Please would you correct the mistakes in the second part of my short story, "A Letter of Complaint.

Our new room was beautiful and there was nothing to complain about, but when we had gone to bed to sleep about 10 pm, suddenly someone started singing opera in the opposite room. We both like opera and enjoy it almost daily in our home, but at this time of the evening we found it an awful nuisance. I have to admit that the soprano voice was clear and pleasant, but we were so tired and in a need of sleep. Unwillingly, again, I tried to call the reception, but somehow the line seemed to be busy. I tried time and again, but my persistence was in vain. In the end, I had to walk downstairs and talk to the receptionist despite feeling pain in my knees. I have to tell you that I have been suffering from arthritis for years and all this walking up and down and carrying our suitcases made my affliction worse. Nevertheless, Mr John was sympathetic to our complaint and promised me that the disturbance would be brief. According to him, the source of it was a Norwegian opera singer Kristina Ramazzotti, who together with her Italian husband was staying in the hotel until tomorrow. Her nightly ritual was singing for about 30 minutes after which the singer would be silent. He advised us to be patient and not anger her because Kristina had a volatile temper and was prone to losing control. They treated her with respect whenever she was their guest, but everyone was glad to see her go.

I could not argue with John or demand anything more. After all, he seemed to be talking sense. I trudged back to our room and persuaded my wife that the noise would end soon. And indeed, at 22.35 pm there was a silence in an opposite room. We had lain on the bed wishing each other good night and switched off the light. However, about ten minutes later we heard some strange voices coming from the singer’s room. It was a mixture of Italian and Norwegian, a man and a woman exchanging words of love and affection, which had not disturbed me at all. On the contrary, it made me sentimental and brought me back to my youth when I enjoyed kissing and hugging my girlfriends. My beautiful memories flooded my mind, and I had forgotten I was tired and in need of sleep. Soon, the lovely words gave way to moans and the creaking of the bed. The voices became louder, especially the singer’s, who gave orders as if she were a captain of a ship. “To the right, to the left, deeper, faster, slower...,” she shouted in her piercing voice.
I have to admit that a mix of these sounds and voices ignited something inside of me. I got lust I had not felt in years. I put my hand on my wife’s buttock to see if she felt the same, but she shoved my hand aside telling me she had a headache. As a man, you will certainly understand how I felt in those moments. For almost half an hour, I tormented myself until finally a heard a single, high-pitched shriek of the singer, after which there was a complete silence. It must have been almost midnight when I drifted into sleep.

At breakfast, a tall, blond woman walked ponderously into the dining room. She carried a large, thick branch in her left hand, which she was using as a walking stick. A few thick necklaces with large pendants dangled from her strong neck. She was dressed in dark clothes and looked intimidating. In her right hand, she had a golden leash on which she held a dark-haired, short man. She tugged at it and the man, feeling the pressure of the metal around his thin neck, hastened his steps. “Katarina and Aldo,” whispered Zack, the waiter, serving us our meal.
They sat at the table a few meters from us without bothering to look at the guests, who stared at them in disbelief. As the strange couple ate their breakfast as if everything was normal other guests held their mouths wide open and they stopped chewing. They did not feel hunger anymore; they could not take their eyes off them. Women openly showed their envy, and how could they not when they saw that the difference between Katarina and her husband was at least 25 years. They all started dreaming about the little Italian whom they could keep as a pet and who could satisfy all their wishes. I furtively glanced at my wife and noticed that her headache, about which she had complained in the evening and morning, had apparently disappeared. I had known her for so many years that I could read her face like an open book. Now it told me she wanted that Italian also.