He had witnessed me being driven to the brink of suicide by Elara and her mother.
Once, he had been willing to argue with them on my behalf, even to the point of furious outbursts. He had stood in front of me like a wall between me and them, his voice shaking the windows of the Corsetti parlor.
What on earth had driven him to oppose me and start defending Elara?
I let the pain overwhelm me and told Ansel, word by word.
"Unless she dies before my eyes, I will never forgive her!"
Ansel's forehead was throbbing and he was visibly about to lose his temper. The muscle in his jaw flexed. His hand dropped to his side, fingers curling once, twice. The hallway seemed to narrow around us.
This was the same look he had when he used to rage at Elara and her mother on my behalf.
"Serafina! How did you become so bitter after just two years in Palermo? If you can't find it in yourself to forgive her, then at least apologize to Elara! I can't stand the thought of people in every family from here to the old country mocking my blood-promised as a spiteful, resentful woman!"