Russian Names Novels & Stories

Demi glanced at Yuri then turned to Talli and asked, “Which one?” “Dexter Pavel.” “Who is he?” Yuri asked. “He claims to be a distant cousin to Rizvan Dreususs,” Talli informed them. “I don’t think I’ve ever met the man in question, but I have heard this claim before.” Silence held the room as each man present took a moment to digest this new information. Rizvan Dreususs, was one of the last exiled Russian royals. Royalty in Russian died out when the people executed Tzar Nickolas and his family, those that remained fled for their lives. They kept a low profile and had almost died out by this time. Rizvan was one of the last people of the Tzar’s family fourth generation removed.

††018†† Jasmine's Point Of View: "Russian?" I asked, my brows furrowing. “Yes. Your father's name is Dmitri Kuznetsov. Mother's name is Natalia Razin.” "How do they have different last names?”, "It was a long story which they explained back then, but I can't remember since we didn't record that.” "Is there a way I can reach them?” I asked. She hummed. "Yes, we have your Father's address. Hopefully, he's still staying there. Just give me a minute,” she said, standing up to her feet.

And the warmth in his crotch only grew. "V-Valentino." He shook his head. "Wrong." Like hell he'd let him call him that. "Val?" He shook his head again, feeling a bile rise in his throat. Ugh! Celyn called him that. No way in hell! "Then what?" He stopped licking his hand, his lips curving into a grin. "In Russia," he started, moving lower just enough for him to rest his chin on the boy's chest. "My name's 'Valentin' and it has versions. Valik, Valya, Valyusha, Valek. You can choose," he murmured.

I was bored with nothing to do, my legs were in the air, and I moved them up and down as I sang along to a song. "Natalya..." a warning and I stopped humming the song immediately. I pulled my legs down and sat on the couch like a normal person. "You know, I researched your name" I voiced. He didn't look at me, only nodded. "What about it?" "There was this big book in the library with names from all over the world. Your first name is Russian and your last name is Italian?" "Hmm..." again an uninterested hmm. "Why?" "My mother's a Russian and my father is an Italian" he answered smoothly.

His eyes are still tired, still a little red from crying in the car on the way home, but they’re softer now. “We should talk about names,” he says quietly. “For real this time. Before she decides for us.” I smile a little, even though my throat feels tight. “I thought we’ve already settled for Sandra” “Not officially Livia” He says “Okay. You start.” He thinks for a second, fingers still moving on my ankles like he needs the contact to think straight. “I like Elena,” he says. “It’s soft but strong. It has Russian roots, but it works anywhere. It feels… hopeful.”

Blake simply took the mug as Anastasia set the tray on the coffee table “is there anything that you two may need, Ilya, Yaroslav?” “Thank you, Aunt Nikita” I said shaking my head. She nodded and walked back into the kitchen leaving the four of us. “Ilya?” Anastasia asked frowning in confusion. “Elijah is my English name, Ilya is the Russian version of it” I explained “now back to business, what’s the deal with the killer? And what would he have to do with one of my men?”

Since I stood up from his bed last night I had a funny feeling in my stomach. “I’m fine I promise. Let me get ready so you can go.” “No rush milaya,” he rubbed his thumb on my bottom lip. “Your first Russian lesson.” “What does it mean?” My heart was beating out of my chest. “It’s a pet name, like honey or darling.” He kissed me again and I slowly got up to get in the shower. My legs were like jelly.

she finished weakly. I stared at her. “I refuse this. I do not accept this. It would not be happening.” Then slowly I turned toward him again. “Nikolai,” I repeated flatly. He nodded once. Of course his name would be something aggressively Russian and intimidating. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “I had the same reaction,” he replied dryly. Excuse me? I narrowed my eyes immediately. “You’re the one with the personality of expired milk.” I eyed him.

She and I had always been very close, and that hadn't changed as she'd begun to grow into a beautiful young woman. She was beautiful indeed. Her mom was Russian born, and unbelievably gorgeous, but very slender in the way that most Eastern European women are. Sasha (short for Alexandra in the Russian tradition) had her mother's golden locks and light brown eyes, but she was a little shorter, and bigger in the hips and chest. She looked better in a bikini than most of the girls you see on magazine covers.

Faina Petrov Andrey doesn’t share his father’s surname for reasons of cunning and security. My godfather wants his son to remain unlinked to him, preventing our enemies from using him as leverage. Just like my father did with me and my mother, always prioritizing the family’s protection. That’s why my birth certificate doesn’t carry his name. To those closest to us, I am Faina Petrov—and that’s how I like to be known. To our enemies and the world outside our bubble, Faina Petrov actually died at birth.