asked, her voice laced with practiced concern. "You look a bit flushed."
"I am fine," Saintilia replied, but the words were softer now, slower. "Just... warm. The wine, perhaps."
"Yes, the wine can have that effect," I said smoothly. "Perhaps you should slow down. We would not want you to overindulge."
The irony of my words was not lost on me. I was encouraging moderation while silently willing the drug to work faster. But it would have seemed strange, suspicious even. But if I urged her to drink more, better to play the concerned guest, the gentleman who had her best interests at heart.
As the evening progressed, I found myself watching the darkness deepen beyond the window, tracking the passage of time with growing impatience as night settled over the village. How long would it take for the effects to overpower her natural resilience? Would she simply slump over in her chair, or would there be a slow, gradual fading of her awareness? These concerns played at the back of my mind as I observed her, waiting for the moment when the altered wine would finally claim its hold.
Saintilia continued to speak, her words becoming more fragmented, her sentences trailing off in the middle. She would pause, blink slowly, then continue as if nothing had happened. She did not seem to notice that something was wrong, that her body was beginning to betray her.
"And Jonas... my father, he always said..." She frowned, her brow furrowing as if trying to grasp a thought that kept slipping away. "He always said that the house... the house was..."
"What did he say about the house?" I prompted gently.
She blinked again, longer this time. "I... I cannot remember."
Tina glanced at me once, a question in her eyes. I gave her the faintest nod. Patience, I told myself. Patience. It was working. Slower than I had anticipated, but it was working.
"It is getting late," Tina said, slowly rising from her chair. "Perhaps we should….."
But Saintilia was already moving. She pushed herself up from the table, her movements unsteady, her hand reaching out to grip the edge for support.
"I need... I need some air," she murmured. Her voice was thick now, the words barely coherent. "I do not feel... something is..."
She took a step away from the table, then another. But her legs would not cooperate. She swayed, her body tilting dangerously to one side.
"Saintilia?" Tina's voice was sharp with genuine, or fake concern, I could not tell.
Saintilia turned toward the sound of her name, her eyes unfocused and confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, she took one more stumbling step, her hand reaching out for something to hold onto, and then……
She crumpled to the floor, her body folding in on itself like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Tina gasped, in front of her chair, but I held up a hand to stop her.
"Stay," I commanded quietly. "This is what we agreed upon."
Tina hesitated, her gaze fixed on Saintilia's motionless form. For a moment, I saw something flash across her face; regret, perhaps, or the last remnants of a conscience she had long since abandoned.
"Is she...?"
"She is fine. Unconscious, as intended." I rose from my seat and moved toward the doorway where Saintilia lay. "You have done your part, Tina. Tomorrow, you will have everything I promised."
Tina nodded slowly, her face pale in the candlelight. She cast one final glance at Saintilia, then seemed to retreat into the routine of domestic tasks, perhaps to distance herself from what was happening. She began clearing the table, removing the plates, and piling them into a large bucket with trembling hands. Without a word, she picked up the bucket and stepped out to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Saintilia.
Continue...........