Something along those lines yes...
This is something I knocked up with an hour I had spare before setting off to work - apologies for any typos:
Vercetti sat on the bleachers, hands clasped between his slightly open knees, observing the movements of those in the yard with a sharp but wary eye. Even though most of his fellow inmates had long since cast him a (very wide) wide berth, an attack was ever too far away. Safety never a guarantee. Usually some amped-up new guy looking to take on The Harwood Butcher. See if the man lived up to the legend. Sometimes the attacks came from another family; strike a blow to the Forelli guys.
Fat chance of that, Tommy thought, chin dropping down onto his chest. He hadn't seen or heard from any of the guys - not even Sonny - since he'd taken the fall. "The family take care of their own," his lawyer had whispered as he was taken away from court. Turns out 'taking care of their own' was a slightly thicker mattress, a lighter work detail and an introduction to old Ricky De Campino. All of which turned out to be as useful as a rubber knife in a gun battle.
Even with all of these 'advantages' Vercetti managed to fend off his attackers. After a few broken limbs, smashed teeth and a few extra years added (what the f*ck did a couple of years matter when you're serving a life sentence anyway?) the target slowly shifted further and further away from him. The last guy who had tried to build a little yard rep, about six weeks earlier, still had his jaw wired up. That tended to put the frighteners on.
A shadow fell over Vercetti's face. His heart dropping into his shoes, not another one, and allowed his hands to separate and curl into fists. Lead with the left, he told himself. Most people expect the right one to swing first...
Squinting up at his newfound sunscreen, he saw the shaved head and scowling face of Rhodes; the burliest - and most universally despised - of the Liberty City Correctional Facility's officers looking down at him. Even though Rhodes glared at him as though he had stomped his favourite puppy to death, Tommy felt himself relaxing; he was safe from harm. Physically at least. Although this sadistic prick had other ways to make an inmate suffer.
"Vercetti," Rhodes grunted, looking as though he were forcing down a pint of gasoline, "come with me,"
"Why?" Tommy demanded, that defiant an angry tone still hadn't left his voice. Even after almost two decades inside...
"Warden wants to see you," those give words caused al the tension that had ebbed away to resurge with a vengeance. Being summoned to the warden's office was rarely a positive event. In his case, a good outcome was a statistical impossibility.
Without another word, Tommy pushed himself off the wooden bench and marched alongside the still stony-faced Rhodes who, clearly keen to rid himself of shepherd duty, beat an extremely swift pace.
"Did the warden say what he wanted me for?" Tommy asked, half jogging to keep up. In response, Rhodes shook his head before adding;
"Might be your lucky day," he cleared his throat, "all I know" he tacked on almost as an afterthought.
"Funny, I don't remember buying any lottery tickets," Vercetti said, feeling the probing eyes of his fellow cons following his every step.