What do you do when you’ve got a brilliant V6 race engine, big dreams for Formula 2, and no way to build 500 road cars fast enough to satisfy the FIA? If you’re Enzo Ferrari, you knock on Fiat’s door, flash a charming smile, and ask for a favor that ends up creating one of the most unexpected—and glorious—partnerships in Italian automotive history.
The result? The Fiat Dino: a sports car that let Fiat flirt with Ferrari’s glamorous world, and let Ferrari do what it did best—win races.
From Tragedy to Technology: The Birth of the Dino V6
Before we dive into coachwork and carburetors, a little heart: the name “Dino” is short for Alfredino, Enzo Ferrari’s beloved son. Alfredo died tragically young in 1956, but not before leaving a lasting mark on Ferrari’s engineering legacy. Passionate about racing and engineering, Dino worked alongside Vittorio Jano, Ferrari’s seasoned motor guru, and reportedly sketched out the plans for a lightweight V6 that would power future racing machines.
That V6 did exactly that—first in Formula 2 in the late ’50s, then in a series of race cars where its compact size and rev-happy nature proved ideal. But by the mid-1960s, Ferrari hit a new challenge. Formula 2 regulations changed, requiring any competing engine to be derived from a road-going car, with at least 500 production units. Ferrari, with its boutique production numbers, couldn’t make that happen.
So, Enzo did what Enzo did best—he found a clever solution.
Fiat, Italy’s industrial juggernaut, had the production muscle Ferrari lacked. A deal was struck: Fiat would build a GT car powered by a Ferrari-designed V6. Ferrari got its homologation, and Fiat got a front-row seat at the Italian performance table.
But it wasn’t as simple as swapping a race engine into a Fiat shell. Ferrari’s V6 needed taming. Enter Aurelio Lampredi, a former Ferrari engine wizard turned Fiat engineering legend. Lampredi took the pure-bred race motor and made it street-savvy—switching aluminum for cast iron, simplifying the valvetrain, and turning a fragile thoroughbred into something you could trust on a road trip.
Thus, the Dino V6 was born again: still passionate, still vocal, but now house-trained and ready for the road.
And so began the story of the Fiat Dino—a car born from grief, forged in motorsport, and brought to life by one of the most unusual collaborations in automotive history.
Design: Two Visions of Dino
The Fiat Dino wasn’t just an engine on wheels—it was also a tale of two bodies, two philosophies, and two of Italy’s greatest design houses.
The first model to make its debut was the Fiat Dino Spider, unveiled in autumn 1966 at the Turin Motor Show. A classic two-seater (plus a very occasional third), the Spider was penned by Aldo Brovarone at Pininfarina. Unsurprisingly, it shared a family resemblance with contemporary Ferraris—and that was no accident. The design was born from sketches that Pininfarina had originally proposed to Maranello itself. When Ferrari passed, Fiat saw an opportunity and gave the sketch a home. Pininfarina not only designed the car but also handled production at their own facilities.
The result was pure dolce vita: elegant curves, a timeless roadster profile, and just enough Ferrari DNA to turn heads at any piazza. It looked fast standing still and sounded like Maranello once it moved.
But Fiat had more than sunshine drives in mind. At the 1967 Geneva Motor Show, they introduced the Fiat Dino Coupé, styled by Bertone. This time, the design credit went to none other than Giorgetto Giugiaro, who gave the Coupé a more formal, grand touring presence. It was longer (with a wheelbase stretched to 2550 mm), wider, and more practical, offering genuine 2+2 seating and a fastback profile that exuded quiet confidence. Production, as with the Spider, was handled by the design house itself—Bertone in this case, who would go on to build over 6,000 Coupés during the Dino’s run.
The difference in character between the two cars was clear. The Spider was the romantic—a spirited, open-top sports car ideal for Riviera weekends. The Coupé was the thinker’s Dino—a refined grand tourer that could cruise the Autostrada in comfort and style.
Interestingly, Pininfarina didn’t stop at the Spider. They also proposed a berlinetta and a fastback coupé version based on the same Spider design. These studies never saw production, but they offered a glimpse of what a unified Pininfarina-styled Dino lineup might’ve looked like.
Meanwhile, Swiss designer Dany Brawand, working for Moretti, took clear inspiration from the Dino Spider when shaping the Moretti 850 Sportiva, based on the Fiat 850 chassis: a smaller, sportier echo of Brovarone’s lines, proving the Dino’s influence extended well beyond Fiat’s own factories.
Ultimately, Fiat chose a split path: Pininfarina’s Spider and Bertone’s Coupé. Two different takes on one remarkable formula, both wrapped around the same Ferrari-derived heart.
Powertrain & Chassis: The Ferrari Heart, Fiat Engineering
The Fiat Dino came with two flavors of Ferrari-derived V6:
1966–1968: A 2.0-liter aluminum-block V6 with three Weber carburetors, delivering 160 PS (118 kW)
1969–1972: A 2.4-liter cast-iron-block V6, also with triple Webers, boosted to 180 PS (132 kW)
These weren’t just inspired by Ferrari—they were Ferrari, the same engines fitted in the mid-engined Dino 206 and 246 GTs sold by Maranello from 1968 onward. The 2.4-liter version even found a second life powering the Lancia Stratos, which went on to win four World Rally Championships. Not a bad retirement gig.
Both Fiat Dino variants came with a five-speed manual gearbox, joyfully knuckle-shifted and matched to that gloriously vocal V6.
As for the chassis, the Dino was more gentleman than gladiator, but it still handled with flair. The front used coil springs, while the rear—on early 2.0-liter cars—was a live axle with single-leaf springs and trailing arms. It wasn’t exotic, but it was effective. All four wheels got disc brakes, part of a dual-circuit system with vacuum assist. Stopping power? Well matched to the engine’s enthusiasm.
In 1969, both versions received significant updates. The displacement was bumped to 2418 cc, and the engine block was switched to cast iron (the head remained aluminum) to prevent issues with cylinder liner distortion. Power rose to 180 hp. More importantly, the rear suspension was now fully independent, borrowed from the Fiat 130, improving both ride and handling. Performance? The Coupé could now hit 205 km/h, and the Spider topped out at 210 km/h. Subtle visual tweaks included a matte black grille (minus the Fiat badge, now moved to the hood), new wheels, a redesigned center console, and upgraded interior fittings, including two-point rear seatbelt mounts.
Production ended in 1972. No direct successor followed—but a legacy had been written.
Production Numbers
In total, Fiat produced 7,651 Dino models. Unsurprisingly, the majority—about 79%—were Coupés.
Here’s how it breaks down:
Dino Spider 2.0: 1,163 units (chassis prefix AS)
Dino Spider 2.4: 420 units (chassis prefix BS)
Dino Coupé 2.0: 3,670 units (chassis prefix AC)
Dino Coupé 2.4: 2,398 units (chassis prefix BC)
To kick off the homologation campaign, Fiat fast-tracked a batch of 500 early Spider models—chassis AS00001 through AS00500—built without the electronic Dinoplex ignition system.
Concept Cars: What Might Have Been
Beyond the production models and the alternate proposals by Pininfarina, two particularly bold concept cars emerged from the same creative well.
The first was the Fiat Dino Berlinetta Aerodinamica, designed by Paolo Martin and unveiled at the 1967 Paris Motor Show. A wind-cheating study based on the Dino chassis, it showcased a new direction in aerodynamic thinking—sleek, experimental, and far ahead of its time.
The second, also by Paolo Martin for Pininfarina, was the Fiat Dino Ginevra, presented at the 1968 Geneva Motor Show. Building on lessons from the Berlinetta Aerodinamica, the Ginevra was a more refined take on the future sports coupé, still using the front-mounted Ferrari Dino engine. It featured a distinctively sloped roofline that eliminated the traditional vertical rear window, and incorporated Dino-style taillights for visual continuity. Though it hinted at small-series production potential, it remained a showpiece of what could have been—a sculptural, elegant machine that represented the best of Italian design flair.
These concepts, though never realized for the road, remain fascinating footnotes in the Dino story—proof that even within the boundaries of homologation and production demands, Italian creativity knew no limits