Giancarlo and Giorgio were of course typical brothers. At heart, they loved each other dearly, even though at times they were at each other’s throats.They alternated between being best friends and fiercest rivals. Always the bigger and stronger of the two, Giorgio often lorded it over Giancarlo at home. He took great pride in being the firstborn son, and he had no qualms about using his superior size and strength whenever Giancarlo needed reminding of just who was boss. Outside the house, however, Giorgio was as faithful and loyal a friend as any boy could hope for. He watched over Giancarlo like a hawk, and woe it was to he that so much as looked sideways at his little brother.

It was a complex relationship, as are all sibling relationships, and it grew only more so when one day Paola Rosa unexpectedly took ill and passed away a month later. Giancarlo, who would never learn exactly what it was that had caused his mother’s death, was barely ten years old at the time. It was a devastating blow to the boys and their father, and it seemed that their world had fallen apart. In time, though, the three men pulled together, and with the help of friends and family, their lives went on.

Six years later, Giancarlo still thought of his mother every time he sat down at the piano to play, and he had been thinking of her just then on that morning when he was alone in the house, working on the Beethoven sonata. He had taken a short break and was about to throw himself back into it when he heard a loud bang that shook the front of the house. Giancarlo paid little heed to the noise, for he well knew that it was only his brother, Giorgio, who liked to announce his arrival home by kicking his soccer ball against the front door. As expected, his older brother walked through the door a few moments later and sauntered over to the piano.

“Maestro,” said Giorgio, using a nickname he liked to call his brother. “Cosa fai? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” said Giancarlo, without looking up from the music. “I’m practicing.”

“I can see that,” said Giorgio, “but it’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and you’re all cooped up inside this house.”

“So? What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” said his brother. “Except that I was thinking about taking a hike up the mountain. I heard some of the old men talking yesterday about a place up there where some brigands supposedly left their gold, but nobody has ever found it.”

“And you believe their story?” said Giancarlo.

“I believe that they believe it,” replied Giorgio with a shrug.