Namesake, Hell



The boy would not look up from his game. Carbone felt his gorge rising.

The guide went on, oblivious. “Craftsmen from Naples and Sicily were brought in special to do the plaster carving. They would fight, so the foreman had to have them work on different floors.”

“Enzo’s great grandfather was one of those craftsmen,” Lorna said, pride in her voice as though the kid was something special. “His namesake, in fact.”

The guide looked at him for the first time. “Are you artistic, Enzo?

Fully absorbed, Enzo did not answer.

Carbone couldn’t even look at him. Namesake, hell.