Information and Filth

DANTE'S PERSPECTIVE

Nico raised a lazy brow, blowing a thick stream of smoke through parted lips as one of the women moaned softly beneath him.

He didn’t so much as flinch.

“You want answers?” he asked, as though this whole charade wasn’t drenched in sweat and moaning bodies.

“Then ask.”

I didn’t sit. Didn’t blink.

“You’ve heard about the docks.”

He chuckled. “I’ve heard about a lot of things. But yes. Someone carved a lovely message into your man. Subtle. Artful.”

He tapped ash into a silver tray balanced on the bare back of a kneeling girl. “I take it you didn’t find it funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Of course not. Lucchese never laughs.” He leaned forward, pushing the woman off his lap with a grunt. She stumbled with a whimper.

“But I’ll give you something, since I like you so much.”

I waited.

Nico stood, finally adjusting the silken robe barely hanging off his shoulders.

His tone shifted. Still casual, but less amused.

“You’re not the only one losing pieces lately. Your men weren’t picked by accident. Someone’s trying to make a point, and they’re paying good money to keep their trail cold.”

“Names.”

He smiled, eyes narrowing.

“I can give you one. For a price.”

“I’m already here.”

He laughed, dry and delighted.

“You think stepping foot in this godforsaken palace of pleasure pays the toll? No, no, my friend. I want something better. Access to your northern shipment route. Temporarily. One month. That’s all.”

I didn’t answer immediately.

He saw the pause and lifted a brow.

“I could give the name to someone else. Your rivals pay just as well. They also bring better wine.”

“One month,” I said. “You touch nothing marked for Sicily.”

“Done.” He poured himself a glass of something amber, swirling it before taking a sip.

“The name…” he said, voice lower now, “is Moretti.”

My eyes narrowed.

“Carlos?”

He gave a slow nod. “Mmh. Carlos Moretti. Young. Loud. Still piss-wet behind the ears but reckless enough to be dangerous. Doesn’t respect the old rules. Doesn’t fear the old names.”

He tilted his glass back, took a slow sip.

“Word is, he’s gathering up the scraps his father left behind. Calling in favors, making moves no one his age should have the balls to make.”

I said nothing.

Nico shrugged. “He’s not the kind to play chess. He’s the kind to flip the board and pull a gun on whoever was winning.”

I stared past him, toward the dark window at the far end of the room.

Moretti. That brat. I remembered the name, but barely gave it thought. A footnote in the Moretti line, until now.

And now? He was leaving messages carved into corpses.

“He’s not working alone,” I said.

“Of course not,” Nico replied, voice light. “But he’s the spark. Someone’s giving him matches, maybe even fuel. But he lit it. And it’s spreading.”

He tossed the rest of his drink back and grinned.

“So, Lucchese… what are you gonna do about it?”

Dante left without a word, the door clicking shut behind him like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Stuck-up bastard,” Nico muttered, rolling his eyes. “Walks in like he doesn’t smell the pussy in the air.”

He reached for his drink, gone.

“Tch. Fuck it.”

He turned his gaze back to the women surrounding him.

“Well?” he said, voice thick and hungry. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Worship me.”

The one between his legs didn’t need to be told twice. Her mouth was already on him, sucking deep and eager, hands stroking the length of his cock.

“God, yes,” he hissed, head falling back as his hips bucked. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Use that pretty little throat.”

The woman from before climbed back on top of him, lowering herself onto him with a needy gasp.

“Greedy little thing,” he growled, gripping her hips. “Didn’t even wait for me to reload, huh?”

She moaned, rocking against him, nails dragging down his chest.

The third straddled his face next, her slick pussy lowering onto his mouth without hesitation.

“Mmm,” he groaned between her folds, voice muffled but unbothered. “Fuckin’ heaven right here.”

He licked deep, hands gripping her ass tight as she ground against his face, already crying out his name.

“Fucking love this job,” he breathed when she rolled back, panting. “You hear that, girls? I get paid to know things, and get smothered in tits. Life’s a goddamn buffet.”

Another moan filled the room. Another gasp.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

He pulled the woman on top of him flush against his chest, biting down on her shoulder hard enough to make her shudder.

“Ride me like you mean it,” he growled. “If I’m not sore by morning, I’ll be disappointed.”

Sweat dripped. Skin slapped.

And through it all, Nico laughed, filthy, loud, and absolutely fucking pleased with himself.

The woman on top cried out again, louder this time, head thrown back, hips grinding with abandon.

Nico groaned deep in his throat, grip tightening as he thrust up into her.

“Shit,” he growled, breathless and laughing, “If I die tonight, toss my corpse under this couch. Face down, ass up. Let the next girl ride me into hell.”

The others giggled, lips brushing his skin, hands still roaming like worship.

“Now come on, girls..” he grinned, licking his bottom lip. “Let’s see if we can make this room fucking flood.”