Page 79 of Brutal Union
"Valentina, tell my idiot brother that Australia isn't worth defending," Dante signs, his movements still stiff from the nerve damage, each gesture taking visible effort. The doctors said he might regain more function with time and therapy, but for now, his hands work just enough to communicate, a miracle considering how bad the damage looked. Ana translates for my benefit.
"Australia's a fortress," Luca argues. "Two access points, easy to defend."
"It's a cage," I say, surprising myself by speaking. My voice carries more authority now, the voice of someone who's tasted blood and liked it. "Two troops per turn isn't worth the isolation."
The room goes quiet for a moment, everyone looking at me. I've been officially invited to family game night since the church incident, full family acceptance, but I usually just watch, learning their dynamics, noting weaknesses even in the people I'm starting to love.
"She speaks strategy," Alex says with mock surprise. "Our queen has opinions."
"Our queen has been running territory distributions since last week," Marco says, pride clear in his voice. His hand tightens on my thigh, and I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "She just hasn't been advertising it."
The game continues with brutal efficiency. No mercy, even in play. Someone mentions "the soldiers we dealt with yesterday" and everyone raises glasses in a casual toast to necessary violence. The normalcy of it doesn't disturb me. Instead, I press my thighs together, feeling how wet I am. This is my normal now: death and desire tangled together until I can't tell them apart.
Sofia takes Africa with ruthless efficiency, the same sweet smile she probably wore when she killed her first mark. Alex makes alliances he breaks three turns later. Luca plays chaotic neutral, attacking whoever seems to be winning, unless it happens to be Faith.
And Marco is losing Europe.
His northern territories fall one by one to Dante's systematic assault. His brother doesn't gloat, the effort of signing takes too much concentration now, but the satisfaction in his eyes speaksvolumes. Marco's jaw tightens with each lost territory, the same tell he has during actual tactical defeats. The same jaw I traced with my tongue this morning, tasting salt on his skin.
"Your Mediterranean is exposed," Faith observes, moving pieces toward Marco's southern territories.
"I'm aware," Marco says, but I can see the frustration building.
"The northern route is too exposed," I finally say, unable to watch him lose anymore.
Everyone goes quiet. Even the dice stop rolling.
"What would you suggest?" Marco asks, and there's no condescension in it, just genuine curiosity.
I lean over the board, studying the pieces like they're real armies, real territories. Like they're the Irish soldiers I watched Marco slaughter to get to me. "Sacrifice Britain."
"That's insane," Luca says immediately. "Britain's worth—"
"Britain's isolated." I trace the route with my finger. "Look, you're bleeding resources trying to hold it while Dante picks apart your mainland territories. Let it go. Take southern Europe through Africa instead."
"Africa's Sofia's," Marco points out, his thumb circling the skin of my thigh.
"For now." I meet Sofia's eyes, fighting to keep my voice level. "But she's overextended trying to hold both Africa and South America. She can't defend both."
Sofia's eyes narrow, but there's something else there. Approval? "You're suggesting he come for me?"
"I'm suggesting he stop playing not to lose and start playing to win." I turn back to Marco. "Britain is pride. The Mediterranean is power. Control the center of the board, you control the game."
"That's brilliant," Dante signs slowly, the effort visible in his careful movements. Even I can understand that. "It's fucking brilliant."
"Show me," Marco says, pushing his pieces toward me.
The strategy works.
Six turns. That's all it takes for Marco to dominate the board once I show him the path. Britain falls to Alex, who wastes resources trying to hold it. Sofia splits her forces trying to defend two continents. And Marco slides through the gaps I identified, claiming territory after territory.
"Jesus," Alex mutters as his last piece falls. "She's better at this than you are."
"She's better at everything than me," Marco says, and pulls me into his lap. I grind my ass into him slightly, feeling him twitch. "Tell them about the territory distributions."
"The Bernardi holdings will be absorbed," I say, my voice rougher now. "Every warehouse, every route, every contact. The Irish situation is chaos. We can start claiming their territory within the week."
"She designed the entire plan," Marco adds, his arm tight around my waist. "In one week. Using annotated Xenophon as her reference material. Her margin notes on friction in warfare were more insightful than my own."
