(FORTUNE Magazine) – Let's be honest: the long bull run has left you damn well off, but the market's recent gyrations have made you question how much longer you can afford a full menu of top-tier treats. Let me give you some advice: Before you get prudent, go ahead and spend one last, breathtaking dollop of dough--and make it lira.

I am referring to Ferrari's new, debonair 456M GT--a thoroughly reworked and altogether improved version of the 456. In addition to offering the "usual" Ferrari fare--grace, elegance, and unconscionable speed--the 456M is practical. Yes, practical: This $230,000 hand-built toy has something no other current model does, a back seat. Which, frankly, made me leery. Even though 2+2s have represented 20% of the company's production since the '50s, how can such tamed creatures evoke the passion of a true sports car? I'd know soon enough--the company was going to let me loose on its private test track, Fiorano. I wasted no time getting to Italy.

"A Ferrari has to be like a pretty girl," explained President Luca di Montezemolo, his sharp blue eyes dancing. "You have to desire her." We were standing in the latest addition to Ferrari's low-slung factory in Maranello (a cannelloni's throw from Modena), the sleek atelier where buyers can customize their cars--one-of-a-kind paint jobs, carbon-fiber interior details, special drilled brake disks, you name it. So why a Ferrari with a back seat? "I wanted to put together extreme performance with the possibility of using the car every day, with friends," he said. "And we are very proud because even though we put the engine in the front, we have a quicker car than the mythic Testarossa." His words hung in the air--as did the Smell. Perhaps you have never inhaled the heady mix of metal, paint, fuel, and ridiculously expensive leather that perfumes each Ferrari. It's a scent that both allures and eludes, not unlike Ferrari ownership.

It was time to get to work--back seat or no, I had a 436-horsepower V-12 to push around. I shuttled the four blocks to the track, and there before me lay history: an F104 fighter plane, a gift from the Italian air force; a 1.8-mile course where some of the world's best cars have been beaten into perfection; and Enzo Ferrari's red-shuttered house smack in the middle. But my eye was drawn to the luminous, pearl-gray 456M waiting for me. The color, called Ingrid, was created for Roberto Rossellini when he commissioned a one-of-a-kind car as a wedding present for Ingrid Bergman (now, that's the kind of thing to don on the big day). I circled around the wedgelike coupe, noting how undulating lines give elegance to an otherwise animal form. Everything is subtle yet muscular, from the sculpted carbon-fiber hood to the leather-swathed scallops over the center console controls.

With a few Ferrari racing types hanging around the pits and chief test driver Dario Benuzzi standing watch, I climbed in--and screeched off. (It's important to establish yourself in such a crowd.) But the eyes behind me were soon forgotten as the operatic shriek of the V-12 filled my ears. I headed down the straightaway, braked into the first corner, a sharp uphill right-hander, and was back on the gas. The 456M handled in much the same feisty, road-biting way as its two-seater siblings--a bit more prone to oversteer, but hey, isn't going sideways half the fun? With each lap, I picked up speed until the metal gateshifter ticked like a metronome. I could do no wrong.

Almost. Just beyond a little overpass, I slammed on the aluminum-calipered disk brakes (loaded with ABS, traction control, and "rear electronic braking corrector"), amply prepared, I figured, for the 90-degree right-hander. Wrong. I went sliding toward the outer lip of track, the 456M's hips swinging around beside me, the end of the pavement dangerously close. (So that's where the extra back-end mass goes in a panic.) Luckily I was able to steer out of it--and pretend nothing had happened as I pulled back into the pits. An official-looking gentleman came running over. "You drive very, very well!" he exclaimed.

With the smell of burned rubber and fried brakes hanging in the air, I bid Fiorano ciao and took off for parts unpopulated. The hills around Maranello are marbled with twisty roads; no wonder magnificent machines are devised here. I throttled and danced, whipped and snaked for hours, the 456M behaving like the high-performance demon Ferrari intended it to be.

Taking a brief break, I stopped by the ruins of a stone villa, climbed into the back, and played with the electronic seat controls. Very comfortable--although I may have been swayed by the hand-stitched leather and rare air. Still, it's safe to say there's no other back seat I'd rather sit in.

Heck, if the market does head south, I could live back there. It's the price of a house, bigger than most Manhattan apartments, and provides endless views. And if you buy the six-speed manual instead of the four-speed automatic, you save $5,150 to put toward health club dues--since a back-seat shower isn't an option. Yet.