Author's Note: I took a guess on the exact day and month of Tommy Vercetti's birthday, along with his middle name, and the names of his parents. You'll notice that his dad is Italian American and his mother is 100 % all Italian since I wanted her to be born in Italy.
Saint Marks, Portland, Liberty City
In the back room of Marco's Bistro, an Italian eatery in the district of Saint Marks of Portland, Liberty City, three Italian American men sat at a round table, playing poker.
One man who sat there wore a leopard print shirt with a blue sports coat and black pants. Although he had poor taste in clothes, his hair was jet black with hints of gray and his eyes were dark brown. He wasn't a bad looking guy. Just at the fresh age of 40, he had handsome facial features. That man was Sonny Vincenzo Forelli, Don of the Forelli family, and owner of the restaurant.
Leaning back in his chair, he took a swig of his beer. He was grinning, trash-talking, and winning as a large pile of poker chips sat in front of him. He upped the stakes once more. But as he drank, there was a knock at the door and Sonny called the person in. It was one of his informants.
The Forelli Don waved him over and the informant stood and whispered something into his ear. Sonny nodded a couple of times and then widened his eyes in shock. Shaking his head in disbelief, he dismissed the man and turned back to his fellow henchmen. He let out a long hearty laugh.
"Tommy Vercetti… Huh!" Sonny exclaimed, managing to finally speak after his laugh. "Shit. I didn't think they'd ever let him out!"
Tommy Vercetti… the name could not be spoken within fifty miles of Portland without a twinge of fear going down the spines of anyone in earshot. There wasn't much to say about Tommy, except that he was never afraid to get his hands dirty. He was notorious for the hits he had carried out for the Forelli's, especially one in particular… the incident for which he had been incarcerated for the past fifteen years… the Harwood Slaughter of 1971.
Born on August 12, 1951, to parents John Vercetti (1930 - 1983) and Paola De Luca - Vercetti (1933), Thomas Michael Vercetti also known as Tommy, was born and raised in Liberty City. As a child, his father owned a printing shop and he would help him clean the rollers. He always had plans to follow in his father's footsteps, but ended up leading a different life before graduating from high school.
At some point prior to the 1970s, Tommy met 24 year old Sonny Forelli, and joined the Forelli Family. He continued to work with the Forelli's, working his way up the rankings and eventually became a made man in May of 1971 at the age of 19. As a celebration of him becoming a "wise guy," Sonny wanted Tommy to take part in one final mob hit by himself.
Tommy was given instructions to go down to the district of Harwood to kill a rival gang member, but things turned ugly. He was ambushed by eleven men, but had managed to survive and shoot down and kill all of his assailants, as well as one or two innocent bystanders. He was arrested, and charged with first degree murder. He was originally given a life sentence, but with Forelli's help in bribing the judge, the family was able to get the charges downgraded to manslaughter by means of self defense. Tommy was spared the death penalty, and after that, his deadly antics had earned him the title "The Harwood Butcher," a name which was beginning to rank in notoriety with the likes of Charles Manson and Jack the Ripper…
"He kept his head down, helps people forget," came the reply of Mike "Fat Lips" Forelli, Sonny's cousin, and the Bistro's most frequent customer.
"People will remember soon enough." Sonny said, brushing aside Mike's comment. "When they see him, The Harwood Butcher, walking down the streets of their neighborhoods, it will be bad for business."
"Well, what are we going to do, Sonny?" Mike asked, scratching his head as he tried to pick a hand to play.
Sonny mused thoughtfully. He hadn't expected the need to deal with his old hatchet man again, considering that Tommy Vercetti had originally gotten a life sentence.
"I'll tell ya what we're gonna do," Sonny retorted. "We'll treat him like an old friend and keep him busy out of town. Ok? We been talking about expanding down south, right? Vice City is twenty-four carat gold these days. The Columbians, the Mexicans, hell, even those Cuban refugees are cuttin' themselves a piece of some nice action."
Sonny was right. Vice City had become a gold mine in the drug trade. There was no better destination for the illegal drugs to be offloaded into the country by the shipload, especially with a large number of easily manipulated dock officials. And Sonny saw an entry into the city: only two years ago, the Mendez Brothers, Diego and Armando, two of Vice City's most powerful drug kingpins, had been killed in a bloody turf war. In the same turf war, the Sharks street gang had lost much of the influence they had in the same drug business. That left plenty for the Forelli family to take.
"But it's all drugs, Sonny," piped in Sonny's brother, Franco Forelli. "None of the families will touch that shit."
"Times are changing," Sonny growled, leaning back in his chair. "The families can't keep their backs turned while our enemies reap the rewards. So, we send someone down to do the dirty work for us… All we have to do is sit back and cut ourselves a nice quiet slice."
Franco opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. Sonny was notorious for his temper and people had to think twice before starting an argument with him. His wife and two kids were evidence to his wrath, with his daughter Selena being a nervous wreck and his son Marco who had his nose broken a few times for starting arguments with his father. As for his wife Adrianna, she lives in fear half the time, thinking that Sonny was always going to call a mob hit on her. He had made that threat to her when they were first married, only because she had made the mistake of listening in on Mafioso business about the date of an illegal weapons deal. Ever since then, she hasn't listened in on Mafioso business and just remains a housewife.
"Who's our contact down there?" Sonny asked, placing a card down on the table.
"Ken Rosenberg," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "Schmuck of a lawyer. The guy is more of a basket case than his clients are. How's he gonna hold Vercetti's leash?"
"We don't need him to," Sonny said, coldly. "We just set him loose in Vice City, we give him a little cash to get started. Ok? Give it a few months. Then we go down, and pay him a little visit."
In Sonny's mind, all that meant was heading down there and watching the cash roll in...