It was late at night. The house had finally quietened down. I then took out the journal belonging to my mother. There was one empty page left at the end.I wrote, *"The work is never finished,". Then I added, *"The struggle is different now. We are not defined by what we took from the Vanes. Instead we are defined by what we gave to the Rossis."*Elena is now sleeping in a room that smells of lavender and woodsmoke.Stephen is dreaming of what years planting will bring.The Tower is no more.The Vineyard is still here.We swapped the hunger of a huge empire, for the beautiful limited joy of a harvest.I shut the book.The "big work" was over.I put the pen down on my journal, the ink still wet as it made a trail across the page. My pen felt heavy, as if it were carrying the weight of the past. I sat there for a while, my hand resting on the leather cover, feeling the quiet of the house around me. This quiet was not like the silence we had when the Vane family was in charge; this was t
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