Chapter 4 - The Dufor Vendetta
Mrs. Dufor stepped into the harsh light of the study, her posture rigid, her silk dressing gown rustling with every calculated movement. She didn't look like a grieving grandmother mourning her daughter; she looked like a general preparing for a scorched-earth execution.
“Donovan,” Antoine commanded without looking away from his mother-in-law, his voice dropping into a deadly arctic freeze. “Lower your weapon. Let her speak.”
“You invited a common, overweight diner waitress into the sanctuary where my grandchildren sleep,” Mrs. Dufor sneered, her gaze slashing toward me with blistering contempt. “You let this parasite weave her pathetic little lies about surrogate clinics and stolen tissue. Clara carried those children in her heart, even if her body failed her!”
“She didn't carry them at all, did she, Martha?” Antoine asked softly, stepping around the mahogany desk. The quiet menace in his tone made Mrs. Dufor flinch despite herself. “Clara couldn't conceive. You knew it. The family medical registry proved it five years ago. You hired a shadow clinic to harvest an anonymous surrogate to secure the Maro inheritance, and when the surrogate’s body naturally nurtured the triplets to full term, you staged a fake miscarriage to steal them away.”
Mrs. Dufor’s lips tightened into a thin, white line. “We protected our bloodline! That peasant woman was paid off according to her station. She had no right to our children, and she had no right to cross our path!”
“They are my children,” Antoine roared, slamming his fist against the edge of the desk so hard the heavy crystal tumbler shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
The sound echoed through the mansion like a gunshot. From the nursery next door, baby Leo let out a startled wail, immediately echoed by his brother and sister.
“And Dela Marsh isn't a peasant,” Antoine continued, his voice shaking with a rage that seemed to vibrate the floorboards. “She is their biological mother. She is the woman whose body protected them through every contraction, every heartbeat, and every storm while your family lied, manipulated, and murdered to keep the empire under your thumb.”
Mrs. Dufor let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You think the shipping syndicate council will let you hand the Maro legacy over to an overweight waitress from a greasy diner? The board members are already voting on emergency guardianship petitions filed by our family legal team. By sunrise, those children will be transferred to a secure Dufor estate in Geneva, and this woman will be locked away in a federal holding facility for corporate identity fraud.”
Before Mrs. Dufor could finish her sentence, Donovan’s tactical radio hissed to life with a burst of static.
“Boss! We have movement at the front gates!” an urgent voice barked over the secure comms channel. “Three unmarked black sedans just rammed the security perimeter! Armed intruders are breaching the courtyard! They’re wearing Dufor private security insignia!”
Antoine’s eyes flashed with lethal clarity. He didn't blink. He drew his Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster with lightning speed, checking the magazine with a practiced, metallic click.
May you like
“Martha,” Antoine whispered, walking slowly toward his mother-in-law until towering over her by a full head. “You truly believed I wouldn't burn your entire family dynasty to ash if anyone ever threatened my children.”
Mrs. Dufor paled, finally realizing that the man she had tried to manipulate for years was not a politician or a corporate executive—he was the apex predator of the New Orleans underworld, and she had just walked straight into his jaws.
