Christmas Confession

1. One Week Prior

Vito couldn't focus on the news. Christmas was just around the corner, people kept sending him cards, and Joe constantly asked him when they would get together to throw a party. And by party, Joe just wanted to get drunk and surround himself with the most beautiful women.

Every sound on the TV sounded like gibberish, all to the point where Vito just had to shut it off and bask in the silence of his living room. He lie on the couch, on his side, staring at the wall in a deadpan state. Christmas was a holiday he dreaded, since when he was a kid, he never really experienced the joy of receiving presents like most kids did. All he got now and then was a book, new shoes, or a stuffed animal. The best present he'd ever received was a baseball bat and a couple balls. Francesca had no interest in sports, and would have rather stuck to reading books all day. Joe was the only kid Vito played ball with, but due to his behavior, Joe was grounded most of the time. The lack of pupils kept Vito in the outside his apartment smacking balls around by himself. He'd seldom ask his dad to play with him, since the man was always drinking or working.

With the burden of being poor on Christmas, Vito also found himself and his family in soup kitchens or gospel missions for food. Not to mention, it was cold. Cold as fuck. The winters in Empire Bay were merciless, and as a kid he'd gotten sick constantly.

Christmas. It was a curse word in his mind. How other people enjoyed the chaotic nature of rushing in and out of stores to buy gifts, decorate a dead tree, get sick, and hear the same repetitive songs on the radio every year, Vito had no fucking idea.

Just when he thought he'd hate this year's Christmas, he had an objective in mind. An objective that made his heart swell when simply thinking about it. Because of it, this may be the first Christmas he'd actually enjoy, that is if he had the balls to pull off what he was about to do.

For a few years, he'd thought of this, and how he'd do it. If the plan would backfire or serve him good. Last year, he chickened out, broke his own heart out of shame and disappointment in himself, and ended up outside Joe's apartment the next morning covered in his own vomit. Luckily Joe was there just in time to drag him inside and stick him in the bathtub for a few hours. The vomit was gone, but he contracted an rash on his ass from the gritty surface of the tub.

This year, he was just going to do it. He was going to accomplish a great task beyond what he was accustomed to. He would need the assistance of a particular friend, though.

Peeling himself from the sofa, he went to put on his coat and head out the door. Negative ten degrees. He felt like a complete and total dumbass for even wanting to go outside, but he needed to get out of the house. Cabin fever was a common thing during the winter.

It took him twenty minutes to get to the Maltese Falcon, which was typically an eight-minute journey, but there was a traffic jam due to two cars colliding on black ice. He had to take another route, which was a hassle and made his mood a hell of a lot worse than it was before.

Vito made his way inside the bar, disgruntled rather than pleased, but it was his own fault for even leaving his home during shit weather conditions.

As he wandered inside, he spotted a familiar face. The face belonged to his underboss, Eddie Scarpa. He was drinking, as usual, talking with some other colleagues of his. Vito figured he'd not speak a word to him and instead wander over to one of the booths. But alas, Eddie managed to spot him from a yard away.

"Hey, Vito!" he called out across the bar. Just as Vito sat down, he saw Eddie making a b-line towards him. As the underboss appeared before him, he had a grin on his face, and to Vito, that meant he was about to say something snarky.

"What're you doin' creepin' around here?" Eddie started. "You avoiding me or somethin'?"

"No, no," Vito answered, "I just needed to get outta the house for a while. I thought I'd come here."