It is what binds them, because they are spookily alike in their free-spirited, loose-limbed way of going down an interesting road. Honestly, such are the similarities they could be three models from the same manufacturer. Alfine Maseo, perhaps?
So we have assembled them to celebrate this distinct character. It is a Last Supper, sort of. Having had a recent refresh (more power, new mechanical limited-slip diff, tweaked dampers), the Giulia QV retires this year, and the little A110 will be gone in 2026.
If the nameplates reappear, they will be on cars that are electrified – read: heavier and less transparent.
As for the Maserati, it’s a survivor. Outside the blue-chip realm of Gordon Murray’s T50 and co, this is the only supercar that doesn’t lug around a drive battery.
These are likeably straightforward cars with compact turbocharged motors, rear-wheel drive and thoroughbred suspensions.
And, of course, suspension rates so unctuously compliant they border on the tender, relative to their rivals. They’re cars designed to be at their best in the ugly, unpredictable real world; their aim is to impress the driver, not a stopwatch.
The V6-fired Giulia Quadrifoglio was the vanguard of this… What to call it?
The modern Latin sports car orthodoxy? It’s a big-hearted super-saloon with a sawn-off Maranello V8 in its nose and 190mph potential, and it glides from corner to corner with the beguiling ease of an E39 BMW M5.
Back in 2016, when we first drove it, it was instantly different from any M car or AMG; today, it has lost a little ‘wow’ factor in straight-line speed and the damping doesn’t feel as clever as it once did, but its fundamental joy and individuality remains.
And to think the Yanks get this car with three pedals… Never mind ‘like’ an E39 M5, that car in effect is an E39 M5.
Enjoyment of the Giulia derives from the realisation that, even in a car that will unstick its rears with the casual aggression of a toddler ripping the lid off a Petits Filous, body movements need not be feared.
