Page 21 of Deadly Legacy (The House of Matvei #3)

He’d assumed his father’s concern about Charlotte was another calculated performance. Just one more layer of Wallace Hoyt’s endless manipulations.

But the way Wallace’s hand trembled against that wall, the naked fear in his eyes when he heard about Charlotte’s involvement... that wasn’t the measured response of a man playing both sides.

In all the years of their deteriorating family dynamic, through the divorce and the aftermath, Reuben had never seen his father’s control slip like that. Wallace Hoyt, who’d calculated every move of his life, was coming apart at the mere mention of his ex-wife being in danger.

The familiar cold calculation that had served Reuben well at poker tables settled over him. His father’s unexpectedly real vulnerability wasn’t just a complication—it was confirmation.

Whatever Reuben still thought about his father, Wallace’s fear for Charlotte was real. Which meant, at least in this instance, they could trust him.

“We need to get Wallace out now,” he decided. “He has what we need, and Dmitrii’s watching him too closely.”

On the screens, Wallace had rejoined the gala, his expression carefully composed despite what he’d just learned. Reuben noticed his father’s confident stride across the marble floor, impressed despite himself at Wallace’s ability to maintain his facade.

“Wallace, Dmitrii already knows something’s up,” Reuben said into the comm. “So we need to get you and that note out. Now. Head toward the north exit. Car’s waiting.”

“If I make a break for it, he’ll move on me immediately,” Wallace responded, raising his voice a little to be heard over the orchestra’s crescendo in the background. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I returned to the floor.”

Reuben switched camera views, confirming Wallace’s assessment. Dmitrii had indeed moved to a position with clear sightlines to the exits, his attention fixed on Wallace with unnerving intensity.

“He’s right,” Stepan said. “And Dmitrii’s people are covering all visible exits.”

Reuben’s scalp prickled with unease as he scanned the room. Dmitrii had stationed men throughout the ballroom, their positions creating an invisible net. It was a meticulous security arrangement, one that suggested he expected something to happen tonight.

“Dmitrii’s making another call,” Stepan noted.

On the monitor, Dmitrii had stepped into a private alcove, phone pressed to his ear. The camera angle captured his profile as his expression transformed from controlled to savage, lips curling back in a snarl.

“New plan,” Reuben decided. “We need a bigger distraction. Something that pulls all eyes away from the exits.”

Stepan nodded, already understanding. “Fire alarm?”

“Too chaotic. We need something targeted.” Reuben’s mind raced through options, discarding each as too risky or too subtle. “The auction announcement. It’s in ten minutes. Everyone will be watching the stage.”

Tapping his earpiece, Reuben gave Wallace detailed instructions. “When they announce the auction winners, there’ll be a problem near the stage. Use that moment to slip out through the kitchen. Our guy will be at the service door.”

“Got it,” Wallace replied, his voice steady despite the pressure.

Reuben’s shirt clung to his back with sweat, the fine cotton fabric adhering to his skin. He watched Dmitrii finish his call, the crime boss’s face now a mask of cold fury. Whatever news he’d received had changed his plans.

“Auction announcement starting,” Stepan reported.

On cue, the lights dimmed as the event coordinator took the stage. Wallace began moving casually toward the kitchen entrance, maintaining an appearance of passing interest in the proceedings.

“Now,” Reuben said into the comm.

On the main floor, two men in security uniforms—Nikon’s people—began a loud argument near the stage. Heads turned, attention diverted. Wallace slipped through the kitchen door unnoticed.

“He’s clear,” Stepan confirmed 20 seconds later, having tracked Wallace’s progress through the back corridors.

Relief flooded Reuben’s system, though he kept his expression neutral. “Get him to the safe house immediately. That note is priority one.”

Returning his attention to the monitors, Reuben watched Dmitrii scanning the room, his expression darkening as he realized Wallace was gone. The crime boss signaled to his men, who began moving more openly toward the exits.

“Dmitrii’s figured it out,” Stepan said.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Reuben began shutting down the command center, disconnecting cables with quick, efficient movements. “We got what we needed.”

The final monitor showed Dmitrii standing in the center of the ballroom, phone in hand, muscles rippling beneath the skin of his face. His eyes darted around the room, searching.

Reuben switched off the screen and gathered his things. “Let’s move.”

Stepan checked his weapon before concealing it inside his jacket. “He’ll be ready for us.”

“Good.” Reuben pocketed his earpiece, the adrenaline of the operation still humming beneath his skin. “So will we.”