Mick had been up all night drinking. It was something he had done often of late, his mind working in full force as he mulled over things. Life hadn't been going well for him lately, he was in debt, lost most of his family back home and any real meaningful relationships that he had formed had vanished. He found a good home with Capazzo and his family, but the reality is that he just felt alone. He felt like he lacked a real purpose in the world, and there really was no one to blame but himself. He lost his drive, the willpower to keep going. Setting the bottle of whiskey down, he sat at his table and began to write. Someone would find him eventually and he wanted to let them know this was his decision. Nobody was to blame for it ending this way but himself. 

Capazzo, boss. I want to thank you for giving me all the opportunity in the world to make it within your family. You worked with me personally, to ensure I had the best chances for success. I know that this might sting, and for that I deeply apologize. Know that this decision has nothing to do with you or the Family. I care about each one of you very greatly, and you all treated me wonderfully during my stay here. I just can't keep going on. My life.....it feels empty. I feel broken. I've tried to fix myself these last few weeks, but I haven't been able to. I honestly don't see any other way out of this. You may not understand, and I know that. Just know this is what I need to do. Maybe I'll be able to find myself again in the afterlife. Whether or not I do, the only thing I know for certain is that this life has to end. I need it to. I'm sorry. - Mick 

A few small wet droplets fell against the paper as he wiped his eyes and picked the bottle up once more. He downed the rest of it and threw the bottle against the wall, listening to the shattering of the glass as it hit. Funny, the shattering of glass is much the way he felt his life had turned out. Try as he might, you're never able to tape all the pieces back together. Some get lost, get thrown away. Gone forever. Standing from the desk, he walked to the window of his small apartment and stared out at this city. It was raining, thunder and lighting shaking the earth. Suiting, he thought as the noise wouldn't raise too much suspicion too quickly in the mess outside.

Hand against the glass, he could see that it was shaking. Was it nerves? Relief? Fear? He didn't know which, but could be any of them. He did not know what would become of him after he passed on. He wasn't a good person, didn't live a good life. He stole, he murdered, he committed acts that he knew would bar him from the gates of Heaven. Maybe that's why he was afraid, because deep down he knew which pit he was likely going to be sent to. With a sigh, he shook the thoughts from his head as lightning flashed in the window and allowed him to catch a glimpse of the man staring back. He was a shell of what he used to be. Beaten down from the alcohol and the curveballs that life had thrown his way. He used to walk so tall, so full of pride. Now what was he? A coward, a bum. It was almost too much to swallow.

Stepping away from the window, he picked up his Colt off the table and sat on his bed. It was time. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as he stuck the barrel into his mouth and bit down on the cool metal. He was still shaking, and the material rattled along his teeth. Opening his eyes as tears began to fall, he said a silent prayer as he stared up at the sky, begging forgiveness for what he was about to do, hoping that God wouldn't judge him too harshly for it. Gun cocked, he pulled the tirgger. A loud bang was the last thing he heard as the darkness pooled around him. His body falling against the bed, gun smoking as it fell to his side. The short life of Mick had finally ended.