Page 44 of Deadly Legacy
“Once I have the plans, I’ll position teams at all key points,” Stepan said. “If Dmitrii makes a move...”
“No. We wait. We watch.” Nikon’s jaw tightened. “Unless he goes near Reuben.”
Stepan’s nod conveyed complete understanding.
“What about Wallace Hoyt?” Stepan asked.
“Full surveillance. Tell me if he so much as looks at his phone wrong.” Nikon rubbed his chin. “And I want extraction plans ready. If Dmitrii’s people spot him working with us...”
“Got it.”
“I want those blueprints within the hour,” Nikon said. “We’ll mark every entry point, every sight line.” They had to be prepared for every contingency.
“But sir, about the other approach—” Stepan began.
“We do it their way,” Nikon interrupted. “For now.”
His finger circled slowly on the study table, as though he were already marking the Matthew Capital box on imaginary blueprints—where Reuben would be. His nail dug into the polished wood, leaving a small mark.
Chapter 14
“Wallace 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.
