Novel & Cerita Russian Names

Joe pointed to his cousin. " Ya-what? " Alisson blinked in a daze. " Yaroslavovich, that's my patronymic, " Dimitri clarified. At least he thought so, because I was still as lost as before. " Is that a second name? " I frowned “Because if it is, couldn't your mother have chosen something easier to pronounce?” " Not exactly. It's a difficult concept to explain, in free translation it would be as if I were called "Dimitri son of Yaroslav of the Voitovich family.”

I frowned and looked at him, "What does that mean?" I asked, my head cocked to one side. "Malishka?" Nina asked, and I nodded. "It means Baby Girl, it's a Russian term of endearment." "You speak Russian?" I asked. I knew a few words from listening to Miranda and Vitaly "We are Russian after all," Mishka said. "We also speak Italian, German, French and Spanish." "Will you teach me?" I asked, looking between the two. "Which one, Solnishko?" Nikoli asked.

Things are good right now, and I'm happy with the news of the baby. I really am. "Victor," Roman echoes, looking at me. "I like that. A lot." "Victor Roman." "Ugh. No. I don't want him named after me." "You're his father." "That's so old-fashioned. How about Victor Nikolai?" I laugh. "After me?" "Sure." "It's an English name and a...what? Russian name?" "Why not? People are naming their kids after objects, Nikki." "Some objects have nice names."

• Molotov Ruskaya Mafia: Molotov Russian Mafia • Pravoslavnaya: Orthodox Church/ Faithful ones • Matushka: Russian polite classic term for mother.

it would have been him. I watched him, saying nothing, letting that thought settle into my eyes until he saw it. He got his silent answer and his eyes slid closed, like he was trying to keep me away from his emotions, “What are their names?” “Ruslan and Ivanov.” His eyes slowly peeled open in surprise, “You gave them Russian names?” I said nothing.

His words were no longer making sense, and if she was going to freeze to death here, she’d at least carry his name with her to hell. The man looked to his side and gave a brief nod. Soon there were footsteps again, and one of his lackeys appeared to hand him a thick blanket. “Ah, forgive me for my lack of manners.” He stood unmoving, taunting her with the fabric in his hand. “My name is Alexei Nikolin. You’ll be under my custody until your father manages to pay every last cent.” The slightest accent showed when he pronounced his name. Her eyebrows met. “You’re Russian.”

Ambrose spat out his own perception of the name. “Yeah, I agree with that.” I nodded after realizing it really sounded Russian and you might have to pronounce the letter r with some sort of thickness to it. “So how was Dimitri’s night?” I asked trying my best to pronounce the name with the thickness right on the syllable where the letter r is. “Dimitri just had the best night of his life.” Ambrose rebutted and he even copied the way I said Dimitri. He sounded cute when he tried to copy me.

—I asked, noticing he was just staring at me. —Now you understand why they couldn't grow up away from you. —Because you're a total disaster, with a passing interest, who couldn't live without me? —He laughed. —You couldn't have put it better. —This time I shrugged. —Do they have names? —I have two in mind —I gestured for him to continue—. Ragnar for the male... means lethal strength and primitive loyalty. You agree? —Very masculine, though quite fitting for their father's character —he just smiled. —And the other?

I copy the text and head to my translation app where I converted the words to English. My eyes quickly roam across the screen as I read. The reports from the website reads that Dima Kozlov is the top oligarch in Russia who owns a factory that produces weapons and some other shady things. He runs the street of Russia and is the main ruler of the underworld. Holy Moly. I’m all but a nervous wreck at the information I just read. That means…he's a mafia if I am to qualify it with an English word. From the books I’ve read, the Russian Mafioso are referred to as Bratva.

Stop making connections where there aren’t any. But the itch in his brain didn’t stop. So he kept pushing. “What’s your full name?” Ethan blinked at him. “Ethan.” “Yeah, but… Ethan what? Ethan what-surname?” “S-sirname?” Ethan repeated, stumbling over the word. “Your mom’s last name,” Reid clarified. “What do you use after your name?” The boy thought hard, little brows scrunched. “Russo,” he finally said, as if it was a prize he had discovered under the bed. “Ethan Russo.”