Mafia's Accidental Bride

A Wedding Invitation and a World of Trouble

The crisp white invitation felt like a foreign object in Nadia's hand, its embossed lettering gleaming under the bakery's warm light. The name "Nadia Petrova" stared back at her, a glaring error that had propelled her into uncharted territory.
Sleep had been scarce the night before. Visions of opulent mansions, suited men with steely gazes, and whispers of the notorious Russo mafia danced through her mind. The world she knew - the comforting rhythm of the bakery, the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods, the familiar faces of her customers - felt miles away.

Anxiety gnawed at her, battling with the spark of curiosity. A part of her, the adventurous baker who found inspiration in the unexpected, yearned to unravel the mystery. The sensible part, however, urged caution. The Russo were not names casually associated with invitations. They were whispered about in hushed tones, their reputation a chilling mix of power and ruthlessness.
The only sensible thing right now is to forget that she received this invitation and get on with her life. There are more pressing matters she needs to tend to instead of wasting her time on a wedding invitation where she does not know a single soul.

The morning brought little solace. The silence before the usual pre-lunch rush felt deafening. As Nadia arranged freshly baked croissants on the display counter, her eyes kept drifting toward the pocket where the invitation resided. She could not sleep a wink thinking about it. She sprayed a cleaner on the counter and began wiping it but her brain was not letting her concentrate on the task.
It does not hurt to look. Does it?
Finally, unable to ignore the itch in her curiosity anymore, she decided to retrieve it.
As Nadia wrestled with her curiosity, the bakery door swung open, its cheerful chime announcing the arrival of her best friend, Elena. Elena, a whirlwind of vibrant energy and infectious laughter, was the antithesis of the world depicted in the unsettling invitation. Her arrival, a breath of fresh air in the tension-filled morning, brought a much-needed smile to Nadia's face.

"Wakey Wakey my dear Nadia?" Elena announced, her voice echoing through the quiet bakery.
Dressed in her usual attire of a paint-splattered smock and mismatched socks, she looked like a burst of color against the muted backdrop. She looked like a unicorn vomited on her.
Elena was an artist, her studio a kaleidoscope of dreams brought to life on canvas. Their friendship, forged in the shared struggles of starting their own businesses, was as strong as the coffee they brewed together every morning.
"Actually," Nadia began, her voice hesitant, "I was thinking of closing up a bit early today."

Elena's brow furrowed. "Early? But you always have that lunch rush…"

Nadia gestured vaguely towards the counter. "Yeah, well, things are a bit…slow today." It was a lie, but the truth, the unsettling truth of the invitation, felt too bizarre to share just yet.

"Or maybe," Elena said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "you have a secret rendezvous planned for later?"

Nadia choked on a laugh. "A rendezvous? In this flour-dusted haven? Hardly."

Elena ambled over to the counter, her gaze falling on the discarded magazine. With a playful jab, she sent it spinning across the countertop. "Intrigued by the world of the rich and ruthless, are we?" she teased, picking up the magazine and scanning the headline about the Russo mafia.

Nadia felt a pang of guilt. Elena, with her sunny disposition and unwavering trust in the good of the world, wouldn't understand the unsettling allure of the invitation. "Just browsing," Nadia mumbled, hoping to deflect the conversation.

"Hmm, the Russos," Elena mused, flipping through the pages. "Not exactly the company I'd recommend keeping, my dear. All glitz and glamor on the outside, darkness lurking beneath. It is heard they have skeletons in their wardrobe. Literally and Figuratively."

Nadia's heart hammered in her chest. Elena, with her casual dismissal, had unknowingly validated Nadia's apprehension. Yet, a strange defiance bubbled within her. "Maybe a little darkness is precisely what this bakery needs," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Elena's smile faltered. She knew Nadia well enough to recognize the uncharacteristic glint of defiance in her eyes. "What exactly are you planning, Nadia?"

Just then, the bakery door chimed again. Nadia whipped around, her hand instinctively reaching for the invitation on the counter. It was a young woman, nervous and out of place, clutching a pristine white envelope. Relief washed over Nadia, momentarily eclipsing the curiosity that had been gnawing at her.

"Hi, I'm uh, Nadia?" the woman stammered, holding out the envelope.

The envelope was identical to the one Nadia held, addressed to a "Nadia Petrova" at the Russo estate. Elena, her brow furrowed in confusion, shifted her gaze between the two envelopes and Nadia's flustered expression. The air crackled with unspoken questions, the playful banter replaced by a heavy silence.