The StongWilled Rose

I should have known the night was going too well. That was always how it happened. The good nights were never actually good. They were just the universe taking a deep breath before ruining my life. And apparently, tonight the universe had decided to be dramatic. I looked at the flashing blue lights in my rear-view mirror and sighed. “Seriously?” Another siren screamed behind me. I glanced at the speedometer. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I had been going a little fast. But in my defense, the road was practically empty. And technically, I had won. That was what mattered. I slowed the car and pulled over, resting my forehead against the steering wheel for a second. “Fantastic.” I had spent the last two years building an empire from absolutely nothing. Two years creating connections, buying properties, establishing businesses, making people twice my age nervous when I walked into a room. And now? I was about to get arrested because apparently driving too fast was where society decided to draw the line. The irony was almost funny. Almost. I turned off the engine. The driver's door opened. “Step out of the vehicle!” I looked at the officer standing beside my car. I stared at him. He stared at me. “You heard me,” he said. “I did.” “Then step out.” I slowly stepped out and shut the door. The officer looked at me, then at the car. “License.” I handed it over. He studied it. Then looked at me. Then back at the license. Then at me again. “What?” “How old are you?” I blinked. “Old enough to drive.” “That wasn't my question.” “Then maybe ask a better one.” His partner, standing a few feet away, actually coughed to hide a laugh. The first officer narrowed his eyes. “Your date of birth says you're seventeen.” Silence. I shrugged. “Okay.” “Okay?” “Yeah.” “You're seventeen?” “I mean, unless someone changed my birthday without telling me.” He stared at me like I had personally offended him. “You're underage.” “Congratulations. You've discovered mathematics.” “Do you have a guardian?” “No.” “Parents?” “No.” “Who do you live with?” I hesitated. That question was harder. Because technically, I lived alone. But officially? I had foster parents. People who had been dead for months. “I live with my foster parents.” “Names?” I gave them the names. The officer stepped away to make a call. I leaned against my car. His partner approached me. “Do you know why you're being stopped?” “Because apparently driving like I'm in Formula One is illegal.” “You were doing ninety.” I raised an eyebrow. “Ninety isn't Formula One.” “It's a residential street.” “Okay, that's fair.” He smiled slightly. “You're unusually calm for someone who's about to spend the night in a station.” “I've had worse nights.” He looked at me for a moment. “You're not joking, are you?” “No.” His smile disappeared. Before he could say anything else, his partner returned. “There's a problem.” “What?” “The foster parents.” I looked up. “What about them?” “They're deceased.” I stared at him. For a second, I didn't understand what he was saying. Then I shrugged. “Oh.” The officer looked uncomfortable. “Oh?” “Yeah.” “You don't seem surprised.” “They weren't exactly people I was emotionally attached to.” “Allegra…” I froze. He had said my name. Nobody had called me that in years. I straightened. “How do you know my name?” “We ran your information.” I stared at him. He held up my identification. “Allegra Rose Bianchi.” My stomach dropped. No. Absolutely not. I took a step backward. “No.” The officer frowned. “What?” “You've got the wrong person.” “This is your identification.” “No.” I snatched it from his hand. My eyes scanned the card. There it was. My name. My photograph. My birthday. Everything. Except that name. Bianchi. I hadn't used it in years. “Where did you get this?” “It came up in the system.” “I don't have a family.” The officer exchanged a look with his partner. “According to this, you do.” “No.” “Allegra—” “No.” My voice came out sharper. “I said I don't.” The officer softened his tone. “We found a biological family attached to your records.” My heart began pounding. I already knew. I didn't need him to say it. “Who?” He hesitated. “Your father is Enzo Bianchi.” I laughed. It wasn't funny. “That's impossible.” “He's listed as your biological father.” “I know who he is.” “Then you know him?” “Unfortunately.” The officer looked confused. “Your father reported you missing five years ago.” I stopped breathing. Five years. I stared at him. “What?” “He filed a missing-person report.” “No.” “Yes.” “He didn't.” “He did.” I shook my head. “No. He didn't look for me.” The officer didn't answer immediately. Instead, he said quietly, “He apparently did.” I laughed again. This time, there was something bitter in it. “Apparently.” The word tasted disgusting. My father had searched for me? For five years? Where was he when I was sitting in that orphanage? Where was he when nobody came? Where was he when I learned that crying didn't make people kinder? He had spent five years looking for me. And I had spent six years learning how to survive without him. Really f*****g funny. “Can I go now?” The officer stared at me. “No.” “Why?” “Because you're seventeen, you're unaccompanied, and your listed guardians are deceased.” “I can take care of myself.” “I'm sure you can.” “I don't need anyone.” “That isn't really the point.” “It should be.” He sighed. “Your biological father has been contacted.” My entire body went cold. “You did what?” “We contacted him.” “No.” “Allegra—” “No.” I stepped forward. “You need to undo that.” “I can't.” “Yes, you can.” “No, I can't.” “You don't understand.” “I understand that you're seventeen and legally we're responsible for ensuring you have a guardian.” “I don't need a guardian.” “You're going home.” I stared at him. “I'm sorry?” “You're being returned to your family.” My mouth fell open. “Absolutely f*****g not.” Three hours later, I was sitting in a tiny interrogation room, staring at a cup of water I had no intention of drinking. I could hear voices outside. Doors opening. Phones ringing. Footsteps. And somewhere out there was the man who had apparently spent five years searching for me. My father. The door opened. I looked up. A man in an expensive black suit walked in. He looked older than the photographs I remembered. Not old. Just... Tired. His hair had more gray in it. His face looked thinner. And his eyes— His eyes were exactly the same. He stopped when he saw me. Neither of us spoke. I crossed my arms. He stared. Then his lips parted. “Allegra.” I looked away. “Don't.” His face crumpled slightly. “You're alive.” “Obviously.” He took a step toward me. I immediately stood. “Don't come closer.” He stopped. For some reason, that seemed to hurt him. “You're seventeen,” he whispered. “Congratulations.” “I thought—” “You thought I was dead?” His eyes filled with tears. I looked away. I didn't want to feel anything. “I searched for you.” My jaw tightened. “For five years.” I laughed quietly. “That's cute.” His expression changed. “Allegra.” “No, seriously. That's really cute.” “I never stopped looking.” “Where were you looking?” “Everywhere.” “Except where I was.” He went silent. Exactly. I looked at him. “You're taking me home?” His eyes lifted. “Yes.” I smiled. There was nothing nice about it. “Then you're making another mistake.” The next morning, I was standing outside the police station with a suitcase I hadn't packed. My father stood beside a black car. Two men stood behind him. Security. Of course. He looked at me. “You can sit in the back.” “I can sit wherever I want.” He nodded. “Okay.” I walked past him and opened the front passenger door. His eyebrows lifted. I looked at him. “What?” “Nothing.” “Then stop staring.” He got into the driver's seat. For the first twenty minutes, neither of us spoke. I watched the city disappear through the window. I had spent two years building my life here. My people. My money. My freedom. And now I was being driven back to the one place I had sworn never to see again. My father finally spoke. “Your brothers don't know yet.” “Good.” “They're going to be shocked.” “They'll survive.” He hesitated. “Some of them...” “What?” “They believe what happened six years ago.” I turned my head. “They still think I hurt your wife?” “My sons were young.” “They were old enough to see.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Not all of them believe her.” I looked at him. “Who?” “Matteo.” My expression didn't change. But something inside me shifted. Matteo. The only brother who had looked at me that night differently. He hadn't said anything. But he'd looked scared. Confused. Like he didn't know who to believe. “He always questioned what happened,” Dad continued. I looked out the window again. “Good for him.” “And Marco is uncertain.” “Uncertain isn't believing me.” “No.” “Then it doesn't matter.” He nodded. We drove in silence again. Until he said, “Brittany is going to be there.” My fingers tightened around my sleeve. I smiled. “Perfect.” He glanced at me. “You don't have to forgive her.” “I wasn't planning to.” “You don't have to forgive your mother either.” I laughed. “Dad?” “Yes?” “I don't forgive people who try to destroy me.” He didn't respond. I looked out the window. The Bianchi estate was somewhere ahead. And for the first time in six years, I was going home. Not because I wanted to. Not because I needed them. But because apparently the universe had decided that before I could finish burying my past, it needed to drag it back to my doorstep. I wasn't the little girl they had thrown away anymore. And when they opened that door and saw me standing there They were going to meet the consequences of what they had created.