(Fortune Magazine, October 10, 2008) — I have been accused of many biases in my car-critiquing life. My supposed German addiction usually tops the list, but lately a British prejudice is showing, some readers tell me. And now, it seems, I’m besotted by the Italians. Their cars have always been sinful and sexy – but now they’re on a quality and performance roll. Specifically, Maserati has giant-stepped up with the limited-edition 2009 GranTurismo S.

When a blindingly red model appeared in my driveway, I noted the normal kit: side skirts, rear spoiler, blacked-out grille. But then I looked again, intrigued by the powerful, hunkered-down stance and the audacious 20-inch wheels, on which seven massive tridents (Maserati’s symbol) bulge outward as if barely able to contain the massive brakes.

Inside was pretty fine too. Alcantara seat inserts, silver-tinted carbon-fiber trim, and the melodic sound of an Italian V-8. And then it happened. I innocently hit two more buttons: auto, to turn automatic mode off, and sport, to give me a stiffer ride and quicker shifts.

Before my hand was back on the sport wheel, an automotive snarl unlike any other I’ve heard reverberated through the exhaust. Technically, I had disengaged the pneumatic valve that controls a bypass on the exhaust system allowing unrestricted airflow – and another eight horsepower. Emotionally, I had awakened the beast – and it’s a screamer.

With that kind of siren song calling to my right foot, I ate up some deserted twisties around Camp Pendleton, a massive military base north of San Diego. The GT S took hard corners with grace and skill. I discovered the existence of yet another gem: The sublime new electro-actuated Graziano gearbox (the same hardware as in the Ferrari 599 GTB) can change gears in a blurring 40 milliseconds. Plus, the unit sits just ahead of the rear axle, giving the car a unique-in-its-class rear weight bias of 47% front, 53% rear – hence the extra touch of oversteer. Yum.

Yet nothing was tastier than the raging symphony pouring from under the hood and out the exhaust. My addiction grew. I wouldn’t move an inch until I was in full-volume setup. I burbled up and down the streets in my hilly neighborhood, the car’s ferocious growls echoing against the canyon walls.

“We wanted a very male sound, the deepest voice, at low rpms,” says Benedetto Orvietani, Maserati’s head of vehicle integration. “At higher rpms, we wanted a lion’s roar.” Can you nominate automotive engineers for a Grammy?

Just how far did my aural infatuation take me? To the curb, twice in one day, to meet and greet the local authorities, for starters. Oh, and I made the howls of the GranTurismo S my new ringtone.

Just as I seriously began to question my own health, I read about a study recently conducted by Hiscox, a British-based luxury-car insurer. Experts found that 100% of female participants showed a “significant increase in testosterone secretion” while listening to a Maserati engine revving – in fact, measurably more so than for any other sports-car sound.

I’m not sure I want to know what the marketing minds in Italy will do with that information, but it did at least explain my condition – I had been chemically altered! – and my newfound fondness for receiving phone calls. Instantaneously sparking a woman’s arousal hormones? Now, that makes $135,000 start to seem like a bargain.