In their hearts, the leaders of most organized crime syndicates, gangs, cartels, families, outfits—no matter what they were called—were businessmen.
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They earned money by any means they could, not caring about legality. And if you don't care about legality, then doing illegal things usually brought the most profit. That's why they were criminals.
Tristan understood this even before he became a criminal himself. Just living in the house of his father, whose business revolved around horse bets, already showed him that if those legal CEOs could get away with it, they would eagerly break the law for profit.
Gangsters broke the law and dealt with consequences. All for money.
The flash of interest in Vargas's eyes at the mention of profit was fully expected.
"Go on, Mr. Hayes."
Tristan smiled.
"You have access to a part of the docks, no? I imagine that's where the lot of your profit comes from—buying things from ship smugglers and reselling it. But what if you had something to sell back? Or even resources to buy your own boats? My organization can provide both—for a share of profit, of course."
"This sounds almost too good to be true. Especially since we aren't the only gang working in the docks—did you suggest this to them, too, Mr. Hayes?"
"You would like it very much if I didn't, isn't that right? But I mean what I said earlier. All who agree to work with me will increase the sum of our profit, and all who disagree to work with me will be just... competition."
Tristan's smile widened, turning slightly threatening for a moment—just to make a point.
Vargas frowned, leaning back in his seat. He glanced at Evelyn, silently asking her opinion.
"There's strength in numbers, but there's a reason it's each gang for itself here. None of us trusts each other even a slightest bit, because we've been enemies for years. It will be impossible to work together," Evelyn muttered into Vargas's chest.
Although Cutout and Sam still acted as Tristan's bodyguards, they stopped to look like they expected Vargas to pull out a gun at any moment. Vargas himself smiled wider, too, and Evelyn stopped clinging to him so tightly.
"Gladly, Mr. Hayes. But to start with, can I offer you a drink or refreshments? I've been a rude host until now. This restaurant is one of our money laundering fronts, as you could've guessed, and we conduct business around it often enough, so there's some premium booze stashed in the director's office."
Tristan shook his head.
"Just some coffee, if you don't mind. I'm going to drive." He pointed at the drink dispenser nearby. "Just don't offer me this garbage."
He had to drink it when he didn't have money for anything better, but to Tristan, instant coffee always tasted like piss.
Vargas chuckled.
"I think it's not so bad... But sure. Eve, baby, you don't mind?—"
"Of course, it's no problem." She smiled and stood up. "I will get someone to make it."
She walked away, swaying her hips—which Vargas and Sam stared at all the way until Evelyn left the room.
"I feel bad whenever I ask her to do small errands like that... Although she still says I treat her like a queen. But after all she went through, I feel like she deserves more." Vargas said, turning back to Tristan. "I hope the money we earn will be enough to give her a life fit for a celebrity."
Tristan forcefully locked his face into a pleasant expression, forbidding himself from scowling outwardly.
What could he say? He didn't plan on stopping hating Evelyn! But neither he planned on letting his feeling stop him from achieving his goals, such as this alliance.
"It will be," was all Tristan said.
Thankfully, soon enough, Evelyn returned with a tray with two cups of coffee and some cookies left on the coffee table. Then, with one more smile at Vargas, she left the room.
"So," Tristan said, picking his cup. "Mr. Vargas, do you know anything about why police might know about my people and try bringing them in now?"