Fegan moved around the coffin, heading for the door. McGinty blocked his path.
"I mean it, Gerry. Don't test me. You don't want to tell her, all right, but don't interfere."
Fegan stepped to one side, but McGinty gripped his arm, and the two looked hard into each other's eyes. The politician's thin lips broke into a soft smile. He cupped Fegan's face in his hands, leaned in, and placed a dry kiss on his cheek.
"We've always been such good friends," McGinty said. "Ever since you were a kid. Don't fuck it up over a woman. Not a whore like Marie McKenna."
Fegan's cheek burned. He pulled away and finally reached the door. The people on the landing made way for him, and he hurried down the stairs.
Stuart Neville, The Ghosts Of Belfast (2009)