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“Oh?” I asked. “Do you use the platform?”
“Not really,” he replied. “But I’ve heard great things about ACS. You in particular. Keep it up!”
I frowned in confusion as he walked away. Even more so when I Googled his name and realized he was the quarterback for the San Francisco Forty-Niners.
How does he know about me in particular?Maybe he was friends with Owen.
As we finished our conversations with various celebrities and made our way to our table for dinner, I leaned close to Furio and whispered, “You’re friends with Mark Dominican? The owner of the NBA team?”
“He has been a close personal friend for some time,” he replied as if it was not a big deal.
I took my seat and gazed around the room, marveling at how much collective wealth was in one place.
While we were served our six-course dinner, members of the Hope for the Future Fund went up on stage and gave presentations on all the good work that had been done this year. One woman from a women’s shelter gave an emotional speech about how a donation from the fund saved her and her family from an abusive household. An indigenous-rights organization spoke about the fight against Amazon deforestation on first people’s land. There were half a dozen presentations, each more heart-wrenching—and heart-warming—than that last.
Sure, this was a white-cloth event designed to boost the fund-members’ egos. A collective circle-jerk of billionaires cheering themselves on for just howgreatthey were. But I could also tell that they were making a massive impact with their work. The Hope for the Future Fund was truly amazing, and I found myself more endeared to Furio for being a part of it.
This is how you throw your weight around as a billionaire.
I thought the night was over, but then a woman in a black dress took the podium and announced that there was one more presentation, and that it would be given by board member Furio Rossi.
The room applauded—and I gawked—as Furio rose and walked up on stage. He looked totally comfortable behind the podium, with a level of confidence somewhere between movie star and supermodel.
“The Hope for the Future Fund has done amazing work this year, and I am proud to announce that there is one final piece of work to be completed. After a significant new donation from one of our members, we will be adding the Bay Area Cancer Research Center to our group of yearly recipients.”
The room clapped again, and I stared up at the podium with surprise.A cancer charity. That’s great!
“And I am even more proud to announce,” Furio went on, meeting my gaze, “that the first donation of fifty million dollars will be made in honor… of Marco Moltisanti.”
The applause was even louder this time, with murmurs of surprise at such a large amount for a first-time charity group. But I was frozen in my seat, my wine glass halfway to my lips, in total shock at what I had just heard.
Marco Moltisanti. My father.
A member of the Bay Area Cancer Research Center came up and shook Furio’s hand. There was no oversized check held up for photographs. Just a few kind words, a hug, and then Furio was coming back down to my table while the Cancer Center president began talking about what the money would be used for.
“Amber?” Furio asked me after sitting down. “Are you okay?”
“You donated fifty million. In my father’s name.”
“A hundred million, technically,” he replied. “But the remaining amount will be spread out over ten years, and hopefully bolstered by additional donations to the fund.”
“This was the surprise you mentioned yesterday, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Furio, this is amazing,” I whispered while the Cancer Center president droned on. “But this isn’t going to convince me to come work foreTodo.”
“I did not expect it to. Nor did Iintendit to. This charity is worthwhile on its own merits. And after hearing of your father’s illness and passing, I was compelled to do something. I hope I was not too eager…”
Not caring that everyone in the room could see, I threw my arms around Furio and kissed him. Then I held his hand and didn’t let go of it for the rest of the night.
55
Amber
As soon as we got in the limo, I pounced on Furio with reckless abandon. He barely had time to push the button to raise the divider so the driver couldn’t see us. I straddled him and squeezed him inside of me and rode him until both of us were crying out in the back seat of the limo.
And when we got back to his luxurious hotel room at the top floor of the San Francisco Omni, we got even dirtier.
