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The Weight of the Crown and the Anchor

The interior of the armored SUV was a sanctuary of leather and silence, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the auction house. Outside, the French countryside blurred into a streak of midnight blues and forest greens, but inside, the air was thick with the heavy, grounding scents of cedar, rain, and the sharp, medicinal tang of Marc’s bandages.

Valentino sat in the back of the wide bench seat, Marc draped across his lap like a broken bird. He had wrapped the younger man in a heavy cashmere blanket, tucked carefully around the surgical cast on Marc’s arm. Marc was drifting in and out of a drug-induced stupor, his brow furrowed in a constant, low-level expression of pain. Every time the car hit a bump, a small, pained hitch would catch in his throat, and Valentino’s hand would tighten instinctively on Marc’s shoulder.

"Easy, Marc. I’ve got you," Valentino murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to soothe the Omega more than the painkillers ever could.

Across from them, in the rear-facing seats, Luca was holding Alex. The younger Marquez brother wasn't unconscious, but he was shattered. He sat wedged into the corner of the seat, his legs pulled up as much as the space allowed, with Luca’s arm draped over him like a physical barrier. Alex’s eyes were fixed on Marc, wide and glassy, watching every rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

"He’s breathing, Alex," Luca said softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Alex’s forehead. "He’s okay. We have a surgeon waiting at the villa. He’s going to be fine."

Alex finally turned his gaze to Luca. The defiance that usually defined the younger Marquez was gone, replaced by a raw, naked vulnerability. "Why?" he croaked, his voice still ruined from the gas and the screaming. "Why did you come? You hate us. He hates Marc."

Luca’s expression softened into something pained. He looked at Valentino, who was currently pressing a light kiss to the top of Marc’s sweaty, matted hair. "It’s complicated, Alex. The track is one thing. This... this is something else entirely. No one deserves to be a trophy. Not even the man who broke my brother’s heart a dozen times over."

"He didn't mean to," Alex whispered, his loyalty flickering even in his exhaustion. "He just... he only knows how to win. He doesn't know how to be anything else."

"And look where it got him," Valentino’s voice cut through the dark, cold and sharp. He didn't look up from Marc. "Broken in a hospital and sold to the highest bidder because he was too proud to admit he was vulnerable. He’s a fool, Alex. A brilliant, stubborn fool."

Marc groaned then, his eyes fluttering open. They were still unfocused, the gold of his irises clouded by the cocktail of sedatives. He squinted up at Valentino’s face, his hand twitching beneath the blanket.

"Vale?" Marc breathed. Sensing the movement, Valentino caught Marc’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Marc’s grip was shockingly weak. "The race... did I finish?"

Valentino felt a lump form in his throat. Even now, with his body sold and his dignity stripped, Marc’s mind was on the asphalt. "You finished, Marc. You’re done for today."

"I missed... the apex," Marc muttered, his head rolling against Valentino’s chest. "Everything is dark. Why is it so dark?"

"It’s just the night," Valentino whispered. "Close your eyes. When you wake up, you’ll be in Italy. You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

Marc seemed to process this slowly. "Italy? But... the team... HRC will be angry..."

"HRC doesn't own you anymore," Valentino said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "No one owns you but me. And I am a much more difficult master to please than a Japanese factory, Piccolo. So sleep."

The word 'own' made Alex flinch across the cabin. He looked at Luca, his breath hitching. "Is that what this is? We’re just... your property now? A hundred million euros for a pair of Omegas?"

Luca’s grip on Alex tightened, not in a way that hurt, but in a way that grounded him. "It was the only way to get you out of there legally in their twisted world. The auction is backed by people you don't want to run from. By buying you, Vale didn't just save you; he took responsibility for you. In the eyes of that world, you belong to the VR46 legacy now. But Alex... look at me."

Alex looked up, his lip trembling.

"I am not a monster," Luca said firmly. "And neither is Valentino. You are safe. You will have your own rooms. You will have medical care. You will be treated with the respect you earned on the track. But you cannot leave. Not yet. The people who took you... they’re still out there. They’ll wait for you to walk out the front door just to put you back in that glass cage."

Alex let out a long, shuddering breath and leaned his head against Luca’s shoulder. The cedar scent was intoxicating, a natural sedative for an Omega who had spent hours in a state of high-alert terror. He felt a strange, traitorous sense of relief. For years, he had been the one taking care of Marc, the one shielding his brother’s secret, the one holding the family together while Marc chased ghosts at three hundred kilometers per hour. To have someone else take the weight—to have an Alpha like Luca Marini simply say 'I’ve got you'—was a relief so profound it felt like dying.

The SUV eventually pulled through the heavy iron gates of a private estate nestled in the hills. This wasn't the usual VR46 ranch; it was a fortress, a secluded villa surrounded by high walls and manned by private security.

When the doors opened, the night air was crisp. Valentino didn't wait for the medics. He stepped out of the car with Marc firmly in his arms, ignoring the way his own muscles protested the weight. He carried Marc into the villa as if he were carrying a sacred relic, his eyes fixed forward, his scent flaring to warn anyone—even his own staff—to keep their distance.

Luca followed with Alex. Alex tried to stand on his own, but his knees buckled the moment his feet hit the gravel. Luca caught him effortlessly, scooping him up.

"I can walk," Alex protested weakly, though he clung to Luca’s neck.

"I know you can," Luca replied. "But you don't have to."

Inside, the villa was warm, lit by soft amber lamps. A private medical suite had been prepared on the ground floor. Valentino laid Marc down on the bed, stepping back only far enough to allow the doctor to begin checking Marc’s vitals.

Marc was conscious enough now to be combative. As the doctor reached for the bandages on his leg, Marc’s hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist. His eyes were wide, panicked.

"Don't touch me," Marc hissed, his voice trembling. "Alex! Where’s Alex?"

"I’m here, Marc! I’m right here!" Alex scrambled out of Luca’s arms and hurried to the side of the bed, grabbing Marc’s uninjured hand.

The sight of the two brothers clinging to each other—two world-class athletes reduced to terrified children—made Valentino turn away for a moment, his jaw tight. He walked over to the window, staring out at the dark gardens.

"He needs to be sedated again for the dressing change," the doctor said, looking at Valentino for permission. "The surgical sites are inflamed from the movement."

"Do it," Valentino said.

"No!" Marc cried out, his voice cracking. "No more drugs. I can't... I can't wake up in that cage again. Vale, please!"

Valentino was at the bedside in three strides. He pushed the doctor aside and leaned over Marc, placing his hands on either side of Marc’s head.

"Look at me, Marc. Look at my eyes."

Marc’s frantic gaze locked onto Valentino’s blue ones. The intensity there was staggering. It wasn't the cold fire of the racetrack; it was something ancient and protective.

"You are in my house," Valentino said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "I paid a king’s ransom for you, and I do not let my prizes break. You will let the doctor help you. And when you wake up, I will be sitting in that chair. I will not leave. Do you understand?"

Marc’s chest heaved, his eyes searching Valentino’s for any sign of a lie. He found none. Slowly, the tension drained out of his body. He nodded once, a tiny, jerky movement.

"Promise?" Marc whispered.

"I promise," Valentino said.

As the sedative was administered through the IV, Marc’s eyes stayed on Valentino until the very last second, his fingers slowly relaxing their grip on Alex’s hand. When he was finally under, the room seemed to exhale.

The doctor worked quickly, cleaning the wounds and reapplying the dressings. Alex sat on a stool by the bed, his head resting on the mattress, his eyes never leaving Marc’s face. Luca stood behind him, his hand resting on the nape of Alex’s neck, a constant, tethering presence.

Hours later, the medical team retreated, leaving the four of them in the quiet of the room. The only sound was the steady hum of the heart monitor and the distant chime of a clock in the hallway.

Valentino sat in the armchair he had promised to occupy. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, looking tired but vigilant. He watched the Marquez brothers. They looked so small in the middle of the oversized bed, Alex having eventually crawled up to lie next to Marc, his head tucked into the crook of his brother’s shoulder.

"They’re going to hate this when the shock wears off," Luca said softly, leaning against the wall near Valentino. "They’re Omegas, but they’re still Marquezs. They’re going to fight us every step of the way."

Valentino leaned back, his eyes tracking the rhythm of Marc’s breathing. "Let them fight. It’s the fire I liked about him in the first place. I didn't buy a pair of pets, Luca. I bought the only two people in the world who understand what it’s like to have the weight of an entire country on their shoulders."

"And now they have our weight on them too," Luca pointed out.

"It’s better than the alternative," Valentino said, his gaze turning dark. "The men in that room... they would have used them until there was nothing left but dust. Here, they will heal. And then, we will see."

"And the racing?" Luca asked. "The world is going to ask where they are. HRC, Gresini... they’ll be looking."

Valentino let out a short, dry laugh. "Let them look. As far as the world is concerned, the Marquez brothers are recovering from their injuries in a private facility. I have enough lawyers and enough influence to keep the vultures at bay for a long time."

He stood up and walked to the edge of the bed. He looked down at Marc’s pale face. The Omega looked peaceful in sleep, the lines of pain smoothed away by the drugs. Valentino reached out, his thumb tracing the line of Marc’s jaw.

It was a strange feeling. For a decade, Marc had been the thorn in his side, the boy who had come to steal his throne. He had hated him, respected him, and obsessed over him in equal measure. But seeing him on that stage, displayed like meat... it had changed something. The rivalry hadn't vanished, but it had morphed into something far more possessive.

"You were always mine to break, Marc," Valentino whispered, so low that even Luca couldn't hear. "Not theirs. Never theirs."

Alex stirred in his sleep, whimpering softly. Luca moved instantly, sliding onto the bed on the other side of Alex, pulling the younger brother against his chest. Alex settled immediately, his subconscious recognizing the Alpha scent that meant safety.

Valentino watched his brother with a sense of grim satisfaction. The Marini-Rossi bloodline was one of tradition and power. They didn't do things by halves. If they were going to take the Marquez brothers, they would keep them. They would protect them, yes, but they would also bind them so tightly that the track would become a distant memory.

As the first rays of dawn began to creep through the shutters, Valentino settled back into his chair. He had a hundred million reasons to stay awake, and every single one of them was currently breathing softly in the bed in front of him.

The auction was over. The prize was claimed. And as Marc’s hand moved in his sleep, searching for a warmth that Valentino was more than happy to provide, the Doctor knew that the real game was only just beginning. He would teach Marc that there were worse things than losing a championship. There was the realization that you no longer belonged to yourself.

But for now, in the quiet of the Italian morning, it was enough that they were alive. It was enough that they were home.

"Sleep well, Piccolo," Valentino murmured, his eyes never closing. "The world can wait. You belong to the Doctor now."