Hiram Ace Wang didn’t grow up dreaming about Alfa Romeos. He grew up in mainland China, where old cars didn’t really exist. Registration laws, emissions crackdowns, and aggressive scrap page programs made sure of that. Cars were appliances, meant to be used and disposed of, not remembered. But when Hiram came to the U.S., something changed. Suddenly, he could touch history. The flawed, emotional Milano Gold wasn’t only a car, it was a portal. And it spoke to him in a way no perfect machine ever could.
That’s the thing about Alfas. They’re grounded in something different. Maybe it’s the way they feel even when they’re idling. Maybe it’s the legacy baked into their metal, the company that won the first Formula 1 championship, that beat Ferrari before Enzo even had Ferrari, that put race-bred engines into family sedans with names like Giulia, GTV, and, for a short while, Milano.
That last one? It’s maybe the most overlooked, misunderstood, and misnamed Alfa of the bunch. You can still snag them, albeit in various terrifying states of repair, for a song here in the states. Released in '85 in Europe, it was called the 75. But when it came to America in 1987, they didn’t think “75” would mean anything to American buyers. So they lazily named it after the city where Alfa Romeo was born. Milano. The car wasn’t built there. Fiat had just taken over the company, but the car had already been developed. It was one of the last truly independent Alfas before the influence set in. But the badge on the trunk said Milano like it still meant something.
For Hiram Ce Wang, a French car enthusiast who grew up in mainland China, this 1989 Milano Gold represents more than just Alfa’s twilight era and pre-Fiat eccentricity. It’s alive. It’s flawed. It’s something that, in his words, "communicates." Not in some digital interface kind of way. "You feel what’s going on there," Hiram says. "From the engine to transmission. All the vibration from the road. Your suspension is doing good, or not."
But the Milano wasn’t perfect. Not even close. The original seats barely held you in corners. The gear ratios were weird. Second and third were stacked close together, then came a bizarre jump to fourth. The handbrake looked like it was pulled from a forklift. The steering wheel was non-adjustable and massive. But none of that stops Herman. In fact, it’s part of the appeal. He swapped in seats from a Lancia Delta Integrale, because the originals were useless. He refined the stance, chasing better road feel. Every change he makes is a quiet act of improvement with reverence.
That engine, though. That’s where the whole thing clicks.
Under the hood of his Milano Gold is a 2.5-liter V6, part of Alfa Romeo’s legendary Busso engine family. Designed by Giuseppe Busso in the 1970s, this 60 degree V6 is a mechanical sonnet. It breathes deep, revs quick, and is way oversquare. That oversquare layout, with a bore much larger than its stroke, lets the engine spin up fast, breathe well, and live in the upper revs without breaking a sweat. It gives the Busso a kind of urgency most modern engines have suffocated with refinement. The truth is, oversquare engines are not ideal for most people. Most folks want torque, usable grunt down low, the kind that pushes you back in your seat without needing to wring it out. And that comes from stroke, not bore. But oversquare engines like the Busso are built to spin. That’s where the Italian music is. Hiram calls it "actually a really powerful engine. It's always pretty smooth, and it reacts fast while you're pressing that throttle."
The Busso’s reputation isn’t only romantic. It earned its stripes over a 26-year production run. Hiram’s 2.5L version runs Bosch Motronic fuel injection. The U.S. spec delivered 158 horsepower, while European versions made closer to 165 thanks to freer-flowing emissions equipment and slightly different tuning. It revs like it has something to prove. It may not be fast by today's numbers, but it moves with the kind of urgency and character modern sedans can’t fake.
The Milano Gold was the top trim, leather seats, optional rear spoiler, and that unforgettable V6. It was never just about speed or luxury. It was about character. And now, three decades later, it's a rolling time capsule of what Alfa Romeo used to be: daring, mechanical, expressive.
These days, Milano means overpriced coffee and fashion week. But back then? It meant a snarling V6, a weird handbrake, and a car that still had something to say. For people like Hiram, it still does.
