Page 20 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

“ W allace is approaching Dmitrii’s table now.” Stepan’s voice was clinical in Reuben’s earpiece.

Reuben’s fingers tightened around the edge of the folding table they’d hastily set up in the corporate box, its metal surface now covered with laptops and surveillance monitors.

The elegant box, normally used for viewing performances, had been transformed into a makeshift command center. Cables snaked across the plush carpet, connecting their equipment to carefully hidden cameras throughout the venue.

From the monitors, Reuben could see every corner of the gala below, while the corporate box kept their surveillance operation perfectly concealed.

From this vantage point, Reuben could coordinate every movement. And the thick glass windows and heavy curtains muffled the sounds of orchestra music and clinking champagne glasses that filtered up from the main floor.

The difference between their tactical setup and the refined elegance below created an almost surreal atmosphere; a command center hidden within the trappings of high society.

“Audio?”

“Coming through now.”

Wallace’s voice filled his ear, smooth and confident as he greeted someone at Dmitrii’s table. Not Dmitrii himself—the Russian crime boss remained seated at the center, watching with predatory attention. The socialites and politicians surrounding him had no idea they dined with a shark.

“Mr. Yevgeni, good to see you.” Wallace’s voice struck the perfect note of casual cordiality, as if they’d only met briefly at similar functions before. “Wallace Hoyt. I believe we crossed paths at the Dalton benefit last month.”

Roman Yevgeni, Dmitrii’s lieutenant. Right on schedule.

Reuben switched camera angles, studying his father’s body language. The slight stiffness in Wallace’s shoulders betrayed his nerves despite his confident smile. He was playing his part perfectly; the desperate businessman seeking new connections after recent setbacks.

“He’s actually pulling this off,” Reuben murmured, half to himself.

A message flashed on his tablet. Nikon:

Dmitrii watching. Pull Wallace back.

Before Reuben could respond, movement on another screen caught his attention. A server approached Dmitrii’s table, champagne bottle in hand. As the man turned to pour, Reuben froze.

The server was Andrey Matvei.

Reuben’s pulse quickened. His fingers flew across the tablet keyboard.

Andrey at table 16. Serving Dmitrii directly.

Nikon’s response came seconds later:

Noted. Stay calm. Proceed.

“Wallace, move to the auction tables,” Reuben instructed through the comms. “We need to shift focus.”

In the camera feed, Wallace reached the charity auction display tables, his movements fluid as he examined a decorative vase with apparent interest. The string quartet in the corner had switched to a livelier piece, the vibration of the cello barely perceptible through the floor of the corporate box.

Stepan leaned over Reuben’s shoulder, his bulk casting a shadow across the monitors. “Andrey’s hands.”

Reuben zoomed in on the feed. Andrey’s hands trembled as he poured champagne, the bottle hovering a fraction too long over each glass.

“He’s nervous,” Reuben murmured. Reuben tapped his earpiece. “Change of plans. Wallace, engage with the Quantize Guard founders near the auction. Make sure you’re within Dmitrii’s sightline.”

On the screens, Wallace smiled warmly at the Quantize Guard team, his body language shifting to project confidence and familiarity. He angled himself so that Dmitrii could observe the interaction.

“It’s working.” Reuben tracked Dmitrii’s movements on the screen. “He’s taking the bait.”

A light knock at the door interrupted his concentration. Stepan moved swiftly, hand reaching beneath his jacket before recognizing the knocking pattern.

The door opened to reveal one of their security team members, who slipped inside and handed Stepan a note.

“Dmitrii’s men have taken positions at all service exits,” Stepan said, passing the note to Reuben. “They’re checking staff credentials more thoroughly than usual.”

Reuben nodded, eyes returning to the monitors where Wallace continued his performance, planting carefully crafted misinformation that would make its way back to Dmitrii.

“Wallace has made contact with all our targets,” Reuben said to Stepan, tracking his father’s movements across the ballroom floor. “Our disinformation will flow exactly where we need it.”

Stepan nodded, his attention fixed on Andrey. “He keeps looking at the service exit.”

On the security feed, Andrey moved between tables with increasing agitation. His hand trembled as he “stumbled” near a group of politicians, jostling their table just enough to draw attention.

Reuben recognized a pattern; first the dropped napkin near Wallace’s position, then the upended water glass by the service door, and now this. Each “accident” brought Andrey closer to the hidden corridor, where exchanges could happen unobserved.

“Three clumsy moments in twenty minutes,” Reuben murmured, leaning closer to the monitor. “From someone trained to move like a ghost.”

A message from Nikon flashed on the tablet:

Woman entering east door. Resembles Charlotte. Possible leverage play?

Reuben’s stomach tightened as he scanned the feeds, his fingers freezing over the tablet. The woman’s honey-blonde hair was styled exactly as his mother had always worn it - swept back to showcase the delicate pearls he remembered from childhood dinners.

Her posture carried that same finishing-school perfection, spine straight as she navigated the crowd with practiced grace.

Even from this angle, he caught glimpses of her old mannerisms; the way she touched her collar when passing acquaintances, how she tilted her head just so while accepting a glass of champagne.

It had been years since Reuben had last seen her, standing silently beside Wallace as his father disowned him. The sophisticated society wife, choosing propriety over her only son.

Now here she was, another piece in Dmitrii’s game. Reuben forced himself to breathe slowly, to view her through tactical eyes rather than personal ones, though his hands had begun to shake slightly against the edge of the console.

“Angle’s wrong for positive ID,” he managed, his voice professional despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Dmitrii’s making a call.” Stepan pointed to a different monitor.

The crime boss had stepped away from his table, phone pressed to his ear. Dmitrii’s expression remained pleasant, but his free hand curled into a fist at his side.

“We need to move faster,” Reuben decided. “Stepan, coordinate with security for the diversion. Standard Protocol Delta.”

Stepan’s eyebrows rose slightly... the equivalent of shock from anyone else. “That will create significant disruption.”

“That’s the point.” Reuben’s fingers drummed against the table edge, mind calculating variables. “We need a moment of chaos. I think Andrey’s trying to tell us something, and Wallace needs to be in a position to receive it.”

Stepan spoke quietly into his own comm unit, instructing the security team. Reuben returned his attention to the monitors, tracking Wallace’s path through the crowd.

“Wallace, head to the terrace doors in two minutes. Security will create a distraction near the stage. Use that moment to step into the service corridor behind you.”

“Got it,” came Wallace’s measured response through the earpiece.

Reuben watched the minutes tick by. The chandeliers dimmed slightly as the evening progressed, casting longer shadows across the ballroom floor. Tension coiled in his chest.

In the controlled chaos, a security guard “accidentally” knocked into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. The resulting crash and splash created a momentary disruption, drawing attention to the front of the room.

During that moment, Wallace slipped smoothly through a service door. On another monitor, Andrey immediately abandoned his serving tray and followed.

“They’re in the blind spot,” Stepan noted, indicating the corridor not covered by the venue’s security cameras.

Reuben switched to the feed from their own hidden camera positioned in the service corridor. The audio was faint, requiring him to adjust the volume.

“—must listen carefully,” Andrey was saying, his words rushed, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.

“Dmitrii’s playing with you. He knows you’re playing both sides.

He’s already moved on Charlotte. She’s not just his insurance against you anymore.

He’s using her to force you back in line, and if that doesn’t work.

..” Andrey swallowed hard. “He plans to use her to draw out everyone at the Quantize Guard closing. The Matvei brothers, Reuben, anyone who might try to protect you.”

Wallace’s face paled. “He’s already contacted her?”

“She’s been under surveillance for weeks. He was waiting to see if you’d betray him. And you just did.” Andrey checked again for observers. “He’s becoming unpredictable. His backers are getting nervous. They think he’s taking unnecessary risks.”

“How dangerous is this plan of his?”

“Very. He’s past caring about appearances.” Andrey’s hand trembled as he passed a folded note to Wallace. “This has the details. You need to warn—”

The sound of a door opening somewhere off-camera cut Andrey short. The metallic click echoed in the narrow corridor, amplified by the concrete walls. He stiffened, eyes wide with fear.

“Tell them... tell them I’m sorry,” Andrey whispered, the words barely audible. “For everything.”

He slipped away, resuming his subservient posture as he disappeared from the frame. Wallace tucked the note into his jacket pocket and exited through the opposite door.

“Did you get that?” Reuben asked, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Every word,” Stepan confirmed.

Reuben sat back, his earlier suspicions about his father’s motives shifting as he watched Wallace’s reaction play out on the monitor.