Disclaimer: I don't own Far Cry 3

Phoenix: A symbol of new beginnings or rebirth, usually through fire and then rising up from their own ashes

This…insanity…is never ending.

There was never a period in my life when something wasn't chaotic. But if you would like for me to pick a time when things went from alright to shit, then I would say it was when I thought it was a good idea to make a deal with the Genovese. They were the big Italian Mafia around where my baby sister and I lived in New York and I know, the Mafia, what was I thinking? But they had money and a good deal and I needed to supply for my sister.

They told me they would give me and my sister an apartment in Naples, Italy as long as I did the Camorra a favor. The Camorra were the Mafia in Naples, known for the blood on their hands. I agreed and things were okay after that. We were getting better and our scars were healing. I actually liked it in Naples but no, my stupidity had caused more issues than I thought.

After driving myself and my sister so deep into debt with the Camorra, we had to leave. There was no other option except death. We left on a huge plane with annoying tourists dressed in flowered shirts and men in business suits. We were going to Phuket. Don't ask me why, I don't really know why. I guess it was small and unimportant to the Mafia but I didn't plan for us to stay long. It was just a small stop before I got my shit together and we left for another place.

But things just sort of happened, like a chain reaction. I couldn't control it nor stop it no matter how much I wanted to. But, before we get into that mess, let's start at the beginning.

My name is Veronica Cosima Vitale. My last name is my own and no one else's. My father's last name was Fiore, as was my mother's, my brother's, and my sister's. I hated my father and I refused to have the same last name as that bastard. I am twenty-three years old and I consider myself Italian-American. I was born and lived in New York for a little more than half my life. My grandparents moved from Italy to the States, having my father here. He met my mother and long story short, they moved in together and me and my siblings happened.

I learned English in school and Italian at home. I learned Spanish from the neighbors and picked it up easily. My older brother, Mason Antonio Fiore, knew English and Italian. On the other hand, my younger sister didn't speak anything but English.

My sixteen year old sister is Eden Kiara Fiore. Eden isn't old enough to change her last name and I didn't want to make the decision for her. Whenever I tried to talk to her about how she felt about it, she refused to bring up the topic of our father. I found it strange since she was so young when he was around. I think she keeps the last name because it reminds her of our mother. She died when Eden was five, I was twelve, and Mason was fifteen. That sorry excuse of a father killed her and none of us ever forgave him for it. Our father was never around much but when he was, he made our lives hell. I realize now that it was not normal but when I was a child, I assumed that the father beat their child in every household.

My mother was around more than he was but she had to work her ass off just to keep us all under a roof. She would often stare at the kitchen table as if it would make food appear. We would stare with her sometimes, doing the exact same thing over and over again. But did it change anything? No.

Mason was like our mother, he was warm-hearted and soft. Eden took after our mother as well except she looked a lot like her. Eden had the same milk chocolate hair and the same sparkly, blue eyes. Mason and I looked like our father; we had near-black hair and brown eyes that seemed to change from golden brown to black mud. I took after my father with his cold-heartedness and often emotionless face. I always knew I had a small piece of my mother in me but my father seemed to beat that part out of me until it no longer existed.

I noticed that Mason seemed to morph into a mini version of our father after our mother died. He would hit me and yell insults at me that I didn't deserve. Eden was like a poor child lost in the dark, she walked amidst the damage done to this family without knowing how or why it happened. I had to guide her and make sure she stayed on the right path but while I concentrated on her, Mason slipped away from me. Each day, I found myself valuing Eden more and Mason less. I felt like it was my duty to keep Eden alive and healthy since Mason and my father weren't stepping up to the job. I often had an empty stomach while hers was full.

As the three of us grew, I became exceptionally good at lying and stealing. It kept us alive and kept food at the table. It was dangerous game but I played it well. Mason did nothing to help us, he would disappear at times and I didn't see him often. I didn't mind, one less person to feed. I did worry after being told that he was with the Genovese but he didn't care about my concerns.

One night, my father didn't return home. I wasn't worried; he often didn't come home for a day or two and sometimes three. But after a week of him being gone, I began to worry. There was nothing I wanted more than to see him lying in a coffin but he was my father. I couldn't not worry about him. Mason didn't know anything about our father's whereabouts either so we all just assumed he left us. We didn't hear about a man's death in the newspaper and the police didn't come knocking on our door so we assumed he was still alive. Mason was now the head of the family. He was eighteen years old and I was fifteen, Eden was eight. Things didn't really change after our father disappeared. Mason still didn't contribute and I still found us food after scraping up what was needed to pay the rent. But Mason became even more distant and violent until he didn't resemble our mother at all anymore.

Over the period of time from when my mother died to when my father left, something had changed inside of me. I became a stranger to myself and the people around me, I found myself not caring about many of the things that I should have cared about. My health wasn't my biggest concern and neither was the reputation I was getting. I wasn't the one holding us together anymore. Eden was. My parents often made appearances in my dreams and every night my reaction was different. Sometimes I begged for them to come back, sometimes I screamed in fury at them, sometimes I smiled and hugged them. But they always just stared at me with monotone faces.

Things were uneventful after that. Eden was maturing while Mason got worse. He was hooked on drugs and was often beat up or worn out when he returned home. He was often more violent with me but I had developed some bravery and refused to back down from him. He started bringing his girlfriend, Katherine, around with him more and more, she didn't like being his girlfriend but she couldn't bring herself to leave him. I liked Katherine; she was always kind and sweet.

There was a time when Mason tried to sell me and Eden to the Genovese for more drugs. When I refused to "cooperate," he attacked me and tried to kill me. I was shocked at his actions and couldn't fight back. How could I hurt my own brother? Katherine had been there at the time and she fought for me. She's the one who took Mason away from us. She protected us. She killed Mason. I don't like to remember that time but Mason left his mark on me. Physically and mentally. I have a faded, white scar that runs across the right side of my neck. It wasn't deep enough to kill me though and luckily, Katherine was there to wrap it up. I hate that scar; it'll be there for the rest of my life. It will make me remember.

After Katherine and Mason's fight, I made my deal with the Genovese and received the "favor" I was to do for the Camorra right away. We were to go to Mexico to help a drug cartel transport a large suitcase of heroin to Naples. Eden and I were the transporters. The flight was successful, obviously. We delivered the suitcase and the Camorra were very happy. They kept tabs on me and Eden and even kept any American investigators off our backs. I was required to pay them for their "kindness" which was a pain in the ass but I guess it was worth it at the time.

Making money in Naples was a bit difficult since I couldn't hold a real job for long. The past never stopped nagging at my brain and it caused my life to be a living hell for a long time. After my mind had settled, the memories would always come back at random times. Flashbacks haunted me and often left me in shock.

But we managed to get by with Eden working small jobs and me occasionally selling my artwork (art was one of my hobbies). We had been living in Naples for two long years and were considerably happy. At least, Eden was. Mason and my parents still continued to take over my mind and I would have trouble functioning on those days. The spells lasted from a couple of hours to a couple of days. Nightmares happened often as well, it was always Mason.

But life was quiet and things had started to look up for once. That is, until our main source of protection and aid had it with me not being able to pay back our debt. Everything seemed to tumble downhill all over again. Like a Jenga tower, you would stack up all the wooden blocks with such care and precision, but when one block was out of place or slipped, the whole tower went down. But in some cases, the one block out of place can be fixed or only shakes the tower, loosening the solidity of the blocks.

That was what the Camorra did; they loosened the tower which affected everything else after that. Vaas Montenegro was the one who pulled out the final block that was keeping everything together. He was the bastard that destroyed the tower completely. He ripped down the walls I had so carefully built. He unraveled my life completely. Yet, he seemed to set me free.

But as I said, let's start at the beginning.