Azalea stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her Paris penthouse, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the glowing city below. The Eiffel Tower shimmered in the distance, but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere—on Osvaldo, on the threat he posed, and on the man standing behind her.
Ambrose leaned against the kitchen counter, his sharp blue eyes studying her. He had seen this side of her before—the calculating, strategic Azalea who analyzed every possibility before making her move. It was one of the things he admired most about her. But this time, she wasn't just fighting for survival. She was fighting for them.
"We need to be smart about this," she murmured, finally turning to face him. "Osvaldo is dangerous, and he's desperate. That makes him unpredictable."
Ambrose nodded. "Desperate men make mistakes. We just have to make sure we're the ones controlling which mistake he makes."
Azalea walked over to the dining table, where a large map of Paris was spread out. Notes, surveillance photos, and intelligence reports were scattered across it. She picked up a red marker and tapped it against her palm.
"Let's break this down logically," she said. "What do we know?"
Ambrose stepped closer, resting his hands on the table. "We know Osvaldo has been laundering money through multiple shell corporations. We have enough evidence to bring him down legally, but exposing him through the courts would take too long. We also know he has contacts in law enforcement, which means he'll see any legal move coming before we make it."
Azalea nodded. "And we know he's obsessed with controlling me. If he can't have me under his thumb, he wants to destroy me. That's his weakness."
Ambrose smirked. "He underestimates you. That's his biggest mistake."
She met his gaze, a small smile playing on her lips. "Then let's make sure he keeps underestimating me until it's too late."
Step One: The Bait
Azalea circled a location on the map—one of Osvaldo's private offices. "He doesn't trust his associates enough to keep all his leverage in one place, but he has to have a central hub for his most sensitive files. This office is a strong candidate."
Ambrose studied the location. "High security, but not impenetrable. If we can confirm he keeps important documents there, we could use it against him."
Azalea tapped her marker against the map. "We need him to move something critical there. Something that will make him vulnerable."
Ambrose leaned in slightly, the proximity between them growing more intimate. "What if we feed him false information? Make him think an attack is coming somewhere else. He'll move whatever he values most to the office, thinking it's the safest place."
Azalea's lips curled into a slow smile. "A classic misdirection. I like it."
She grabbed a blank notepad and started scribbling down possibilities. "If we leak a tip that one of his competitors is planning to sabotage his operation, he'll want to secure his assets. But how do we make sure he buys the lie?"
Ambrose smirked. "Simple. We use someone he already distrusts—one of his own men. If we create an anonymous leak that suggests one of his lieutenants has turned against him, he won't be able to ignore it."
Azalea's eyes gleamed with appreciation. "You really are devious."
Ambrose chuckled. "I like to think of it as resourceful."
Step Two: The Setup
Azalea tapped the table. "Okay, so let's assume he falls for it. He moves sensitive documents to the office. What next?"
Ambrose crossed his arms. "We get in, extract what we need, and use it to neutralize him permanently."
Azalea raised an eyebrow. "Neutralize?"
He shrugged. "Figuratively, of course."
She smirked. "Of course."
Pacing the room, Azalea mulled over the next part of the plan. "Breaking into that office won't be easy. He's paranoid. Security will be tight."
Ambrose nodded. "Which means we need an inside man. Someone who has access but isn't loyal enough to die for him."
Azalea's mind raced through the list of Osvaldo's known associates. "There's a man named Victor LaRoche. He's been with Osvaldo for years, but he's always been more interested in self-preservation than loyalty. If we offer him a way out, he might help us."
Ambrose's gaze darkened slightly. "And if he doesn't?"
Azalea met his eyes. "Then we find another way."
Step Three: The Execution
Ambrose exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Once we have what we need, we expose him. But how?"
Azalea considered their options. "Osvaldo still has powerful friends. If we go to the authorities, there's no guarantee he won't wiggle his way out."
Ambrose leaned forward, his fingers brushing against hers as he pointed at the map. "Then we hit him where it hurts most—his credibility. We need to make him look weak, unreliable, untrustworthy. If his own allies turn against him, he'll have nowhere to run."
Azalea turned to face him fully, her body just inches from his. "You're suggesting we start a war within his own ranks."
Ambrose's lips curled into a wicked grin. "Exactly."
She let out a slow breath, nodding. "It's risky."
He tilted his head. "So is loving you."
Her breath hitched slightly at the intensity in his voice. For a brief moment, the weight of their mission faded, replaced by something deeper, something unspoken.
She looked away first, breaking the spell. "We need to plan this carefully."
Ambrose let out a soft chuckle, but his eyes remained fixed on her. "Agreed. But once this is over, you and I need to have a different conversation."
Azalea smirked. "Let's survive this first."
Finalizing the Plan
They worked late into the night, refining each detail of their gambit. Every possibility was analyzed, every risk calculated. But beneath the strategic discussions, an undeniable tension crackled between them—one neither dared to address just yet.
At some point, Azalea stretched, rolling her stiff shoulders. "We should get some rest."
Ambrose watched her for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah. But Azalea…"
She turned back to him.
His voice was quieter now, more intimate. "I meant what I said earlier. I'm in this with you. Not just for this mission. For whatever comes after."
Something flickered in her expression—fear, hope, maybe both. But she didn't respond, at least not with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing his in silent acknowledgment.
It wasn't a promise. Not yet. But it was enough.
For now.