Chapter 1 - The Man Who Asked for the Virgin Mary
The execution wing at Stateville Correctional Center had a silence unlike any other place in the prison.
It was not ordinary quiet.
It was the kind of silence that seemed to understand what happened there.
At 11:18 p.m., Salvatore Bianke walked through it in chains.
Two correctional officers moved beside him, but neither touched him. They did not need to. Salvatore had made no attempt to resist during the five years since the state had sentenced him to death.
At thirty-six, he remained physically imposing—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair swept away from a face that newspapers had printed hundreds of times. Silver had begun appearing at his temples. A faint scar crossed his left jaw.
There had been a time when men at the South Docks lowered their voices simply because Salvatore Bianke had entered a room.
Tonight, he wore an orange prison uniform.
His wrists were cuffed.
And less than an hour remained before the state intended to end his life.
For three weeks, he had requested almost nothing.
No powerful attorneys.
No calls to the politicians who had once attended dinners in rooms controlled by men connected to him.
No final negotiations.
No desperate appeal.
He had waited for the execution almost as if it were an appointment he had already accepted.
Officer Wade had escorted condemned prisoners before.
Some cursed.
Some cried.
Some prayed.
Some insisted until the final door closed that somebody would save them.
Salvatore did none of those things.
Then, halfway down the corridor, he stopped.
Wade immediately looked at him.
“What is it?”
Salvatore turned his head toward a narrow wooden door.
The chapel.
Standing several feet behind him was Ruth Delgado.
She carried a small Bible tightly against her chest.
For three weeks she had served as Salvatore’s assigned chaplain.
For three years she had hated him.
Tonight, she had promised herself she could walk beside him without allowing that hatred to show.
Then Salvatore spoke.
“I want to see the Blessed Mother.”
Wade stared at him.
“You want what?”
“The Virgin Mary.”
The request had been approved earlier, but hearing him say it now unsettled everyone standing in the corridor.
Men approaching execution normally asked for family.
A cigarette.
A meal.
A telephone.
Salvatore Bianke wanted a statue.
Warden Doyle appeared from behind the officers.
“You have ten minutes.”
Salvatore nodded.
“Thank you.”
Ruth watched him carefully.
There was something about his expression that disturbed her more than fear would have.
He looked certain.
Not certain he would survive.
Certain about something else.
The officers opened the chapel.
Warm candlelight spilled across the corridor.
Salvatore stepped inside.
The chapel was small. Dark wooden pews filled most of the room. Blue light from narrow stained-glass windows mixed with the amber glow of candles burning near the altar.
Behind the altar stood a statue of the Virgin Mary.
Salvatore stopped.
For the first time that night, his composure almost broke.
His lips parted.
His shoulders lowered.
And Ruth saw something she had never expected to see on his face.
Grief.
Not fear for himself.
Grief.
Salvatore slowly approached the statue.
Ruth followed.
The officers remained near the door.
When Salvatore reached the first pew, he lowered himself carefully onto his knees despite the chain around his ankles.
Ruth stood behind him.
She wanted to remain cold.
She reminded herself of Miguel.
She reminded herself of Sophia.
Her husband.
Her daughter.
The two people whose deaths had been blamed on Salvatore Bianke’s organization.
Three years earlier, bullets fired outside a neighborhood grocery store had destroyed Ruth’s life.
Authorities had told her that Salvatore had approved the attack.
She had believed them.
She had attended his trial.
She had watched the judge pronounce death.
And when Salvatore turned toward her that day, Ruth had interpreted his stare as the final insult of an unrepentant murderer.
Now that same man was kneeling before Mary.
Salvatore crossed himself.
Then he whispered something Ruth could not hear.
She moved closer.
“What did you say?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“For my mother.”
Ruth said nothing.
“And for yours.”
Her expression hardened.
“Don't.”
Salvatore stood slowly.
“Ruth—”
“You don't get to pray for my family.”
The officers looked toward them.
Salvatore lowered his voice.
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
“I understand more than you believe.”
Her fingers tightened around the Bible.
“You have forty minutes left to live. Don't spend them pretending you care about the people your organization killed.”
Salvatore looked directly at her.
For three weeks he had allowed almost every accusation to pass without defense.
Tonight was different.
“I never ordered their deaths.”
Ruth froze.
The candle between them flickered.
She stared at him.
“What?”
Salvatore did not repeat himself immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the Virgin Mary.
“I have done things I will answer for.”
Ruth's breathing grew shallow.
“I have hurt people. I have threatened men. I have built a life on fear. I am not asking you to believe I was innocent.”
He faced her again.
“But Miguel and Sophia were never supposed to die.”
Hearing their names from his mouth felt like being struck.
“How dare you say their names?”
“I knew their names before the trial.”
Ruth stepped backward.
Salvatore continued.
“I knew where Miguel worked. I knew Sophia loved the lake. I knew she carried a brown teddy bear the night she died.”
Ruth's face drained of color.
That detail had never been released publicly.
“Where did you hear that?”
Salvatore remained silent.
“Where?”
Wade glanced toward Doyle.
The warden moved closer.
“Miss Delgado—”
“Stay out of this.”
Her eyes never left Salvatore.
“My daughter had that bear with her. That was never in the newspapers.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Salvatore looked toward the chapel door.
“Because somebody who was there told me.”
Ruth stopped breathing for a second.
“The police said there were no surviving witnesses.”
“There was one.”
“Who?”
“He disappeared before my trial.”
“Who?”
Salvatore's gaze became heavier.
“A man named Tomas Vale.”
Ruth searched her memory.
The name meant nothing.
Salvatore took one step toward her.
The officers immediately tensed.
He stopped.
“Tomas saw the vehicle.”
“What vehicle?”
“The car used by the shooters.”
Ruth shook her head.
“No. The prosecution proved your men did it.”
“They proved the guns came through one of my warehouses.”
“That means they were yours.”
“Yes.”
His answer stunned her.
Salvatore did not avoid it.
“The weapons belonged to my organization.”
Ruth's anger returned.
“Then what exactly are you denying?”
“That I sent them.”
“Someone under you did.”
“Yes.”
“Then you were responsible.”
Salvatore closed his eyes briefly.
“In more ways than the court understood.”
Ruth's voice cracked.
“My husband and my four-year-old daughter died.”
“I know.”
“Don't say that like you understand.”
“I have thought about them every day for three years.”
“Why?”
Salvatore looked toward Mary again.
Then he gave an answer Ruth would remember for the rest of her life.
“Because their deaths were meant to destroy me.”
Ruth stared at him.
Outside the chapel, a telephone rang somewhere deep in the prison.
No one moved.
She whispered, “What does that mean?”
Salvatore's eyes returned to hers.
“The men who killed your family weren't trying to finish a gang war.”
He paused.
“They were creating one.”
Ruth felt the room tilt.
“And they needed the city to believe I ordered it.”
“Why?”
“Because once I was gone, somebody else could take everything.”
Ruth shook her head.
“This is convenient. Forty minutes before your execution, suddenly there's another killer.”
“I've known his name for years.”
“Then why didn't you tell anyone?”
Salvatore looked at the Virgin Mary.
“Because telling the truth would have killed another innocent person.”
Ruth stared at him.
“Who?”
Salvatore's jaw tightened.
“My younger sister.”
The chapel seemed suddenly colder.
Ruth opened her mouth, but Warden Doyle interrupted.
“Time.”
Ruth spun toward him.
“No.”
Doyle's expression softened.
“Miss Delgado.”
“I need five minutes.”
“You've had ten.”
“I need five more.”
Salvatore surprised them both.
“No.”
Ruth looked at him.
He seemed calmer than before.
“Why?”
“Because if you're going to learn the rest, it cannot begin with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Salvatore nodded toward the Bible she held.
“Go to my cell.”
Ruth frowned.
“There is a Bible under the mattress.”
“Your mother's Bible?”
“Yes.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The back cover.”
Ruth's heart began pounding.
“What is there?”
Salvatore gave her a tired look.
“Proof that I expected this night.”
The officers stepped toward him.
Ruth remained frozen as they led him toward the door.
Before leaving, Salvatore turned.
“Ruth.”
She stared at him.
“If the envelope is still there, don't give it to the warden.”
Doyle heard him.
His expression sharpened.
Ruth whispered, “Why?”
Salvatore looked past Doyle toward the empty corridor.
“Because someone inside this prison has spent three years making sure I never leave it alive.”
May you like
And then the chapel door closed behind him.
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