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Because she was his, in the end.
* * *
Epi-epilogue
“Why so serious, Ellen?”
Indigo extended an elegantly clad arm for two fingers of Scotch sitting in a tumbler on his desk.
The question was mostly a joke. Ellen always looked serious. He’d seen her smile once, but that was because of an objectively amusing interaction with some freshly deceased innards.
“You made a serious enemy in Alex Roth. It would have been better to keep your campaign against him a secret.”
“Secrets become tedious, Ellen,” Indigo replied. “I kept that secret for almost three years. It was time to unleash it. Besides. She was just the prototype. We’re ready to do this on a real target now.”
“Who is the real target?”
Indigo drew in a deep breath, the kind which indicated he was truly relishing this next part. “Did you know Christo Monteverdi fathered a daughter eighteen years ago when he was barely a whelp himself?”
“I did not.”
“Neither does he. They have a habit of not knowing fuck all in that family. A genetic predisposition for having not the slightest clue where they left their sperm. Anyway. She’s in the hole.”
“You’ve kidnapped the secret daughter of Christo Monteverdi, of the Monteverdi family, possibly the most powerful family on the planet? You’re keeping her in the basement…”
“The hole,” he corrected.
“The hole,” she allowed. “And you intend to use a similar brainwashing technique to gain control of her?”
“I have. Isn’t it delicious?”
“Presumably, you’re not going to repeat the previous plan.”
“Turn her into a fuck doll and send her off to serve her daddy? That would be quite something, but no. This one is even feistier than the last. She needs much more intense, personal programming. I’m going to do it myself. And then I’m going to auction her to the highest bidder. Whoever most wants to seed an heir into the womb of an eligible Monteverdi will own her — and a sizeable portion of dear Christo’s estate when he passes on. Whenever that may be. Sooner or later, possibly sooner…”
Ellen’s lips tightened. He knew the woman did not approve of what he did. How could she? Sisterhood and all that. Women’s lib. Feminism. Germaine Greer, pink pussy hats, and traveling pants.
“Don’t judge me, Ellen,” he smirked. “Only God can do that, and he doesn’t seem to be taking much of an interest.”
“I’m worried about you, Indigo. You’re getting careless. You were indiscreet with Alex Roth. He knows too much.”
“There’s no point being an evil genius if nobody knows you are one, Ellen,” Indigo sighed. “Besides. What is he going to do?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Fear is a waste of time,” Indigo declared, lifting the tumbler to his lips and draining it in one long sip. He placed the tumbler back down, and stood up, his long legged frame as impressive as ever in a bespoke suit.
“I have work to do,” he said. “I’ll be in the hole if you need me.”
