Maserati Quattroporte IV- 2,0 V6, 24V Biturbo

MASERATI QUATTROPORTE V6 2,0 24V

Despite its storied history as a manufacturer of beautiful, luxurious, and fast cars that conquered the world's racing tracks, Maserati was not in very good shape in the 1980s. The factory was owned by the Argentine Alejandro de Tomaso (who saved it from bankruptcy in 1975 from the clutches of Citroën...), but the quality and sales of the Biturbo models, offered in numerous performance variants, were not particularly dazzling. Due to this, the automaker and its owner found themselves in a difficult economic situation, which was intended to change by coming under the wing of a new co-owner: none other than Fiat. After the sale of the remaining 49% of shares in 1993, Fiat took definitive control of the company.

Its new models were meant to attract customers yearning for uniqueness, a sporting spirit, and maximum quality with unmistakable Italian charm. The simplest step when one wants to look good is to have a high-quality suit tailored by an Italian master. And when I say master, I mean a Master with a capital M: Marcello Gandini. His most famous creations are now indelible legends that need no further introduction—just to mention a few: the Lamborghini Miura, Lancia Stratos, Lamborghini Countach, Bugatti EB 110, and others.

Maserati's portfolio thus saw the arrival of three models that, at first glance, cannot deny they are siblings. All are united by one distinctive element through which Marcello Gandini breathed immortality into them: the unmistakable shape of the rear wheel arch flare. As time goes by, this bold feature is exactly what is guaranteed to catch your eye on these triplets at first sight. The rarest of the trio—and also the most expensive and now completely unobtainable—is the breathtaking Maserati Shamal, which saw the debut of the now-legendary 3.2 4AC V8 engine, naturally with twin turbochargers. Very similar to it, though significantly more accessible both then and now, is the Maserati Ghibli, produced in two displacement versions: 2.0 and 2.8 liters, both exclusively in six-cylinder variants. The final member of the trio is the subject of our test today: the Maserati Quattroporte.

The car was officially unveiled at the Turin Motor Show in the spring of 1994 and drew well-deserved attention. It was a car with a classic sedan body layout, which by today's standards would fall into the compact executive class. The Quattroporte measured only 4.5 meters, which is considerably less compared to the latest generation. Conceptually, the car continued to build on the Biturbo series but aimed to improve everything that could be improved. Our test car dates from 1997, making it a pre-facelift model before the extensive modernization that took place after Maserati was brought under the wing of Ferrari. Models produced after 1998 bear the Evoluzione designation; with the goal of improving quality and reliability, Ferrari implemented nearly 400 modifications, ranging from minor aesthetic retouches in the exterior and interior to interventions on individual engine components.

Our test car currently shows just under 140,000 km on the odometer and has had an interesting life. The car was first registered in Italy and served as a representative vehicle for a ceramic production and sales company. After the turn of the millennium, it moved to Greece, only to return once again a few years ago.

At first glance, the Quattroporte captivates with its compact proportions. If something about the front grille seems familiar, believe me, you are not alone. The shapes of the grille and the arrangement of the lights share something with the Lancia Kappa and the smaller Delta. The dominant feature of the car, however, is the rising waistline that flows seamlessly under the rear window into the trunk lid, emphasized by the aforementioned slanted rear wheel arch line. The rear end is dominated by bold tail lights, the central trident emblem, and two sets of twin exhaust tips. Personally, I find the original contouring beneath the rear lights—a unique design element on this car—to be striking. The wheels were produced in two variants: always 16 inches for the series before the modernization, and 17 inches after. It is incredible how the transition from 16 to 17-inch rims dramatically benefited the car's appearance. And this is despite my belief that the number of spokes on a wheel should be like the number of roses in a bouquet: always an odd number.

As soon as you reach for the door, the first thing that should catch your attention is the angle at which it opens—a full 90 degrees. Ingress is thus remarkably comfortable, and you can forget about squeezing through a cramped opening to reach the rear seats. The car is designed as a four-seater, though it could certainly carry a fifth passenger in an emergency. However, in a vehicle of this class, that would be considered a social faux pas.

The 90s were a period when almost all manufacturers struggled with poor plastic quality—they were usually hard, poorly cushioned, unpleasant to the touch, and above all… they made various squeaking noises, which does not suit a car of this character and price. The Italians solved this brilliantly. they covered the plastics in high-quality Connolly leather. And they did so everywhere. Where there is no leather, you will find soft Alcantara—on the headliner, the dashboard (to prevent reflections in the windshield), and the door panels. Customers could choose the leather shade individually; most commonly, we encounter cognac, ivory, blue, or black. Dark green was a true rarity. Similarly, the exterior paint palette was very rich. It is incredible how a change in the color combination of the body and interior can dramatically transform the car's appearance. Our variant, Blu Spaziale (Space Blue) with white leather, is so typical for Italian limousines. Another interior specialty is the elm wood veneer, which even after nearly 30 years shows no signs of damage or cracking. As the cherry on top, a Lassale clock watches over the driver from the center of the dashboard. Unfortunately, the Evoluzione versions lost this jewel, much to the chagrin of many owners. Personally, I agree with them. The Lassale clock, however archaic it may look, simply belongs in a Maserati interior just as much as an open gated shifter belongs in a Ferrari. The steering wheel has a large diameter and a look typical of its era. It didn't win many beauty contests, but thanks to its four-spoke design, it doesn't obstruct the view of the instrument cluster. An interesting detail is the Maserati logo delicately inset into the wood of the steering wheel, which your left thumb will constantly touch—just so you don't forget what car you are sitting in. And should the full name slip your mind, the 'Maserati' script on the wood veneer in front of the passenger, rendered in the brand's signature font, will remind you. The instrument cluster itself also betrays its time of origin. It looks as if it slept through the previous decade, yet it is beautiful nonetheless. Personally, I have a weakness for anything bearing the Veglia Borletti name, and a speedometer calibrated to 300 km/h is one of them. Furthermore, as befits a car with a sporting soul, you have classic gauges providing information on battery charging, fluid temperatures, and, most importantly, oil pressure.

You will certainly notice the group of green LEDs indicating the suspension stiffness settings. In pre-modernization versions, this is controlled by a button on the center console; in Evoluzione versions, by a small keypad in the same location.

Upon turning the key in the ignition, a deep rumble erupts, immediately settling into a steady idle. The steering is precise, though somewhat numb around the center axis. What quickly strikes you is the overall lightness with which the car glides through the landscape. It is no wonder, as the weight was kept to a reasonable 1,545 kg. The engine in our car has a displacement of 2.0 liters and was sold on the domestic market, where cars with larger engines were significantly taxed. It is remarkable that its output is slightly higher than that of the larger 2.8-liter version (211 kW versus 209 kW). I think we can dwell on its performance for a moment. If it hasn't caught your attention yet, let me repeat the numbers: 2 liters, 211 kW (287 hp)! The specific output is thus over 140 hp per liter. If we compare the rival engine from Alfa Romeo—yes, one of the most magnificent engines in history—the 2.0 V6 TB (Turbo Benzina) produced 148 kW (201 hp). The engine in the Quattroporte thus has nearly 50% more power. This engine had no performance competition in its day. Even its appearance can capture your heart—the red-painted intake and red heads with the inscription V6 24V 4 AC (alberi a camme—meaning camshafts) are so typical of Maseratis from that era. On each side of the exhaust manifold sits an IHI turbocharger, whose boost pressure is monitored by a small gauge located between the speedometer and tachometer. Though rendered in a very simple design with colored hatching, you will love watching its needle. As soon as it moves into the orange field, things start to happen. Up to approximately 3,000–3,500 RPM, the engine feels quite blunt—a strong two-liter, but nothing that would stir much emotion. On the other hand, this car is primarily meant to cover highway distances smoothly, quietly, and comfortably, where piercing engine or exhaust noise is not desired. But once the tachometer needle passes 4,000 RPM, the turbochargers catch their breath and catapult the car toward 6,500 RPM with a stunning soundtrack. After shifting, the boost pressure doesn't let up, the revs drop back into the 'action' range, and the acceleration continues: 160, 180, 200, 220 km/h. This is where it finally dawns on you that you are driving a Maserati. The acceleration only stops when the speedometer needle crosses 260 km/h (the 3.2 version even reaches 270 km/h). Here, in highway battles, the German competition had to yield. Tell me, how many cars could take four passengers on board, surround them in leather and wood, and transport them at speeds exceeding 250 km/h? The car is capable of accelerating even at speeds above 200 km/h; it isn't a case of the needle lazily crawling upward. After all, a 0–100 km/h sprint in 5.9 seconds is still respectable today. To stay in 1994 for a moment, the then-outgoing Ferrari 348 accelerated in 5.6 seconds with 300 hp. That makes for an interesting comparison.

In our case, the gearbox is a 6-speed manual, though an automatic was available as an option. The gear throws are relatively precise but require significant force, especially at the stiff engagement point. Reverse is positioned in the same plane as first gear but closer to the driver. You must overcome stiff resistance and pull the lever harder toward yourself. At first, you need to be very careful; during my first drive, I accidentally engaged reverse instead of first. Luckily, no one was standing behind me. It is also wise to wait for the gearbox oil to warm up, which smooths out the action. On the other hand, I enjoy it when shifting requires some muscle and isn't as soft as in today's modern cars. Naturally, the rear wheels are driven, and a limited-slip differential helps manage the power delivery to the tarmac. However, do not expect pure sports car behavior or carving through corners with a sliding rear end. Well, you can, but it will be the last thing you do before tasting the ditch. Be very careful with the throttle in corners, especially in the wet. If the turbos kick in while traction is on the limit, there is no saving it. This was one of the flaws contemporary press criticized when comparing it to German rivals. What is there to say? Italian cars have their own temperament; either you play by their rules, or they will quickly outplay you. They simply aren't for everyone, and that's a good thing.

But since I've touched upon the comparison with Ferrari, let's look at how much the Quattroporte actually cost in 1994. In Italy, it was approximately 180 million lire; in Sweden, a flat million Swedish kronor—equivalent to a staggering 3.7 million Czech crowns at the time. If you could have set aside the entire average Czech salary in 1994, you would have been saving for this car for 50 years! And the price of the aforementioned Ferrari 348? An identical 180 million lire. Perhaps that is why so few were made. Production ended in 2001. Over seven years, only about 2,400 units were produced (some sources claim 2,841, which is likely more accurate)—roughly one to two cars per day. Considering that the production numbers for the Ghibli were even lower and only 369 units of the Shamal were built, the Maserati factory produced only about two to three cars a day. Their price logically had to cover the company's entire operation.

The sad side of the story, however, is today's market value, with prices ranging between 10,000 and 18,000 Euros. They can even be found for a ridiculous 8,000 Euros—a price that, in my opinion, outright insults the car. Unfortunately, the vehicle had a very specific clientele then, and it has an even more specific one today. So, if you happen to come across one, consider whether it might deserve your care and love. There really are only a few of them left...

Photo: Filip Hron 2025