Subject: The Gift of Stolen Time, Chapter 6 (Gay Adult/Youth) THE GIFT OF STOLEN TIME By Wes Leigh This is a work of fiction intended solely for the entertainment of my readers. Any resemblance to real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author’s consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation. Chapter Six Milan, Italy, 2025 Lucas drove slowly up the cobblestone street. The beat-up old Fiat 500 wasn’t in great condition, but it was doing the best it could, towing a small trailer up a bumpy hill in one of the older neighborhoods of Milan. The ancient clunker had managed the long journey from Lyon without too much trouble, so the young man who sold it to Lucas hadn’t lied about the condition of the car’s engine. The fellow might have exaggerated about the rest; the shocks were nearly shot and the transmission was squealing, but the rickety vehicle had done its job. Lucas was approaching the end of this phase in his journey. What a journey it had been. Paris had been cold, the food overpriced, and the people boorish and unfriendly. Orleans had had better food, but the people had been almost hostile. Dijon had seemed pleasant enough, but hadn’t had what he was looking for. And what was he looking for? Even Lucas didn’t know for certain. Whatever it was, he hadn’t found it in Lyon either, although he had found the young starving artist who sold him the Fiat 500 along with a small cargo trailer full of reasonably good paintings. That young painter had taken the money gratefully and then recommended Lucas visit northern Italy, where the food would be much, much better. And so Lucas found himself steering his tiny car up a hill in Milan towing a trailer full of paintings to the place he expected to call home, if only for a few months. He hit a pothole and held his breath. The threadbare tire didn’t pop and the engine whined only momentarily as the car climbed out of the pothole and puttered on up the hill. Finally, he reached the top and parked in front of the two-story building with a sign in the window proclaiming `VENDESI’. Well, it wasn’t `vendesi’ any longer. He’d bought the place, having fallen in love with the charming columns out front, the intricate scrollwork on the facade, and the towering ceilings in the front rooms. He’d also been enamored with the polished wood stairway along the back wall that led upstairs to a small apartment. He climbed out of the battered, old Fiat. He had to slam the door twice to get it to latch. He walked around the front of the car and saw his reflection in the double glass doors of the storefront. He looked young, perhaps 30. His green eyes were bright and clear. His hair was sandy brown. His skin was clean and tight. His waist was trim. He frowned at his reflection. It was nice to be young again, but he would have to cut back on the use of the time stealer. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to be a 63-year-old man in a 30-year-old body. The really odd thing was, he had no idea what it should feel like to be 63. As a time bandit, he’d never legitimately experienced life as a 60-year-old. Well, it was time to put his fit, young body to work. He unlocked the front doors of the building and braced them both open. Then he opened the small trailer and began unloading the paintings he’d purchased in Lyon. Most were framed and ready to go on the walls, still showing the tiny price tags the original artist had attached. Lucas carried a few into the building and leaned them against the back wall. He’d decide where he wanted to hang them later. While he was inside the trailer, removing a second load of paintings, he heard high-pitched laughter on the street next to the trailer. The laughter stopped, and he heard giggles. Turning, he saw two boys, both with curly black hair, pale white skin, and vivid blue eyes. They wore what appeared to be soccer uniforms. (What did they call it here in Italy? Calcio? He wasn’t sure.) They wore blue and gold jerseys with a red lion’s head on the breast. Blue shorts. Gold knee socks. His eyes flicked back up to the shorts. Nice little bumps there. Lucas was sorely tempted to press the time stealer gems, but he resisted. The boys smiled as they watched him. “Ciao,” one said. Lucas smiled back. “Ciao.” The other boy asked, “Che stai facendo?” Lucas held up his hand, asking them to wait, and pulled out his pocket translator. Turning it on, he spoke into the microphone, “Che stai facendo?” The translator replied, “What are you doing?” He held the translator to his mouth and said, “Unloading my paintings.” Then he turned the translator toward the boys and the computerized voice chanted, “Scarico i miei quadri.” The boys’ eyes opened wide in delight, murmuring, “Che cos’e, Marcello?” and “Non lo so, Enzo. E un americano?” and “Probabilmente.” They chattered away so fast that Lucas never had a chance to translate it, but he caught the rough gist of what they were saying. He spoke into the translator. “Would you like to help? I’ll pay you.” Then turning the translator to the boys: “Vorresti aiutare? Ti paghero.” The boys looked at each other, then shouted, “Si. Oh si!” That required no translation. They climbed into the trailer and began lifting paintings and carrying them into the building. *** Lucas learned quite a bit about the boys as they helped him unload his trailer. They were twins, Lorenzo and Marcello Moretti. Lorenzo’s nickname was Enzo. Marcello had no nickname. He was just Marcello. Always Marcello. They were 12 years old. They loved to play calcio and were on the same team, the Leoni di Milan (the Milan Lions). They lived two streets over and went to school at the bottom of the hill. They loved the athletics classes and hated everything else, although math and science were okay, because Signorina Rossi taught both, and she had nice tette. Lorenzo punched Marcello in the shoulder when he mentioned that, then they both snorted and giggled. They lived with their mother Maria (who was a most excellent cook) and their father Giovanni (a woodcarver who made beautiful figures of animals and people) in a small house with only a few rooms (a kitchen, a sitting room, a single bathroom, a bedroom for Mamma and Papa, and a bedroom they shared, which they didn’t mind as they liked each other just fine except when Enzo farted). They were very strong and could work all day, as long as Lucas had money to pay them, and they were going to use the money to buy flowers for Mamma and some tobacco for Papa’s pipe and a bowl of gelato for each of them. Eventually the two chatterboxes ran out of things to say, so they asked Lucas what he was doing in Milan. He explained, via the translator, that he was opening an art gallery. These were his paintings–although he hadn’t actually painted any of them, but he didn’t tell the twins that part–and he was going to put the paintings up on the walls and sell them to tourists. He handed the twins a twenty-euro bill each for their help and promised them more if they would help him put the paintings up on the walls later, explaining that the bottom floor would be the gallery. He planned to live upstairs, in the small apartment. When he mentioned that, the boys had to run up to the second floor to see what it contained. They were disappointed to see it was empty, but they eagerly volunteered to help Lucas find furniture to fill it up and help him move everything in, especially if Lucas would pay them for their help. Lucas chuckled and ruffled their hair. He was beginning to like the scheming little buggers. Marcello said it would be fun to hang some paintings that afternoon, but he was getting hungry. Lorenzo agreed. They both grabbed Lucas by the hand and begged him to come home with them to eat. It would be fine with Mamma, and Papa would want to meet the crazy Americano opening an art gallery right down the street. Lucas reluctantly agreed, but only if they would show him where to buy bread and wine to take as a present for the meal. *** And flowers. A large bouquet of assorted flowers. Maria Moretti loved the flowers and expressed her thanks profusely as she placed the flowers in a vase of water. It was easy to see where the boys got their looks. Like the twins, Maria was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, which was not uncommon in northern Italy. “How beautiful,” Maria said, in Italian, “and how sweet they smell.” She glanced at Lorenzo and Marcello. “I hope these two scamps weren’t too much of a bother.” Lucas shook his head as he used the translator to say, “None at all. They were a big help actually. When they invited me to eat with your family, I thought it might be an imposition. I hope I’m not intruding.” “Of course not,” Maria replied. “I always make plenty of food.” Giovanni Moretti nodded his head in agreement. He was swarthy, with dark skin, black eyes, and raven-black hair. “She does indeed, and guests are always welcome. We’ve taught the boys that hospitality is the measure of a gracious heart.” “That seems to be a lesson they’ve learned well,” Lucas replied. The twins beamed, happy to be hearing compliments on their behavior for a change. Lucas turned to Giovanni. “I would like to ask a special favor of you and your sons.” “What would that be?” Giovanni asked. “I need to purchase furnishings for the apartment above my art gallery. I was hoping the boys would help me find what I need and move in. I would be happy to pay for their help.” The twins grinned at each other, excited. Giovanni shook his head. “I won’t hear of it. My sons will help you for free.” The grins disappeared from the twins’ faces. Lucas didn’t want to offend his host, but he also hated to disappoint Marcello and Lorenzo. “Please reconsider, Signore Moretti. It will be hard work. It will help me considerably. And I want to pay them for their time and effort.” The grins returned, hopeful. Giovanni turned to the boys. “You will work hard, no? You will do whatever Signore Lucas asks without complaining? Without being silly? No?” The twins nodded and agreed. “We will, Papa.” Giovanni sighed. “Then all I ask, Signore, is don’t spoil them. They must learn to appreciate a hard day’s work and the pay they receive for it.” “Of course. Perhaps you will suggest an appropriate wage. I’ve just moved here, so I don’t know what 12-year-old boys should be paid.” “Usually,” Giovanni said with a grin, “two lashes with a belt if they don’t move fast enough. But I think five euros an hour would be enough for these two.” The boys giggled and hugged their Papa. Lucas smiled and decided he would make it ten euros an hour. He could afford it, and these boys were seriously cute! *** After a delicious meal of bucatini carbonara, Lucas sat with the family and answered their questions about living in America, how he ankara eve gelen escort came to be in Milan, and the gallery he was planning to open. He gave them a vague tale of inheriting a nice chunk of cash from a distant relative–in a way, that was slightly true, since Lucas felt some kinship with the banks he’d stolen his money from–and now he was fulfilling a dream of opening an art gallery in a place far from home. Most of his answers were somewhat truthful, at least as close to the truth as he could come without confessing he was a time stealing bandit who had left America to escape memories of a failed love life. Why Milan, they wanted to know? He couldn’t give them an answer to that. He didn’t know why he was here or what he was looking for. Only that he was searching for something that continued to escape him. It all sounded wonderfully romantic to Maria, travelling the world searching for a mysterious treasure you couldn’t describe. She laughed as she served Lucas another helping of tiramisu, saying he could finish his search for his elusive dream after he ate some more desert. He was far too thin. Giovanni was too well grounded to be interested in such pursuits. He had a wife and sons to care for. But he threw an arm around Lucas’ neck and companionably offered to help him find this mystifying treasure, if Maria would watch the boys for a few years. Maria slapped Giovanni on the shoulder, then kissed his cheek to let him know she didn’t take him seriously. The twins thought Lucas was silly. Life was a grand adventure. There were games of calcio to play and win, and someday, when they were old enough to do it, they would race Formula One cars at the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza right here in Milan. Those were real dreams because you didn’t have to travel all over the world searching for them. But if Lucas didn’t like those dreams, the twins would help him find whatever he was looking for, if he would let them finish school first. Lucas smiled and thought how fortunate he was to have met the Morettis. They were a warm and generous family who had welcomed him into their home like a long-lost cousin who had finally returned to Milan. Maybe that was what he was searching for. Perhaps that was what he had travelled around the globe to find. Home. Lucas finished his second helping of tiramisu and thanked Maria for the wonderful meal. He was preparing to take his leave when the twins jumped up and grabbed him by the hands, pulling him to his feet. “Now you must see Papa’s workshop, no? Giovanni scolded them. “Don’t bother Lucas. He may have other plans.” Lucas assured Giovanni he had very little to do that day, so Lorenzo and Marcello giggled and hustled Lucas out a side door, down a narrow walkway, and into a small yard where an unassuming metal building took up most of the space. Lorenzo opened the door and walked in backward, pulling Lucas by the hand. “Come. Come. See what Papa makes.” Covering the benches and tables inside the building were wooden works of art, beautiful sculptures, most finished and polished to a golden glow. Lucas stopped and stared in wonder, turning slow circles as he took it all in. There was a falcon in flight, frozen in place with its pinions fluttering in the breeze, its head cast down, searching for prey. There was a maiden’s lovely face, turned to the side in sorrow, one hand touching her chin, gazing off into the distance with intense longing. And a sculpture of two boys–Lorenzo and Marcello perhaps?–kicking a ball between them, faces lit up with the joy of being young and at play. There were more. Many more. Each beautiful. Each vibrant with motion captured in a second of time. Lucas walked through the building, examining the sculptures, marveling at Giovanni’s mastery of wood carving. The twins watched him. They smiled, seeing Lucas’ amazed reaction to their father’s handiwork. “Good, no?” Marcello asked. “Very, very good,” Lucas agreed. The twins took turns speaking into Lucas’ translator. “Papa works on them every night, when he finishes his job at the factory. And sometimes, when we have a little extra money, we pay for a stall in the market and spend the weekend selling Papa’s carvings. We don’t make a lot, but everyone says Papa has a wonderful gift. They all say he should be a famous artist living in Rome. He laughs when he hears that, because he and Mamma love Milan too much to ever leave.” Lucas knew in a moment what he had to do. He grabbed the twins in a sideways hug, one under each arm, and thanked them for showing him the workshop with all the treasures it contained. Then he said he wanted to talk to their Papa and asked them to run in the house and get him. While he waited in the workshop, he spoke into his translator, filling its memory with a lengthy speech. When Giovanni and the twins returned, Lucas pressed the play button. “Signore Moretti, your sculptures are beautiful. Each one is a testament to your skill and creativity, and it is my hope that you will agree to a special arrangement I would like to propose to you now. I want to fill my gallery with more than my own paintings. I want to include the creations of other artisans, such as yourself. It will be very practical, with everything offered for sale to those who visit the gallery. I will charge nothing to display your work there, but ask only a small commission of each sale, five percent. I must pay my bills, too. But we will all make money, lots of money I hope, with artists like yourself joining me. Tourists to Milan will hear about my gallery and the beauty it contains, and they will want to visit there whenever they come here. And they will buy our masterpieces to take home to remind them of their visit to Milan. It will be good for me and for your family. Will you allow me to display your sculptures in my gallery when it opens?” Giovanni was stunned. The twins were delighted and jumped with joy, urging their Papa to agree. “How can I refuse?” Giovanni replied. “Certamente!” *** Lucas didn’t spent a lot of money on the furniture for the apartment, not because he couldn’t afford it, but because he didn’t want to spoil his image as an impoverished artist who’d spent the last dime of his inheritance on an overpriced storefront in a forgotten neighborhood of Milan. So he didn’t overdue it, but he bought comfortable furniture. A big, soft bed. Plush sofa and love seats. Inexpensive but sturdy tables and chairs. A few other things. Lorenzo and Marcello were a great help. They suggested several vendors who had quality furniture at a good price. Then they harassed the salespeople at the stores, haggling over the prices wherever possible, then whispering to Lucas that they wanted a cut of the savings before they busted out in laughter. Lucas agreed, but not before first tickling Lorenzo, who seemed to love being touched, and taking Marcello into a headlock, who loved it too as long as it looked more rough-and-tumble to anyone watching. All the stores offered to deliver the furniture, which Lucas would never have been able to do himself with his little Fiat and its small trailer. So he took the twins to his gallery/apartment and waited for the furniture to begin arriving. The first to get there was the bed. Fortunately, the delivery man helped Lucas and the twins maneuver the bulky mattress up the staircase to the second floor. Otherwise, they’d never have managed. The rest of the items arrived soon after. It was a busy afternoon, and Lucas was grateful that the twins were so strong, because it wasn’t easy carrying everything up the narrow stairway. By the time they finished, all three were sweating profusely. The twins unashamedly stripped off their shirts, displaying their developing upper bodies. They were gangly, but their muscles were hard and tight and their stomachs were rippled already, reminding Lucas that both were active soccer players who also enjoyed playing sports at school. Their hair was matted and their skin gleaming with a layer of sweat. Their shorts clung to their bodies slightly, emphasizing the not-so-little bumps in front and the generous globes of flesh in the back. They were laughing as they drank chinottos, standing side by side, Lorenzo’s hand casually gripping Marcello’s shoulder. Now THAT was a work of art Lucas wished he could have on display every day. His fingers reached for the silver wristband. He touched the gems. He felt the smooth film coating their rough, pocked faces and began to press down. Marcello giggled at something Lorenzo said, then sniffed his own armpit and made a face. His eyes met Lucas’ and he smiled, holding his drink out in salute. Lucas took his fingers off the gems and dropped his arm to his side. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much he wanted to. He WOULDN’T do it, nor would he take advantage of these beautiful boys in any way. He was done with that. Completely done. *** The boys were taking a shower together in the tiny bathroom of Lucas’ apartment. They smelled like dead dogs, they insisted, and begged Lucas to allow them to take a quick shower. The quick shower had turned into a long session of giggles, shouts, and wrestling. Lucas heard it all from where he sat on the edge of his bed. It was absolute torture. Eventually, the noise diminished and the water stopped running. He heard the boys talking, then the door opening, and two almost naked 12-year-olds stepped out of the bathroom dressed only in towels wrapped around their waists. They trotted into the bedroom and stood in front of Lucas, grinning madly, and then made a big show of sniffing each other under the arms to make it clear they smelled good now. Marcello even sniffed Lorenzo’s butt and said he smelled good everywhere. They both screeched with laughter. Lucas asked them when they were going to get dressed. They asked if they could stay in the towels for now. Mamma wouldn’t let them do that at home. Lucas agreed. Even if he couldn’t touch, he could at least look. The boys cheered and hugged each other, rushed down the stairs, chased each other around the lower floor, then–when they thought they saw someone walking past the front of the store in the street–ran squealing back up the stairs and collapsed in laughter on the couch. Lucas shook his head as he watched them. “You might as well have left the towels behind, you little daredevils.” Lorenzo stood up, biting his lip. Then he tugged at the towel, pulled it off, and tossed it on the sofa. Marcello chortled, then stood up and followed Lorenzo’s lead, throwing his own towel aside. Now, side by side and naked, Lucas could see that the boys weren’t identical in every way. Marcello had the tiniest bit of fluff above his cock, which seemed slightly thicker than Lorenzo’s. And Marcello’s balls seemed to hang down a tiny bit more beneath his two-inch, uncut cocklet. Lorenzo’s balls were pulled up tight beneath the tiny pink tube of flesh, also uncircumcised. Standing gaziantep escort there, they reminded Lucas of a statue of cherubim, though he knew from experience these two weren’t angelic in the least. Lucas laughed and shook his finger at the two, ordering them to behave while he took his own shower. They asked if they could have another chinotto. Just one, Lucas said. Thanking Lucas, they chased each other to the refrigerator, laughing. Lucas turned from the naked temptation in his kitchen and walked into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and smelled his own armpit. Then coughed and gagged. It was that bad. He stepped into the shower and pulled the shower curtain closed behind him. How had those two rascals showered together in this small cubicle? It must have been an awfully tight fit. He held his body underneath the hot spray, grateful that the apartment had decent water pressure. The water cascaded down his body, more tight and toned than it had been in decades. His stomach wasn’t a defined as the twins, but then he wasn’t playing athletics every day like they were. Nevertheless, he had to admit his body was in great shape. He rubbed soap all over his chest, down his stomach and the light layer of hair there, across his cock and balls, which immediately enjoyed the attention after being denied for so long. He stroked his cock slowly, reminiscing about Johan, remembering Miguel, smiling at the thought of Dakota, grimacing at the memory of Kyla. He stopped when he heard whispers and giggles. He pulled the shower curtain aside slightly and saw the naked twins sitting side by side on the toilet, with huge grins on their faces. “What are you two scamps doing in here?” Lucas asked, knowing they wouldn’t understand, since he’d left the translator in the other room. They laughed and ran out of the room, Marcello slapping Lorenzo’s butt cheek on the way. Then Marcello turned and gave Lucas a cheeky grin as he pulled the bathroom door closed. Lucas closed the shower curtain and turned back into the spray. He rinsed off his now throbbing cock and turned off the water. Then, pulling the curtain aside, he climbed out of the shower and wiped his body off quickly with a towel. He glanced down at his wrist and touched the gems on the silver wristband, pushing down quickly and decisively. The time field wrapped his body in its energies and he slipped in between the seconds. Opening the bathroom door, he saw the twins standing facing each other. Lorenzo’s small cock was hard, thin but long, now four inches and pointing straight at the ceiling, the foreskin falling back beneath a small mushroom cap. Marcello’s cock was pointing forward at Lorenzo, not fully erect yet, but in the process of getting there. Lucas walked up to the two of them and knelt down next to them. He held them in his hands, squeezing, relishing the hard tubes of flesh. It didn’t take long at all for Marcello to join his brother at full mast. Marcello’s erection was slightly longer, slightly thicker, a small pink tip poking out of the foreskin. Lucas leaned in and kissed Marcello’s cock, licking the tip first as he played with the dangling balls. Then he moved to Lorenzo and licked his cock from bottom to top before sliding his mouth over the hard little rod and sliding it completely into his mouth. He bobbed up and down for a minute, then pulled off and slid Marcello’s cock into his mouth until his lips pressed against the fuzzy hair growing above Marcello’s cock. Marcello had a slightly mustier scent than Lorenzo, not much, barely perceptible, but still noticeable. Lucas moaned and began sucking the youth aggressively, sliding his mouth up and down the four-inch rod while fondling the youngster’s balls. Within a minute, Lucas was rewarded by three small squirts of watery cum. He swallowed it greedily, relishing this gift of stolen time. He pulled Marcello’s foreskin down and cleaned his cock thoroughly, then used a towel to wipe away any remaining spit. Turning to Lorenzo, Lucas took the boy’s dick in his mouth and again started sucking hard and fast. Almost as quickly, he felt the boy’s balls suck up into his body and the tiny cock throbbed, but nothing came out. Lucas was disappointed, but only for a moment. He dried off Lorenzo with the towel and continued fondling the boy, whose hard shaft still pointed at the sky. Marcello’s cock was drooping now, so Lucas rubbed and stroked him until he was slightly firm again, much as he had been when Lucas first touched them. Then Lucas stood up and walked quickly back into the bathroom, closing the door and restarting time. He looked into the mirror above the sink, shrugged his shoulders at himself in resignation, then jerked himself off to a very satisfying orgasm into the porcelain sink. *** There was no school the next day, so the twins showed up early in the morning at Lucas’ store. Nothing was mentioned about the day before, the naked play in the apartment, or any strange events while Lucas had been showering. The twins were as cheerful and chatty as always and if anything, more flirtatious than ever. They hugged Lucas and held him around the waist as they asked if they could help him sort and organize his paintings. Lucas agreed and put them to work. Landscapes were given their own wall. People and animals took another. And the remaining paintings were arranged in a more-or-less sensible order on a third wall. It turned out that Lorenzo had a good eye for composition, so Lucas left it up to the twins to hang the paintings wherever they chose, with Lorenzo picking the spots from the center of the room and Marcello hammering nails in the walls wherever Lorenzo pointed. When they finished hanging the last painting, they all stood back and admired the handiwork. “Very nice,” Lucas said. “It looks like a real art gallery,” Marcello said with a smirk. “The paintings … they are beautiful, no?” Lorenzo asked. “You are a talented artist, Lucas.” Lucas simply smiled. “The important thing is the gallery is now ready for business. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thanks, guys.” “Where will you put Papa’s carvings?” Marcello asked. Lucas motioned for the boys to follow him outside. The Fiat was parked by the curb with the trailer attached. Lucas opened the trailer and showed the boys row after row of small tables stacked to the roof inside. He had them carry the tables into the gallery and arrange them in the center of the floor and in short rows, here and there. Then they cleaned and polished the tables until they gleamed. “Now … we go to your house and load up your father’s masterpieces.” Lucas gathered up his keys and motioned the boys out of the gallery, then closed and locked the doors. Marcello tapped Lucas on the shoulder. “First, we eat lunch!” Marcello stated, ever mindful of his next meal. “Don’t say a word,” Lorenzo said, putting his finger across Lucas’ lips to shush him. “Mamma told us to ask you to eat with the family after we finished working here.” Then the boys each grabbed Lucas, locking elbows with him, and marched laughing to the car. Lucas swatted them both on the butt as they climbed in the car. Marcello acted offended and gave Lucas an angry glare before breaking into a grin. Lorenzo wiggled his tush, daring Lucas to swat him again. “Now I see why your Papa said you need two lashes with a belt.” Lorenzo laughed and slid into the seat, pulling the door shut as he stuck out his tongue at Lucas. The afternoon was filled with food, playful conversation, and a little hard work. Maria served a delicious lunch of spiedini siciliani, thin strips of round steak, rolled up and crusted with bread crumbs, then skewered, cooked, and served with Romano cheese. Afterward, Giovanni and Lucas walked out to the workshop with the twins ambling along behind them, their arms draped companionably across each other’s shoulders. Giovanni picked a dozen of his wood carvings he wanted to sell, handing them carefully to the twins who wrapped each one in scraps of cloth before carrying them out and loading them in the trailer. Lucas, holding a small notebook, wrote down Giovanni’s title for each work, added a short description for his own benefit, then suggested an asking price. No matter what Lucas suggested, Giovanni shook his head, saying it was too much. Lucas finally stopped and put his hand on Giovanni’s shoulder. “My friend, do not undervalue your work. These are not simple wood carvings. They capture the heart of the viewer and send the soul soaring. They truly are masterpieces, and we must set a price that shows we value them as much as the buyer will. If we price them too low, no one will take us seriously. They will ask, `Why is such a beautiful work of art valued so little?’ We do not want that, my friend.” Giovanni could see what Lucas was getting at, but he still worried the prices were too high. “What if nothing sells? I will be wasting your time and taking up valuable space in your gallery, all for nothing.” Lucas shook his head. “That will not happen. Giovanni, people will buy your carvings. They will sell, and I ask you to trust me on the pricing.” He glanced down at his notebook and pointed at an entry. “Look here … Girl in Mourning … I am suggesting we ask 3000 euros for it. We will get it, Giovanni. Someone will pay that much. And this one … Falcon Adrift … I want to price it at 5000 euros. I think it’s one of your best pieces, so it will be in the very middle of the gallery floor. I know 5000 is a lot, but we can always let it go for 4500. I want to send a message to everyone who enters the gallery. THESE are masterpieces. Only the best artisans display their works here. And if you buy one of their pieces, you will take home the very best Milan has to offer.” Giovanni chuckled and shrugged. “I don’t know what to think about all this, Signore Lucas, but I will trust you.” *** The twins helped Lucas carry the wood carvings into the gallery and set each one up on a table. Lucas printed up small tags with the title and price for each piece. The twins were shocked when they saw what each would sell for, eagerly chattering about all the things Papa could buy if only one of his carvings sold. When the last tag was in place, Lucas called an end to the day’s work and led the way upstairs. In his bedroom, Lucas opened a small duffle bag and took out a few bills, then walked back into the front room and handed the boys eighty euros each. They took the money, stunned, then shouted with excitement and hugged Lucas, jumping against him and pressing their cheeks against his chest. “What will you do with all that money?” Lucas asked. “Buy a sports car,” Marcello replied, smirking. “Or two,” Lorenzo added, grinning. Lucas smiled, nodding his head. “Where will you park them?” “Here, at your gallery,” Marcello replied. “Because Mamma and Papa won’t let us park them at our house,” Lorenzo explained, still grinning. “I see. Well, if you park ankara gerçek resimli escort them here, I might take them for a drive while you’re in school,” Lucas teased. “We’ll let you,” Lorenzo said, magnanimously. “Just don’t scratch them.” “Or we’ll make you pay!” Marcello stated, shaking a finger in Lucas’ face. Lucas laughed. “Chinotto?” he offered, going to the refrigerator. *** Lorenzo was a striker for the Leoni di Milan, Marcello the center forward and team captain. Together, they were a deadly combination on the field. Marcello seemed to have a natural feel for the flow of the game, knowing when to pull his troops back on defense, challenging the opposing team, harassing, stealing the ball and suddenly launching a counterattack. Marcello would call for the ball, catching a pass against his chest, spinning in place and heel kicking the ball in a blind shot down the field to Lorenzo, who would stick out a foot and magically catch his brother’s pass, then fly toward the other goal, gliding across the grass with the ball dancing between his feet, slipping past one defender, then another, and flipping the ball up and over the goalkeeper into the back of the net. Five times the twins accomplished their stunning athletic magic that afternoon. Five times the ball bounced into the net. Five times the opposing team had the spirit knocked out of them until the referee blew his whistle and ended the massacre. The Leoni gathered at the center of the field, jumping and celebrating, lifting the twins to their shoulders and dancing. It was by far the biggest trouncing of an opponent so far that season, and the Leoni were now in the city playoffs, competing for the championship. Lucas watched from the sidelines with Giovanni and Maria. They radiated pride in their sons’ achievement. The boys had been practicing hard all year, perfecting their footwork and ball handling skills, but also working on their near-telepathic communication with one another. It was uncanny how each twin always seemed to know where the other one was on the field and when the other was in position to make a bold and decisive move. Nearby, Lucas noticed a young fellow holding a digital camera, quickly taking pictures and then moving to another spot to take more. He looked about the same age as Lorenzo and Marcello, but he was skinny as a toothpick. Certainly not an athlete like the twins. But he seemed fascinated by the celebration still raging in the center of the field, sliding up as close as possible to take more pictures, then moving back to catch the action from well back in the field. And it wasn’t just the winners he photographed; he also shot pictures of the losing team. Lucas was curious, so while the Morettis waited for their sons to finish celebrating with their teammates, Lucas approached the teen with the camera and said, “Ciao.” The youth lowered his camera. “Ciao.” “Did you enjoy the game?” Lucas asked, using the pocket translator to repeat the phrase in Italian. The young man’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “You are an American? You speak English?” His English was quite good, with very little accent. Lucas smiled. “Yes. And yes.” The youth frowned, slightly confused, so Lucas explained, “Yes, I’m an American. Yes, I speak English, although it’s been a while since anyone spoke English back to me. I’m Lucas.” The young man took Lucas’ hand, shaking it firmly. “I am Giancarlo … Giancarlo Trentino, but everyone calls me Carlo. I am thirteen. I attend school with some of the Leoni players. They are much better at calcio than me, but I am better at photography than they are.” Lucas grinned. “I’m Lucas Roberts. I’m from the United States, but I’ve lived all over the world. Now I live here in Milan and own an art gallery. And I am friends with the Morettis.” Carlo was excited to hear that. “Enzo and Marcello go to my school, though they are in the grade below mine. You are their friend. So am I! Che pazzi!” Lucas agreed, “Che pazzi! How crazy!” Lucas pointed at the camera. “You took pictures of the game? For a newspaper?” “No,” Carlo said, ducking his head bashfully. “For me. For my hobby.” “Oh, really? What is your hobby?” “Photography.” He shrugged. “It’s nothing really. I like to take pictures of the team during a game. To show victory and defeat. Their struggle. Their hope. Their disappointment. Their celebration.” “May I see what you’ve done?” “You would be interested?” “Of course.” “I am not sure it is good. You might not like it.” “I’d still like to see.” “I must transfer the shots to my laptop first, then organize them.” Lucas nodded. “When you finish, may I see them then.” Carlo smiled and promised he could, so Lucas gave him the address of the gallery and invited him to come by anytime. *** The next morning, the twins helped Lucas finish a long list of cleaning projects in the gallery prior to the grand opening. Floors swept. Floors mopped. Floors waxed. Windows cleaned inside and out. Staircase wiped down. Staircase polished. Wood carvings dusted. Leaning paintings straightened. Cobwebs in one corner knocked down. Lucas was upstairs, emptying a bucket of dirty water, when he heard the front door open and Marcello shout, “Carlo! Cosa stai facendo qui? (What are you doing here?)” Carlo gave an answer which seemed to satisfy Marcello, for when Lucas glanced over the stair railing, he saw all three boys standing in a circle, chattering away. Lucas shouted down, “Hello, Carlo. I’m glad you made it.” Carlo waved and held up a laptop, saying in English. “I brought my pictures, Signore Lucas.” Then he turned to the twins and added an explanation in rapid Italian. “Bene!” Lucas exclaimed. “Come up and show me.” While they sat on the sofa drinking sodas, Carlo placed his laptop on a side table and powered it up. He touched a few keys, and the screen filled with black-and-white images. The first showed only the faces of the boys on the team, kneeling in the grass and pressed together in their huddle, expressions intense. In dead center was Marcello, his eyes passionate and piercing, his lips frozen in exhortation, challenging, inspiring, cajoling his teammates. “How handsome I am,” Marcello joked. “I have a better nose,” Lorenzo teased. The twins fell backward on the sofa, poking each other until Lucas told them to sit still. Carlo rolled his eyes and swiped a finger across the screen. The next photo showed the captains from the opposing teams approaching each other, leaning forward to shake hands. Lucas could see confidence in some faces, trepidation in others, and anticipation in them all. Carlo had somehow managed to capture more than a simple coin toss. Lucas could feel how much the game meant to the players before it even began. Next up was a foot swiping through grass, catching a ball in mid stride, blades of grass flying through the air. Then a boy’s head. Eyes closed. Leaning forward slightly, the ball striking his forehead. Droplets of sweat flying through the air. The boy’s wet, matted hair flying away from his face. Then two boys, jostling for position, teeth clinched, arms entangled. Determined. Giving no ground. A boy sliding on his chest. The ball sailing just out of reach. Grimacing. Frustrated. A goalie. Body launched sideways. Arms outstretched. Eyes wide in fear. Fingertips brushing the ball, unable to reach it in time. Another of Marcello, arm raised and pointing. Shouting commands to his troops. Marshalling his warriors for battle. (Marcello liked that one. Carlo grinned, glancing sideways at Marcello. Lucas began to wonder if Carlo might have feelings for the muscular pre-teen.) Next, a shot of Lorenzo, falling backward. The ball hanging in the air above his foot. His body twisted in mid-air. His shirt shifted down, revealing his rippled stomach. His calf and thigh muscles tight as bowstrings, preparing to launch a surprise assault. (Lorenzo liked that one. Marcello bumped shoulders with Lorenzo and admitted it was a very good shot on goal.) Two boys huddled on the grass, kneeling down. One crying. Tears rolling down his face. The other holding him, consoling him as they came to terms with their defeat. The same two boys, from a few feet farther back. One helping the other to stand. One wiping away the tears with the back of his hand. The two boys again, this time standing with their backs to the camera, arms across each other’s shoulders, watching the opposing team huddled together, jumping in celebration across the field. It had grown silent in Lucas’ apartment as the last images slid across the screen. Marcello and Lorenzo were speechless, for once, staring with solemn expressions at the screen. Lucas was stunned, amazed. Carlo was an artist, without a doubt. He didn’t take pictures; he captured emotional moments. Lucas stood up and paced around the room, thinking. Then he turned to Carlo and said, “You must allow me to show your photographs in my gallery.” Carlo looked up, surprised. “What? What do you mean?” “These photographs of the game … I want to show them in my gallery. All of them. In a series along one wall, between the front windows. I want to print them and frame them and show them in the gallery.” Carlo ducked his head. “They aren’t good enough for that.” Lorenzo grabbed Carlo by the arm, shaking his head in denial. “No, no, Carlo. They ARE good enough. They are very, very good.” Marcello agreed, wrapping his arms around Carlo from the side. “Enzo is right, Carlo. These are tremendous. You are very talented, and everyone will be astonished when they see it.” Carlo frowned. “They are good?” Lucas stepped up and hugged all three boys in his arms. “They are! If we hurry, we can print them out tomorrow. Marcello will help me frame them. Lorenzo will clear a spot on the wall. The two of you will name each photo and make tags for them. We can have everything finished before I open the gallery on Wednesday.” And that is what they did. Lucas’ enthusiasm was contagious. *** The grand opening was a raging success. Several newspapers ran feature stories in their art sections. Lucas’ paintings received little notice, overwhelmed by the attention given to Giovanni’s woodwork and Carlo’s photography. Lucas didn’t mind. It was exactly what he’d hoped for: the gallery would be the launching pad for the true artists of Milan, not for time stealing imitators like himself. Lucas stood at the top of the stairs, watching reporters eagerly chatting with a humble Giovanni and a red-faced Carlo. It was all very exciting. Their futures were just beginning, and it was rewarding to know he’d been a part of it. He leaned down, putting his arms on the railing, and listened to the clicking of cameras and the hubbub of voices. Milan. It was becoming one of his favorite places. Two wriggling bodies slid up next to Lucas. Marcello on the left. Lorenzo on the right. They twined their strong, young arms around Lucas, hugging him from the side. He looked down and saw them smiling. Lorenzo’s face shown with gratitude. Marcello smiled and winked, then pulled Lucas tight. Lucas took the twins in his arms and hugged them back. Yes. Milan was fast becoming one of his favorite places of all time. End of THE GIFT OF STOLEN TIME, Chapter Six