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Lamborghini Veneno Roadster stands in for fighter jet aboard Italian carrier

How do you draw even more attention to $4.47 million hypercar? Placing it atop an aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf ought to do the trick, as Lamborghini has demonstrated with the live reveal of the new Veneno Roadster on the flight deck of the Italian Navy's Cavour.
Docked in the port of Mina Zayed, Abu Dhabi, the 787-foot flat-top is being used as a floating showcase of Italian products, with Lamborghini chosen to represent the automotive industry. A fitting location to unveil a roadster that looks like the half-breed lovechild of a fighter jet and a Le Mans racer, particularly since Sant'Agata is bound to find in the Emirates a buyer for at least one of the nine Veneno Roadsters it will produce.
"We are honored that Lamborghini was chosen to represent the Italian car industry in the UAE, as a perfect example of iconic Italian super sports cars, and that we have the opportunity to show the Veneno Roadster for the first time in Abu Dhabi, said Lamborghini chief Stephan Winkelmann. "Lamborghini has an extremely strong following in the region for its super sports cars, with the Middle East one of our largest markets in the world." Turn up the Kenny Loggins and ride into the danger zone with photos from the event in the gallery above and the press release below.

2013 Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster

What Dreams May Come
The Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster left me stupefied. Despite my experience with countless other high-powered exotics on a variety of racing circuits, including nearly all of its Gallardo siblings, the all-wheel-drive, 700-horsepower flagship dropped my jaw to the ground.
Less than 24 hours earlier, I had been sitting on an airplane at 39,000 feet studying press releases about the Italian automaker's newest range-topping convertible. While everything looked spectacular on paper, I was genuinely concerned that its new cylinder deactivation system and open-roof configuration would spoil some of the fun - soften its personality, to be more specific.

2015 Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster Review

"Lamborghini Murcielago." That's what I would tell anyone who asked what my favorite car was. Yes, there were easier cars to drive than the wailing wraith from Sant'Agata Bolgnese, and that was partly why I liked it so. It was impossible to see out the back – reversing was easiest done with the door open, sitting on the sill. My head banged the door frame when I checked traffic on the left. The seat made my butt hurt. The cabin ergonomics were based on a design language that humans haven't yet translated. It boiled over in stop-and-go traffic. It was big. Yet it drove like nothing else, with the instant zig-zag reflexes of a mako designed in The Matrix. The Murcielago's thrills weren't laid out on the ground, you had to dig for them with your bare hands. And that's what made it outstanding. When I first drove the Aventador at its launch in Rome, I spent the day blasting around the circuit at Vallelunga. It was so easy to drive – "too easy by half," as Jeremy Clarkson would later say of it – viciously quick, unholy fun, and very good. But it was a little too easy to drive. Which is why the Murcielago remained my favorite car, ever. Until two weeks ago. The Aventador came when the rough-diamond Gallardo was Lamborghini's in-house reference for ease-of-use. But now we have the fire-and-forget Huracan. Having driven one after the other, and on the context of LA streets instead of the smooth and open landscape of Vallelunga or Laguna Seca, I now see the Aventador for what it truly is: the representation of the bull that's on the Lamborghini badge – head-down, horns-out anger. Like the Murcielago, the Aventador is big. It's more than ten inches longer than a Chevrolet Corvette, five inches wider than a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, and 3.5 inches wider than a Dodge Viper. It is also low, an inch lower than the already ground-floor Huracan. I won't pretend to be rational about it: the Aventador says everything I want a car to say. It's the certain, antidotal statement to brief and befuddled everyday lives. The cabin is a cockpit in every sense: close-fitted, button-filled, lit up. I'm five-foot-eleven, and I wear it like a tailored suit. I gave a ride to a guy who's six-foot-three and perhaps 260 pounds, so it can fit much larger frames but I still don't know how he got in or out through that scissor-door opening. The trunk in the Murcielago was big enough to hold a single dream.