14 YEARS BEFORE THE GREG RYDER SAGA; JUNE 19TH, 1993 . . .
My name is Vincent Thomas Ryder, but my friends call me Vinnie. I am 36 years old and am a hitman for the Italian mob, which is surprising that I am the best hitman that they got, since I'm 80% Irish. But heritage doesn't matter to me anymore, since I killed some Irish members of the Irish mob, our main competitors of Liberty City. Since I'm in the mob, I had to leave my beautiful wife, Kristy, and my 1 year old son Greg at our house in Vice City. I first met Kristy on a cruise ship in the Bahamas in the summer of '91. Back then, her name was Kristy Marston. What was interesting about her was that she was a descendent of a famous bounty hunter and outlaw named John Marston, who was a legend in the Old West in the early 1900's. Anyways, we started dating and eventually married and had Greg. He had my green eyes and face. He was my pride and joy and couldn't wait for him to grow up. Before I left, I promised him I would read him 'Goodnight Moon' for his bedtime story when I got back. Kristy told me it was his favorite book, and I couldn't let him down like that. I'm in Liberty City now, and am here to get out of the life and start a new life with my family. God knows what would happen to Kristy if I was killed, and especially Greg. The thought of him growing up without a father to be there for him is unbearable. And my worst fear would be that when he grew up, HE would take the same foolish path I took. And even worse, as a child. Like I did. I was wearing an charcoal suit with black loafers that I picked up from Perseus in Alqonquin. I had to look my best for today. I walked up to the front door of headquarters and knocked. My boss's old butler named Frank answered the door and said, "Can I help you, sir?" I said, "Frank, don't you recognize me? It's me, Vinnie. Can I talk to Doug?" The butler replied, "Right this way, sir." I told Frank, "You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'sir' it makes me feel like a rich scumbag." Frank said bluntly, "I apoligize, sir- Erm, I apoligize, Vinnie," He sounded like he had trouble getting used to saying my name. We approached a door and Frank gestured toward the door, "Doug is in this room right here. Go right in." I nodded to Frank and knocked on the door. Doug's voice said, "Enter." I opened the door and Doug was sitting in his office chair, smoking a Cuban cigar. Doug had tanned Italian skin, black hair, and a dark gray suit with a dark red shirt underneath. Me and Doug go waaaay back. In 4th grade, I was a target for bullies since I was small, and he was hanging out with the kids who used to pick on me. And one day, he stepped in and told them to leave me alone. We've been best friends since. He taught me how to fight and how to do freerunning/ parkour. And when we were in high school, we were both brought into the mob life as errand boys. We delivered messages and got paid. For the next 15 years, Doug and I were quickly moving up in the ranks of the Italian mob, and then the Don died in his sleep, and since Doug was second in command, he was given the position of the Don of the Italian Mafia of Liberty City. Anyways, back to my story. I walked up to him and pointed my pistol at him. He raised his pistol back at me. I said seriously, "Douglas." Doug said back, "Vincent." After a few seconds we burst into laughter and holstered our weapons. He asked happily before he sipped a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey, "Vinnie! What can I do for you?" I decided to get straight down to business, "Doug, I want to get out of the mob." Doug spewed whiskey all over the desk and looked at me like I had eight heads. I said, "I need to be with my family and I am no good to them dead. I have a wife and son now!" Doug replied in shock, "Vinnie, it don't work like that." I argued, "C'mon, you know I would let you go if you asked me!" He said firmly, "No!" I negotiated, "I will do one last job for you. A big one if it means that I will be with my family and be out of the mob. Give me their name and I will see that they're dealt with." Doug scatched his chin and offered, "I will pay you. . . . . 500 grand and guarantee your freedom if you get rid of him." He pulled out a photograph and I recognized the guy. "Matt Bell. The son of the Irish mob's leader?" Doug nodded. I said, "Okay, I'll get it done." Hot damn, this is a most generous offer. I could take Greg and Kristy to Disneyworld when Greg gets a little older. Imagine how perfect my family's lives will be with this kind of money! I left Doug's villa and went on the police computer (I stole it from a cop car and use it to keep one step ahead of the cops) in my car and typed in the name 'Matt Bell' and it showed his picture and his location, which was at the docks in East Hook. I loaded my pistol and my assault rifle and drove off toward East Hook. I got out of the car and There was my target! His back was turned toward me. I took out my pistol and shot him in the back of the head. I turned him over and realized that it was a guy pretending to be him! I saw all a bunch of people pop out of random places and point all their guns at me. There had to be about 15-25 guys surrounding me. I thought, "Oh, shit." when I saw Doug walk out from behind a crate. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat threw up in the litter box." I asked, "What is this?" He smiled evilly and said, "This, is where you DIE, my friend! There is no getting out of the life, Vincent! You're in it for the rest of your life! But, since I'm so generous, I will let you leave the mob. But, oh, wait, the ONLY way to leave the mob is to DIE. Every mobster knows that!" My heart dropped into my stomach. "This is the end." I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and I quickly grabbed my pistol and shot 6 guys but they were all too quick for me. I was shot the leg, the arm, the chest, the stomach, and the shoulders. I've never felt anything more painful. I started breathing heavily and gasping for air, as if I broke a rib. I moaned in misery, "Kristy. . . Greg. . . " I fell back and laid spread eagle on the ground as my last thoughts were going through my head, "Kristy. . . Greg. . . What will. . . Happen. . . To them. . .? Greg. . . I promised. . . Him. . . That I. . ." I uttered my last words, "Good night. . . Moon. . ." I then saw a white light. . .
"Poor Vinnie." Doug tutted with a satisfied look on his face. Everyone left to go home, leaving the body of Vincent Thomas Ryder lying motionless in a pool of blood as ambulances took him to the hospital, with no sirens on. . . . . . .